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snarkwrites · 4 years ago

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01 | upside down, steve harrington ; stranger things

Notes:

Guess who fell head first into binging Stranger Things? Again? Yep. This bitch. And I kind of came up with this at some point during. I’ve been dancing around writing a Stranger Things fic for a while, but here I go I guess?

A few big cautions up front... There will be things that change/differ from the fic and the show. I’m gonna sort of loosely follow the timeline set forth. But I will be changing a few things here and there. I mean, if enough people enjoy this that I feel like writing more to it, idk yet... We shall see.

I swear to God, I’m going to update my CSI fics and my Riverdale one asap. This just kind of caught me by the nose and demanded to be written...

Summary:

She moves back to Hawkins and manages to turn his life completely upside down. In the best of ways.

But how will everything play out between them? Also, can they handle all the weirdness ahead? We shall see.

Warnings:

loose canon compliance at best, total deviation at worst - this is just an up front catch all because sometimes, things happen that I don’t particularly care for (the senseless death of Barb, anybody?) and if you’re one of those canon only people, this is here to warn you that this is not the fic for you. language, occasional gore, monsters / fantasy elements, teenage drama and shenanigans - Obviously, teenagers are going to do stuff. They’re at that point in their life where not every decision they make is the best one. So if you’d rather skip over this kind of thing (teen drinking, fighting, etc) then yeah.. you’ve been warned. Slow burn / angst / mutual pining / eventual filthy good ness - because lets be real.. we’re all wondering when we’re gonna drop the plot and get to the good stuff. When this chapter occurs, I will flair it with an M. In the meantime, if you’re not into slow burn or mutual pining, then you’re probably not going to care about this.

Other Parts

[ soundtrack ]

Other Stuff

[ faq - tag list doc ]

Tagging:

There’s nobody on my list yet but... If you wanna be tagged for this, tell me pls. It will make me overjoyed.

Throwing out a no pressure tag to @rampagewriting and @twistnet as well as @chasingeverybreakingwave just because. No pressure though bbies!

ONE

“Table six wants a burger and fries. Smothered for those fries, Jennie.” my nana’s voice shattered through my wandering thoughts. I closed the issue of Glamour I’d been reading and made my way out from behind the counter out in front, heading towards the dining area in the back.

“Marlena quit again, Nana?” I inquired, shaking my head. Marlena quits at least once a year. Turns up a few weeks later, tanned and broke, begging for her old job back and it’s been that way since my mom and I lived here still, when I was around 6.

“Girl, what have I told you about callin me Nana?” my grandmother asked, laughing softly as she nodded. “Yeah. Said she’s headin out to California this time. Thinks she’s gonna be the next Brooke Shields.”

“Broke Shields is more like it.” I mumbled, taking an apron from the hanger on the wall. My grandmother spoke up again, giving me a nudge and smirking at me while nodding across the diner. “He’s baaack.”

“Nana!” I muttered, raising a hand to my mouth, giggling a little despite my best efforts not to.

“I’m just sayin is all. That boy is not comin in here for my good cookin, Jennie Bird.” my grandma shook her head and I eyed the booth where a lone Steve Harrington sat.

It’s only the thousandth time since I moved back to Hawkins in May.

And my nana is right. He’s probably not coming here for the food.

I’d just grabbed two of the orders and sent Steve’s order back to our short order cook Brett, -or the order I’m assuming was his, he always gets the same thing down to a T when he stops in, when a hand reaches out, grabbing my wrist.

I nearly jumped right outta my skin until I realized that it was Nancy grabbing my wrist and Barb laughing about it. They were sitting at our usual little booth near the window, nursing milkshakes as they waited on my upcoming 30 minute break. Just like we’ve been doing two or three times a week since May.

Come to think of it, it’s around that time that Steve started coming in too. I shoved the thought out of my head right around the time that Nancy and Barb noticed him. And naturally, the question arose...

“What’s Steve Harrington doing in here?” Nancy asked, glancing up at me. I eyed his table and shrugged, suck popping a cotton candy flavored bubble as I told her, “Cher, your guess is as good as mine. He’s been comin in here since I moved back.”

Nancy wiggled her brows and laughed. Barb spoke up. “My mom wanted to know if you wanted to go to the lake with us this weekend? She knows your grandmother is going out of town.”

I smiled and nodded yes, zero hesitation. After Nancy confirmed that she was going too, we made plans to go into the department store in town tomorrow afternoon to pick up some swimsuits.

Nancy’s eyes settled on my boots and she let out a low and appreciative whistle. “Are those the same boots that were in the mall last time we went? I wanted those.”

I smiled, lifting my foot so Nancy could see my boots better. Then I whirled around so she could see the fact that I’d made my favorite pair of Levis into cutoffs and sewn white cherry print fabric over the back of one of the pockets.

“I love those. I wish my mom would let me cut off my jeans.” Nancy pouted. I shrugged. “Ginger said it was cheaper than buying shorts, so I went for it. I did two other pairs too.”

“I’m bringing my old jeans over tonight.” Barb spoke up. I smiled, nodding. “Yeah. I’ll do you right up, hon.”

“I wish I tanned like you. Do you just live outside, Jennie?” Barb asked, pouting a little. I shrugged it off, laughing. Taking a deep breath as I nodded towards Steve’s booth as I gazed at my friends after finally managing to tear my eyes off of Steve. “I best get over to table six. Then I have to go pick up the bohunk’s order, I reckon.”

“What’s a bohunk?” Nancy giggled.

“Same as a himbo, I reckon.” I answered, wrinkling my brows because I didn’t actually know myself. I just knew my nana Ginger often called her long-time live-in boyfriend, Hank, the same thing and I could tell by her tone that it was a loving thing.

I made my way over to Ethel and Earl’s table, setting them up with their food. “Y’all need anything else? Just let me know. Marlena quit on us again, so I’m the server tonight.”

“We’re all set, dear!” they assured me and I made my way over to the second of the tables whose orders I’d picked up.

The next table was Jim Hopper. My mom’s ex boyfriend. He chuckled and shook his head as I approached. “I see Ginger put you right to work.”

“I put me to work, sir. I’m saving money for a Trans Am I found for sale in Rollins.” I smirked as I said it, twisting a strand of hair around my fingertip.

“Oh really now.. Let me know when you get it. So I can warn the rest of the guys and the rest of town to keep a wide berth when you’re behind the wheel.”Hopper teased, chuckling. I pretended to pout, but got him set up with the food he’d ordered before finally making my way towards the back again.

I had to walk right past Steve’s booth in the process, naturally.

I did my best to keep my eyes trained towards the front of the dining area, but Steve cleared his throat just as I walked past.

“Is tonight the night you finally say yes?” Steve flashed a grin as he asked me the question. I wanted to melt, lucky for me, common sense prevailed once again.

“Steve..” I complained, shaking my head. Pretending to pout at him.

“Aw, c’mon.” Steve chided, giving me that charmer smirk as he gazed up at me. I bit my lip, eyes locked on his, lost in the depths of his eyes for a few seconds. My nana’s calling my name had me coming back to the moment and I sighed. “I gotta go get your food, cher.”

I hurried up to the front, ignoring my nana’s pointed stare and nod as she mouthed, “Well? What’d he say, huh?”

I gave a mysterious shrug and picked up the tray containing his food. Started my journey back towards his booth. On my way over, Nancy gave me a thumbs up and Barb mouthed at me in teasing, “ Aww, you’re totally blushing right now.” to which I stuck out my tongue and shook my head no.

I was all business as I sat his food in front of him. Consulting my notepad that had his order scrawled on it in my Nana’s loopy scrawl. “That’s a loaded burger and smothered fries with a chocolate shake.” suck popping another gum bubble as I spoke.

“Yeah.” Steve answered, locking eyes with me. My hand raised, trailing over the loopy cursive of my silver necklace. I toyed with the cursive that formed my name and he chuckled, dragging his fingers through his hair, nodding to it. “You still have it, I see. The necklace, I mean...”

“Why wouldn’t I? My best friend gave it to me, cher.” I gave him a soft smile. I couldn’t resist it because believe me, I tried. I’ve been trying to resist the guy since May, actually.

“Oh. So you did think about me when you left Hawkins...Interesting. I mean… you’re still wearing the necklace I got you for your birthday...” Steve mused quietly. His eyes were absolutely fixed on me. Studying me. And I felt this warmth spreading through my entire being. Like that first sliver of sunlight on a cloudy and cool day.

Then the calm. Be still my beating heart, the calm that took over when I dared to lock eyes with him as my own personal act of defiance. Popping another cotton candy flavored bubble as I did so. I bit my lip as I thought of the best way, read, least revealing way, to answer his question. This was venturing into very,very dangerous territory at present. Because if I said no I’d be lying and if I said yes, it would give him too much power. He’d know that maybe he was my first real crush back then. He’d know that maybe seeing him again after all this time had been like a burst of fresh air and somehow, felt as if maybe he’d taken all the air from me at the same time.

It was a huge risk. Huge.

“Maybe.” - it was the only word that would come presently. Blondie crooning Call Me from the old jukebox sitting at the back of the dining area shattered through the heavy lingering silence that followed immediately behind my answer. In a rush, I told him quietly, “I have other tables.”

“You’ve been on your feet all afternoon, little red. C’mon. Sit?” Steve nodded to the empty bench across from him.

I scoffed at him over my shoulder. Giving him a sweet but firm shake of the head no and smile. “As much as I’d love to sit, romeo. Sitting’s not what’s gonna put that sweet fire engine red Trans Am in my nana’s driveway by August.”

He pouted and called out as I walked away, “ I’m not giving up.”

This earned him giggles from the booth I usually filled with Nancy and Barb when I took my 30 minute break.

As I walked by them, Nancy teased out loud, “ Awww, look Barb! She’s blushing.”

“I am not.” I pretended to be offended by the suggestion. Mouthing to both of them as I fanned myself with some napkins in teasing and nodded in Steve’s direction, “Whew...He has gotten… Intense.”

“That’s Hawkin High’s big man on campus.” Barb informed me. I went to clock out for my break and came back with a Diet Pepsi, flopping across the booth across from then. Someone put 867-5309 on to play on the jukebox and I grumbled through closed lids, “I hate that fuckin song.”

Naturally, Barb and Nancy started to sing along. Loudly.

I pouted at them both as I rose to a sitting position.

Steve wandered over, flopping himself down in the empty spot next to me. “Ladies.”

“You’re not at Hagan’s party?” Barb asked, a brow raised.

“Yeah, why aren’t you at Tommy’s party?” Nancy asked, shooting me a covert teasing smile.

Steve shrugged. Took a long sip of his chocolate milkshake, slurping it through the straw noisily. I eyed it.

“I’d kill for a strawberry one right now.” I mused, gazing at the cup in his hand. He muttered quietly, “It’s not strawberry, but…” as he held it out.I eyed the styrofoam cup and him. Biting my lip.

Nancy and Barb were gazing at me intently. Teasing gleam in their eyes.

I sighed and reached out for it, taking a few sips. Holding it back out to him.

“I was there. Got bored. I like the scenery better here anyway.” Steve answered finally, shrugging.

“So you enjoy spending your Friday night in a diner packed with old people..” I muttered, locking eyes with him. Swallowing hard when I found him staring at me already.

He chuckled, shaking his head no. “I said I liked the scenery here, little red. Not the dining company. If you’d say yes and let me buy you a burger sometime…” he smiled at me as he went quiet.

I felt Nancy and Barb both fix their eyes on me.

“We’ll see.” I answered, shrugging mysteriously and smiling at him as I did so. I wanted to say yes so bad it was killing me, but given that I know the history of my grandmother and my mother, I was… Definitely erring on the side of caution.

Besides.. It makes things interesting when you play hard to get. I guess I figure that if Steve gets bored and moves on, then it’s better than agreeing, falling head over feet, making any number of bad life choices that seem to plague the women in my family and ultimately, winding up heart broken.

Call me a hopeless romantic. Overly cautious. I just want to wait until I know something is a sure thing before I dive in over my head. I want something that’s going to last a while. Not be this intense and scary whirlwind that starts off strong and ends just as fast as it began.

“Hey, were we all going to go for a swim later? Figured it was hot enough. Besides, Ginger and Hank are going to Rollins later. They won’t be back until 2. Or two days from now.” I mused, glancing from Nancy to Barb.

“Sleepover in the treehouse?” Barb suggested. Nancy nodded, giving me begging eyes. “C’mon, it’ll be fun. It’ll be like when we were little.”

“That’s actually not a bad idea!” I smiled, laughing.

After we all made our plans for the night, they left to go back into town and this left me with ten minutes in my break. Alone in a booth with Steve Harrington.

Hot Blooded came on the jukebox in back of the dining area and I grinned. Humming along with the song as I eyed the last of Steve’s fries. He chuckled, shoving them in front of me.

“You won’t let me buy you your own food… Yet you’ll eat mine.”

“Mhm.” I answered, dragging a french fry through gravy. Taking a bite thoughtfully. Groaning at the taste of the food because I realized just how hungry I actually was.

Steve chuckled, gazing at me. “Do I need to leave you two alone?”

I felt his arm go around the back of the booth. Brushing right against my shoulder. Normally, I’d politely move a little. But if I’m being totally honest here, I’m tired. So tired of fighting the way I feel. I managed to stop myself from resisting the urge to lean against his side though.

“That’s not so bad, is it?”

I sighed and gazed over at him. Smiling. “It’s not.”

From the kitchen, my nana called my name. Steve stood and I slipped out of the booth, making my way back. Clocking back in so I could finish waiting tables. By the time I’d done four more tables and was counting my tips for the night, Steve wasn’t sitting in the dining area anymore.

“You be careful getting home tonight, Jennie Bird.”

“Yes Nana.”

I didn’t have to look at her to know she was giving me a playful dirty look at what I’d called her. She sighed, the sound giving way to soft laughter. “Maybe get that handsome little beau of yours to give you a lift.”

“Nope. Absolutely not.”

“You are the most stubborn..” my grandmother teased gently, laughing as she shook her head.

I clocked out for the night, stepping out into the parking lot after counting down the drawer in the gas station area out front. Steve was standing outside, leaned against the cinderblock wall, his thumb hooked through his belt loop. Smoking a cigarette.

I glanced around to make sure my grandmother and her boyfriend weren’t looking or anything and I stopped beside him. Speaking up quietly. “Do you think you have another one of those?”

He chuckled, digging around in his pocket, producing a slightly crushed pack of Marlboro Reds. I took one and as I pressed it between my lips, he dug out a silver lighter and cupped his hands around the end, lighting my cigarette for me.

“You’re not afraid your grandmother’s gonna see?” Steve teased, grinning at me.

I laughed, shrugging as I exhaled, a plume of smoke creeping upwards into the sunset. “It’s more tame than her special brownies. I know for a fact it’s a thousand times tamer than anything my mom did at my age. I just don’t openly do it all the time around her because it’s a respect thing.”

“Ah. I get it, I think.” he nodded.

We stood there quietly. Staring up at the sky as the sun dipped lower. I really didn’t want to walk away, but one of us had to. I smiled, nodding towards the road. “I should probably get going.”

“I can drive you.” Steve offered.

“I’m fine. It’s only like a mile up the road.” I answered, swallowing hard. Dangerously close to caving, yet again. It’s getting so hard not to cave lately where he’s concerned and that kind of makes me panic just a little, truth be told.

“Yeah, but it’s getting late. And your feet have to be killing you by now.” he nodded to my boots. I shrugged, flashing him a smirk. “You’re a charmer, Steve.” I muttered as I rose up on my toes, fluffing his hair before stepping away, then turning to walk across the gravel parking lot and towards the road.

His BMW slowed to a stop beside me and he rolled down the window just as I started to walk towards my grandmother’s house. “C’mon.”

I eyed the car.

Then glanced at the road stretched out ahead. My feet were throbbing in these stupid boots because they weren’t broken in completely. I dragged my fingers through my hair, mulling it over.

“Take me straight home?”

“Anything you want, Jennie.” Steve promised, smiling at me. “Scouts honor.”

“You are a lot of things… Somehow I doubt boy scout was one of them, you charmer. Okay, fine.” I gave in, going around to the passenger side of the car and getting in.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” he teased gently. I stuck out my tongue at him and reached for the dial on his radio until I found something other than his preferred usual pop station. He chuckled to himself, reaching out to lower the volume. “I missed you.”

“Aw, be still my beating heart.” I pretended to swoon. But something about the look in his eyes had me feeling like all the air escaped my lungs. Giddy. Lightheaded. And yet, underneath it all, that sense of calm.

The rest of the drive to my grandmother’s house was quiet. The air between us filled with this heavy and almost electric tension. Like I was waiting on something to happen, I just didn’t know what.

He pulled to a stop behind Hank’s beat down old Chevrolet truck and I went to open the door on the passenger side. I was about to get out, when he stopped me. “Same time Thursday?”

I smiled, nodding at him as I shut the door to his BMW and started towards my front door on very shaky legs. Once I was inside, I pulled off my boots and flopped down on the sofa, letting out several long and shaky breaths.

“Heaven help me. That guy is… Something.” I drawled. Resting until I heard Barb and Nancy knocking at my grandmother’s door. I got up to let them in and we went upstairs to find towels to take down to the river with us.

Then we set off, walking through the woods. Laughter and conversation echoing in the night around us. Diving into the cold water with ear splitting shrieks. Splashing at each other noisily.

We flopped onto our towels on the bank, gazing up at the stars as they started to come out.

“I can’t believe summer’s almost over.” Barb lamented, shaking her head. “It seriously feels like school just ended.”

“I don’t want to go back to school yet. Yuck.” Nancy agreed, shaking her head. “I mean there’s another month and a half but it’s flying by too fast.”

“At least we got a few classes with each other. I’m dreading starting at a new school. I mean it’s not new, but still..” I sat up, facing the two of them.

“It won’t be that bad. You’ve got us.” Barb pointed out and I smiled, nodding. “Yeah, you’re right. It won’t be that bad.” I echoed her statement.

“Hey, Jennie?”

“Yeah, Nan?”

“Why won’t you just give in to Steve. It’s not exactly a secret you like him.” Nancy eyed me expectantly.

I mulled it over, shrugging. “Guess it’s just the fear I have that I’ll give in and then everything will go wrong and I’ll wind up losing my friend too.”

The truth was… so much more complex than that. And I couldn’t even begin to explain it to myself, let alone my two best friends.

“I will say this much though.” I started, going quiet for a second or two and taking a deep breath, speaking up again after, “It’s getting harder to fight it off. I mean when I moved back here and we ran into each other again, that old crush came back and it came back ten-fold. Enough about my weird hangups.. Is there some reason you’re not finally going for it with Jonathan?” I eyed Nancy expectantly.

“Every time I try it’s like my brain freezes? I don’t know, okay?” she laughed, shaking her head about it. Barb smirked. “Both of you are cowards.”

“Excuse… Says the girl who almost threw up because Logan, the guy she likes, winked at her on the bus back from an away game?” Nancy teased and Barb scowled at her, sticking out her tongue. “I’ll have you know, ha freaking ha, Logan is actually taking me to a movie on Friday.”

“Oh?” Nancy eyed her, wiggling her brows.

“Oh my god, details.” I spoke up, tapping my foot as I gave her an expectant look. Barb launched into the whole thing and I smiled softly, content to listen. Catching up on what I’d missed in being gone so long.

“Y’all. We need to get back down to my nana’s. It’s getting dark thirty.” I stood, reaching down to grab hold of Barb’s hand, pulling her off the bank of the river. Barb pulled Nancy up and the three of us went running through the wood and back towards my grandmother’s house.

Once we got there, we ordered pizza and went out to the old treehouse we used to play in out back to set up for the night.

And at one point, we wound up playing Truth or Dare.

And naturally, the first dare I was given was to say yes if Steve Harrington asked me out again…

#steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington imagines #steve harrington fic #my writing ; steve harrington #my fanfiction ; steve harrington #my fics ; steve harrington #// y'all. I have.. huge plans for this #i made a whole ass character sheet for Jennie here.

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clansayeed · 4 years ago

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Bound by Circumstance ― Chapter 5: Every Elite

PAIRING: Nik Ryder x trans*M!MC (Taylor Hunter) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Circumstance ⥽

Taylor Hunter (MC) has made it good for himself in New Orleans; turns out moving to a new city fresh out of college to reinvent yourself isn’t as hard as people make it out to be. Things only start to get confusing when he finds himself the target of a malevolent wraith. Good thing someone’s looking out for him though — because without Nighthunter Nik Ryder as his bodyguard he definitely won’t survive long in the twisting darkness of the supernatural underworld he’s tripped into.

Bound by Circumstance and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the book Nightbound and the rest of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].

Note: Circumstance only loosely follows the events and plotline of Nightbound, and features a separate antagonist, different character motivations, and further worldbuilding.

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Circumstance/series tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

When the Pack refuses to help them Taylor and Ryder turn to the lone wolf Cal as a last resort. He’s happy to provide for a simple favor: break into New Orleans’ most exclusive supernatural club to save his little brother from a fate worse than death. Easy, right? If only.

[READ IT ON AO3]

Taylor’s craft is made to be seen. He’s never been one of those types of actors who needs to imagine the entire audience empty to perform at his best. In fact, the larger the crowd the more he feels like they’re a mass of bodies and heartbeats than individuals he’s there to perform for.

The audience swells and becomes one single, solid beating heart — one mind and one capacity for emotion that he’s there to bring out. That’s his talent.

But he has a great respect for those who prefer the silence and solitude to hone their skills. They aren’t performing for anyone but themselves — improving despite the temptation to stay stagnant for their own sakes.

The piano player is one such artist. He’s no performer — no showman. Taylor’s pretty sure the man doesn’t even know he has a sole audience. Yet he keeps playing; rapid keystrokes never faltering to break the miasma of humidity that hangs over them.

He cuts into the world with his playing and knows the spaces left aren’t empty, but rather filled with melody.

Either the song — not one he recognizes — ends or the man simply decides to stop playing. Either way the tune ends abruptly; a life cut short. And he’s so taken by how it resonates in his chest that he does the only logical thing and applauds.

The piano player swings a denim-clad leg over the stool; stares at Taylor like a startled animal.

He probably shouldn’t have announced himself so loudly.

“S-Sorry if I scared you.”

The look he’s given — the threat assessed and deemed non-threatening — is definitely unimpressed.

“Yeah that’s… definitely not what happened.” Like the rest of the wolves the man inhales deeply through his nostrils. Unlike the rest of them he manages a bit of tact and doesn’t noticeably recoil. “Jesus, you smell like…”

“A hot mess, yeah I’ve been told.”

That gets a laugh and the man’s full attention — long legs swinging around away from the piano with elbows resting on jeans that have definitely seen better days. He’s the polar opposite of everything in the trophy room; nothing fancy about him except for his obvious skill with the piano.

It’s kind of nice for someone else to stick out like a sore thumb for a change.

“Nah, that ain’t it — well not all the way.” He sniffs again with his face tilted up into the air and Taylor really really tries not to laugh. Doesn’t know if he’ll somehow offend the entire Pack or something if he does. Ryder really should have given him the low-down…

“You smell like…”

Taylor waits for an answer but none comes. Sees the way the working man’s tan seems to drain from his face and leave behind something strange; almost haunted in his eyes.

Suddenly he really wishes he’d just gone with Ryder.

“Never mind.” Taylor tries to back track — moves to get up and hang out by the bottom of the stairs instead. But there’s a hand that stops just short of grabbing him that makes them both tense up.

Now he looks like the frightened animal.

“I offended you.” It’s not a question.

“What’s there to be offended about?”

The piano player brushes aside one of his mousy brown curls; looks Taylor in the eyes with such a startling honesty that he’s pretty sure his heart stops beating for a second.

“I don’t know,” is the measured reply, “you tell me.”

Well that isn’t happening, so… “Tell me what you were gonna say.”

The wolf leans back — gives them both some space. Shrugs and seems almost sheepish instead.

“A-ha… well I was gonna say you smell like my little brother. Then I realized how weird that sounded since, y’know, I’m pretty sure we’ve never met before. One of those ‘quit while you’re ahead’ things.”

He rubs the back of his head. Shoulders hunched and a measly half-smile that’s disarmingly charming. Sure Taylor’s still confused (even more so now) but it’s better than the assumed alternative.

But he does turn away from the door at the very least.

“Gonna tell me exactly how that works?”

“What d’you mean?”

“How I, uh, smell like your little brother?”

“Well puberty ain’t exactly a science to the nose.”

Puberty. God, he actually laughs. Feels even more ashamed about the obvious sweat stains on his underarms but given where they are it’s not the worst of the multiple stenches in the air.

The man continues on a borderline ramble; “And I’m gonna go ahead and assume most people wouldn’t want to be compared to a pre-pubescent teenager, you know? So then I really didn’t wanna say anything.”

It’s the most genuine interaction he’s had since all of this began — and he didn’t know how much he needed it until now. Ivy, Garrus, Krom; they were all so so great but they loved talking about it all; loved delving into the things weird and strange that Taylor was still trying to wrap his head around.

But sniffing put aside there’s nothing more casual than not knowing what to say in front of a cute guy. Talk about your ordinary problems.

“Cal — by the way — Cal Lowell.”

Taylor takes Cal’s offered hand in that usual way — pressing just a little too hard to affirm his masculinity that he’s so often okay with shrugging away from the surface. It’s how men — and Southern men especially — interact. He’s kind of an expert on the matter.

But Cal’s grip is stronger than other men. Something Taylor just accepts along with the almost sizzling heat of his body radiating from just the palm. Must be a werewolf thing.

“Taylor Hunter.”

“Who brought you along for the party, Taylor?”

Man it’s nice to hear his name instead of ‘kid.’ “Oh, actually —”

His reply is drowned out by the sudden slam of a door above them; followed by thundering footsteps and shouts that were quickly becoming not-so-muffled.

“I knew you were stupid, Ryder, but if you think I’m just gonna push all you done aside and let you come onto my territory demandin’ favors you’ve got less brain in ya than I thought!”

“Christ, Kristof, tuck your damn tail and listen to me, will ya?!”

Cal squeezes a little too hard — makes Taylor yank his hand away. But when he goes to ask the guy what the hell it looks like he’s staring straight through him.

“Shit,” hisses Cal under his breath; and swerves around Taylor rather than pushing him aside to join the argument quickly approaching them.

The man who must be Kristof is hairy. That’s all Taylor can really think of him at first glance. He’s tall but not Krom-level of tall (his new measurement standard) and wide-set in the shoulders with muscle and scars both old and new criss-crossing one another down his exposed arms.

Add a little white to his bushy beard and he could be a budget-mall Santa, Taylor thinks.

Then he catches Ryder leaping down the steps two at a time to catch up.

“If you weren’t gonna hear me out then why agree to meet with me in the first place?” snaps the Nighthunter; teeth grit and knuckles white on the banister.

He’s got height on Kristof, being a few steps higher and all, but he might as well be facing down a charging bull with the way the Pack Alpha rounds on him in red-faced fury.

“Figured it was about time you apologized for what you did to poor Jimbo,” and the fact he isn’t shouting definitely dials the tension up to eleven, “but what’s a lit’le more blood on yer hands?”

Taylor doesn’t have to ask who ‘poor Jimbo’ was. Can get enough from the context. And while he doesn’t want to get involved in something that was before he came along he’s be remiss if he didn’t feel uneasy at the thought of his bodyguard as a killer.

But didn’t that mean he’d kill to keep Taylor safe?

Ryder recoils enough for Kristof to gain the advantage; come up a step so they’re eye-to-eye.

“Don’t you gimme that fake remorse. Not in my home. Ain’t a word in Jimbo’s mem’ry — ‘stead you waltz up in here demandin’ favors?! When you ain’t even got the balls —!”

“Whoa whoa — hey!”

Cal realizes it’s a bad move just a moment too late. Octavia settles her grip on the second floor railing and looks down with a jaw set and proverbial hackles raised. But that’s nothing compared to how Kristof looks at him — goes from red to purple in the face at the mere sight of Cal.

“You stay outta this, boy.”

“Kristof — I just think —”

His reaction has to be purely werewolf. Something real wolves can’t imitate but humans could never understand. Keeps Taylor enraptured as he starts to realize he’s been thinking about them all wrong; that there is no place where the man ends and the wolf begins — but rather that they’re one in the same.

Kristof’s muscles ripple under thick skin. Something shifts on the stale air like a breeze and in less time than it takes a heart to beat Cal’s backing down with his head to the floor.

Baring the back of his neck.

He’s given Kristof an inch and the Alpha takes a mile. Advances a step just to make sure Cal backs off in a strange and unspoken dance.

“I’d say given your predicament, Lowell, challengin’ your Alpha is the last thing you wanna be doin’.”

Cal doesn’t have to say anything to agree. Even when he raises his head he won’t — or can’t — meet Kristof’s eyes.

Before he does something (else) stupid, Taylor grabs the cuff of Cal’s flannel and pulls him back.

“Best you and your pup leave now, Ryder,” Octavia calls from above, “before you overstay your welcome.”

And Nik, literally a dumbass, looks like he’s about to argue. “Ryder,” Taylor calls — practically pleads, “let’s just go. We’ll find what we need somewhere else.” That doesn’t even matter, he wants to say, but we’re not safe here anymore.

It takes him a second to move around the wall of tension named Kristof; looks like he’s about to call the Alpha out on the power move until Taylor manages to grab hold of him, too, and makes it easy on them both.

Kristof stands silent save his breathing — husky, heavy breaths that fill his lungs and puff out his chest.

“Show ‘em out, Lowell.” Octavia calls when the three of them are already halfway to the front of the cabin. “Then go for a run — clear ya head.”

Not like they’ve already forgotten the way out but it is what it is; a way to diffuse the situation. Judging by the looks of things it’s a role Octavia plays quite often.

Cal’s brought them all the way to the pergola at the property entrance before he finally seems to calm down enough to speak. Looks at Taylor with an apologetic gaze.

“Thanks for that — gettin’ me outta there.”

“Wasn’t any trouble,” though he does throw a look back to Ryder; already busy on his phone and taking out his frustration with every punch to the keys, “thanks for trying to help. I figured out he had history with, uh, the pack, but…”

Cal nods. “Guess you’ve just met him, then?”

“How’d you know?”

“Ryder’s a bit infamous around New Orleans.”

“For being a Nighthunter?”

“For being a dick about being a Nighthunter.”

Like he’s psychic, Ryder barks for Taylor not a moment later; “Come on, kid! We gotta get back to the Shift. It’s gonna be a steep price to pay but Ivy thinks she can get what we need.”

“Coming!” He calls — offers Cal what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “You gonna be okay?”

“Yeah, might go for that run…”

But there’s a distracted distance in his reply. He watches Cal’s focus flicker between him and Ryder behind. “‘Get what you need,’ what’s that mean? You needed somethin’ from Kristof?”

“Oh — yeah. We’re putting together a protection spell I guess.”

“Then you came here for Hunter’s Sage.”

It’s enough to catch Ryder’s ear and haul him over to their conversation. Not that he looks at Cal with any less suspicion but it seems to be a mutual thing.

“What d’you know about Hunter’s Sage?”

“I know it’s a standard ingredient for protection magic,” answers the werewolf, “and I also know it’s one of the few things the Pack keeps locked up tight. Whoever your friend is sayin’ they’ve got access to some — it can’t be local. And we both know if that stuff ain’t fresh your spell’ll be about as protective as a house pet.”

Ryder’s teeth grind audibly. “I’ve seen my share of scary pets.”

“But do you really wanna take that chance?”

Judging by the way he looks at Taylor; Cal wants to help. Might even know a way to do so — but if it means going against his Alpha…

“I don’t want to risk getting you in more trouble,” Taylor says, “especially after what happened back there.”

“Ain’t a risk if there’s a big enough reward.”

And much to Taylor’s surprise — and Ryder’s lack thereof — Cal gives a curt nod. “If I wasn’t in the situation I’m in… I’d offer it to you for the sake of keeping the peace. The Lowell’s have always been in good with the Alpha — he’d huff and puff for a few weeks but eventually forget about it.

“But that ain’t the case at the moment. So if you’re desperate enough for the Sage I’m more than willing to provide it as a payment.”

The hunter and the wolf mirror one another; puff out their chests and cross their arms tight. The fragility of their combined masculinity is so thick Taylor’s at risk of choking on it.

“All right — I’ll bite,” Ryder quirks a brow, “‘payment’ for what?”

Even though the Nighthunter would be the one doing said job it’s Taylor that Cal turns to. The nearest torch flame reflects like a burning passion in his eyes.

“Payment for rescuing my little brother before Kristof has him killed.”

The door is already open on Cal’s side and that’s the one closest to the curb; so it’s logical for Taylor to follow the tall werewolf out of the cab instead of joining Nik in the middle of the street.

So why does it look like for a brief second Ryder’s irritated that he didn’t?

But the look fades away; goes through Ryder’s barely-expressive version of the five stages of grief as he sees where Cal’s had the cab take them.

“You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me.”

Cal isn’t kidding anyone. “Now you see what I mean.”

From Taylor’s vague mental memory of those first tours he took of the new city he called home they have to be somewhere in the Upper Garden District. Usually the houses are closer together — though no less grand — but the place they’ve been dropped off in front of has its own lot cleared. As if to heighten its importance.

Or its value.

A roundabout of freshly-paved drive circles a fountain made of black iron. Lights reflect on the water and change from the soft yellow of liquid sunlight to deep emerald green and a blue he’s only seen in pictures of the ocean on a cloudless day.

The manor is no less splendid, either. Filled with the old-world charm of New Orleans; her vines of ivy climbing and spreading fingers of foliage across the vast wings and around windows both large and small. But there’s nothing run-down about it. This place is well-kept; well-loved, well-visited.

“All right — run this whole thing by me again now that I know what shit we’re steppin’ in.” Ryder demands without taking his eyes off of the estate.

Cal, on the other hand, can’t bear to look at it.

“Donny’s a good kid. Came into his wolf on time just like everyone else. He’s a whiz at math, too. Maybe that’s why he thought he could gamble — like there aren’t any card-counting hexes on any place of Smoke’s.

“He was just tryin’ to help. If I hadn’t lost my job at the building site…”

When he trails off Taylor reaches out and rests what he hopes is a reassuring hand on a broad shoulder. Cal leans into it — throws back a small but no-less grateful smile. It’s enough for him to continue.

“Whatever happened, he got in deep. One night he’s digging around the trailer for every spare nickel and dime and the next day he’s not waiting for me outside school like he’s supposed to. I went to Kristof about it and — y’know, he’s a good Alpha temper aside; takes care of his Pack — and he put some feelers out. Only they led him to…”

“They led him to Persephone.” answers Ryder, who gives a jerk of his head to the glamorous mansion.

Taylor looks between them. “Anyone gonna explain what Persephone is?”

The gesture Ryder gives at the building isn’t subtle. Nor is the look Taylor gives him because no, really?

“It’s a high-end club for high-end supernatural folks.” Cal tries only to end up getting corrected anyway.

“It’s the club, more like. You can only get in with a signet membership and people have killed for less in this town. It’s no place we wanna go sticking our noses.”

Taylor frowns. “But Donny…”

“Whatever debts he racked up ain’t somethin’ that can go away just as easy. The people who own this place aren’t exactly known for their forgiving nature.”

Beside Taylor, Cal’s knuckles crack one by one as he balls his hands into fists. Ryder shrugs. “I’m just sayin’. It’s a lost cause.”

“Then so will gettin’ your hands on any Hunter’s Sage.” Cal immediately regrets his words when he sees the way Taylor’s face falls; tries to backtrack. “I don’t — I want to help — really I do. You seem like a good guy, Taylor, and if I can help…”

But Taylor isn’t mad at Cal. “I get it. Your family comes first.”

“Exactly.”

“So why’s Kristof gonna maul him?” Ryder asks.

“For mixing the Pack up with the Smoke? He’d put him down just to make an example out of him for anyone else who might try something similar. It’ll be hard to do but being the Alpha isn’t an easy job. Even if he doesn’t kill him outright, the thought of Donny being banished…

“He’s the only family I have.” He’s trying not to seem vulnerable as best he can but his eyes betray him.

Never has there been a more apt time to think the expression looking like a kicked puppy.

Sage or no Sage, Taylor wants to help. Doesn’t know a thing about what he’s getting himself into but when has he ever made consciously smart choices? Ryder, however, seems to be heavily weighing on the pros and cons.

Well, fuck that.

“So how do we get in?”

Nik scoffs in disbelief. “Was I talking to myself when I said —”

“I’m sorry,” he rounds on his bodyguard with hands on hips and spite in his soul, “did I suggest walking in the front door? No. But there’s gotta be another way in. There always is in the movies.”

“This ain’t a movie, Taylor.”

“Well maybe we should start pretending it is.”

At least Cal looks like he’s starting to get on board with the plan. “What did you have in mind?”

It’s like one of the fountain’s color-changing lights sparks atop his head.

As someone who has never seen a goblin before, Taylor would like to point out what he’s keeping his cool very well. Like, well enough to earn whatever crazy non-alcoholic mixology madness Garrus is no doubt cooking up in his and Ryder’s absence.

Because freaking out wouldn’t help them, now would it? And they could really use all the help they can get.

“I didn’t send out no order for some Bayou filth,” the goblin woman continues on her rampage of scorn, “you must have the wrong address! As if I would serve my guests anything that grew in a local swamp.”

Taylor adjusts the small stack of crates he’s carrying — feels his fingers go numb and quickly moves them back to their aching spot. Better in pain than no feeling at all.

He’s definitely more than a little jealous at how easy Ryder makes his haul look.

“I’ll try not to take offense, ma’am, and for both our sakes I won’t go mentionin’ to my Alpha your little snipe and question of the quality of our goods. But how about you cut a guy some slack? I’m just the delivery.”

Cal’s either done this before or is a natural; lets his accent draw out his words while he oh-so-casually leans in the doorway of Persephone’s delivery entrance. He’s two heads taller than the goblin head chef but that doesn’t seem to bother her in the slightest.

She curls back a green lip in a snarl; reveals a row of large yellow teeth like blunted knives.

“Oh, you’re wantin’ me to cut you slack? When you’re the mangy hound keeping me from finishing a very specific order for a very specific client?”

“Well I can’t go about the rest of my drop-offs until this one is done!”

“And how is that my problem?!”

“I’m making it your problem!” There’s definitely no pretending the ire in Cal’s voice is fake. He pulls a random piece of folded paper out of his back pocket and starts waving it around without actually unfurling it — conveniently right out of the chef’s gnarled green grasp.

“I got a dozen more orders to fill tonight and no room on my truck —” —Cal jerks his thumb behind them but stays right in the goblin’s way; keeps her from looking for what definitely isn’t there— “— for this crap! So let me and my guys drop it off and we’re done!”

“I told you I won’t serve —”

“Christ, woman! You don’t gotta serve it; hell, burn the shit for all I care! I don’t get paid unless I got an empty truck at the end of my route. And you sure as hell ain’t gettin’ paid while arguin’ with me.”

She opens her mouth to argue but the sound of breaking glass and porcelain is the only thing that comes out. Makes her whirl around with a high-pitched and gravelly shriek as she takes in whatever mess as been made.

“You rotten-toothed fools,” she howls, “not the Ming china!”

Thank god for the broken Ming china because any longer arguing and they might have drawn unwanted attention. Well, more unwanted attention.

It’s enough of a tragedy to get the head chef to rush inside without bothering to scold them, send them off, or even shut the door properly. Easily propped open with Cal’s boot.

He holds a hand back to keep them from rushing in — Taylor’s about to very loudly protest when the noise inside starts growing into a full-blown cacophony.

“Now!” He shoulders open the door with just enough space for Nik and Taylor to rush inside, then keeps it from slamming shut as he comes in last.

Only now Taylor’s plan is done and he’s at a loss for how to go forward. Until Cal practically shoves him to follow Ryder along a side hallway out of the kitchen staff — and head chef’s — sights.

Lucky for them that must have been some expensive china because staff of all types, sizes, and goblin-shades rush by them without so much as a ‘hello.’ They test every door in the hallway until they find one unlocked and dump their cargo haul without ceremony.

“So we’re in,” Cal huffs, no doubt heart beating with the same thrill of almost-not-quite-caught that Taylor’s is, “now what?”

“Now we find your brother and get the hell out.”

When he finally catches his breath the werewolf takes a deep breath in — nostrils flaring and eyelids fluttering closed. His nose crinkles slightly, catches the scent of something foul.

“What, what is it?” asks Taylor with worry.

Cal shakes his head. “Someone burned a catfish back there.”

“Focus, Fido.”

If he wants to bite Nik’s head off for the comment he holds it in well. So Taylor smacks a leather-clad arm for him.

They wait — and wait — and wait… but Cal’s shoulders sag in frustration and disappointment. “It’s no use. The kitchen’s messing with my nose. I thought I had him, but…”

“So we just go further in, right?” Taylor grabs for the door but a broad palm stops him in his tracks. Ryder glowers down at him.

“No. We wait until he can catch the scent from back here.”

“What? That’s stupid!”

“Yeah, about as stupid as going out into the ranks of Persephone during Mardi Gras. No signets, no threads; we’ll stick out like sore thumbs.”

“Some of us more than others…” mutters Cal under his breath; not quite soft enough for Nik not to hear.

“We’re not turning back.” And just in case the hunter might be in doubt Taylor yanks the door open; sends him staggering. “Or I’m not, at the very least. So are you gonna come be my body guard or what?”

Not that he gives Nik the chance to answer. Turns on his heel and marches straight out in all his raggedy un-refined glory with Cal the flannel-clad werewolf at his heels.

“I can’t believe this is the job that’s gonna kill me.” Mutters the Nighthunter under his breath — just before he jogs to catch up.

So far everything he’s come into contact with in this strange new world hasn’t been on the best side of friendly. Why should Persephone be any different?

And for the first time Taylor isn’t let down in the slightest. Not when they manage to slip their way out of the back rooms and onto what must be the main show floor.

The ceiling is all four stories high with a large glowing chandelier shining iridescent gemstone reflections down on every inch of the place. Two winding staircases branch off in different directions with velvet-encased landings on every floor.

All around them bodies lean on railings and various balconies. The floor is an addict’s paradise; no matter the vice. A large circular bar rotates in the middle of the sunken floor while around them dice roll, chips are collected, and cards are thrown down to mixed reactions of cheers and disappointed groans.

But it’s not even the physics-breaking space that’s the most interesting part. It’s the people. Well — if some of them are people, that is.

The collective net worth of the civilized world (and then some) has to be gathered on the diamond-studded (actual. fucking. diamonds) carpeting. They titter along, absorbed in their drinks and wealth and company just like Taylor would expect of an entirely mortal clientele.

Some of them look mortal, too — though he has to remind himself that might not hold true. A woman with bright blue scales for skin brushes past with a giggled “pardonnez-moi!” as she heads to catch a waitress and her tray of mini-somethings.

Some have tails, others talons, and just when he thinks he’s seen it all a bellowing call comes from the top floor and he looks up to see a snow-white swan dive off of the landing and turn into an obsidian crow mid-flight without so much as a fallen feather.

There’s a sudden warmth a this back and Taylor jumps, ready to shove off the offender, only to find Ryder there; leading him through the crowd to a shadowed corner of booths with curtains strung around them.

“You feeling okay?” He asks under his breath.

Taylor nods. “Yeah, why?”

He inches in the round booth until Ryder can comfortably sit beside him — finds himself looking around for any sign of Cal until he spots the wolf’s messy curls shadowing a group of fanged flappers on their way to the floor bar.

The most surprising sight — even with all the magic and delight — is turning to see Nik with concern creased in his forehead. The wrinkles overlapping on his scar awkwardly.

“Ryder, what’s wrong?”

“All this ain’t givin’ you a head-splitting ache?”

It’s such an out-there question — actually succeeds to pull Taylor’s attention away from each new bewildering sight to the very-average and very-mortal face of the man before him.

The bravado’s gone from Nik’s voice; replaced instead with… with some sort of sincerity he’s not used to. Not from him, anyway. Even back at the Graveyard Shift he still found a way to make light of Taylor’s situation and the hard, dark truths he had to learn.

If he didn’t know better, Taylor would dare say the man in front of him isn’t Nik Ryder. But because he hesitates in answering, because he instead chooses to take in the sight before him rather than brush it aside, that openness closes up real quick.

Which version was the real Nik Ryder? Now he wants to know.

“No,” and he places a hand over Ryder’s arm on the tabletop to keep him from letting that be all that’s said, “it’s like you said back at Garrus’, you know? I stopped resisting it and now… I don’t see anything but the truth. Like there isn’t a glamour at all.”

It makes Nik give a soft — almost fond — chuckle.

“‘Course there ain’t. Not in here at least. I may hate the lot of ‘em for their vulgar hoards of cash but even I’ll admit they deserve a place not to have to hide.”

“I didn’t think of it that way.” And when he looks back out to the revelry it’s with a different eye.

After all he knows exactly how hard it is to go through life wearing a mask that can’t even come close to capturing the person underneath it.

“Doesn’t stop the majority of ‘em from being assholes, though.”

“When did Ryder start referring to himself in the third person?”

Cal slides in on Taylor’s opposite side, cocks a half-smirk at Ryder who only manages a grumbled and incoherent (probably for everyone’s benefit) response.

“Did you catch Donny’s scent by the bar?”

The wolf shakes his head no. Pinches the bridge of his nose with eyes squeezed shut. “For a second it was there — like he was right beside me — but just like that it was lost in the herbs they got in the drinks.”

“At least we know that means he’s here.”

“Or was, at least.”

Cal looks up when Taylor nudges his side. “Come on, don’t think like that now. We’re on the right path and, hey, knock on wood but no one’s kicking us out just yet.”

“They should with duds like those. Or didn’t you see the dress code on your way in?”

Nik tenses up beside him; mutters “shit” under his breath but doesn’t have to look around like his companions for the owner of the lilting laugh.

She emerges from around the drawn-back velvet curtain with dark blue gems for skin. No — it takes Taylor a second to realize the dress she wears just clings to her in all the right places before cascading down her legs like a waterfall.

She brushes her hair aside, lets it reveal her face as if parted from a violet veil. There’s nothing inherently inhuman about the woman at first glance — but if anyone could be the definition of deceiving looks its her.

From the looks of things she’s been taking them in with the same level of scrutiny. All but Ryder, whom she doesn’t even spare a passing glance. He leans back in the booth — suddenly far more at ease — and throws an arm around the back.

Her eyes linger on the worn state of Cal’s flannel collar and the wrinkles in Taylor’s tee. “Though I can’t tell if it’s just sad or actually a little genius on your part. One sore thumb is a nuisance but three, well… that’s a statement.”

Ryder’s brow twitches. “What can I say? I live to disappoint.”

“If only you were as good at your job as you were at getting dirt on everything you own.”

“Now that’s funny — since I seem to recall you singin’ my praises when you were butterin’ me up on the Raines job.”

“Compliments get pretty girls like me everything and everywhere, Nik. Or have you forgotten that you did come help me?”

“Problem with you Kathy,” Ryder starts up; looks like he’s ready to tell their new friend all the problems he has with her there and then, “is you always say you’ll split the fare after the job’s done but you’re too busy chasin’ your next lead to actually do it.”

‘Kathy’ rolls her eyes and turns to leave — no, not leave — to flag down a server carrying a full tray of champagne flutes filled with fuzzy pink liquid. “You can just leave that here, thanks.” She croons and waves the girl off like it never happened.

“I’ll admit I got… caught up in a few things once we split. But I give you my word the money will be in your account by tomorrow.”

The look Nik gives her is dangerously shy of ‘why wait, let’s go now’ but he doesn’t. Taylor tries to be an optimist and pretends it’s for Cal’s sake — for his little brother’s sake.

“You’re lucky I’m already on a job,” growls the hunter instead, “or I’d be pushin’ it.”

“And you’d end up waiting regardless. You’re not the only one working here.”

“I don’t even wanna ask what job you’re on in that getup.”

“It’s called blending in.”

The likelihood of their bickering lasting until the end of time, if left to their own devices, is a little too high. They have things to do — a little brother to find. And Cal’s getting antsy in his seat.

“Ryder,” Taylor tries — and fails — to be subtle; what with the wide eyes and the way he keeps jerking his head towards the depths of the lobby, “we gotta. get. going.”

Nik actually waves him off. “Yeah yeah, just a minute.” Then to Kathy; “I can’t figure why it’s takin’ you so long when you’re the one who ended up with the better end of the bargain.”

She scoffs — stops grabbing for one of the drinks on the tray and fixes him with a glare that’s gonna start Trouble with a capital ‘T.’

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Ryder puffs out his chest, huffs through his nostrils. “Just don’t think you gettin’ Raines to do you a favor measures up when I did most of the work.”

“That’s debatable, from what Kathy’s told me.”

The voice from behind them wouldn’t be nearly as startling if it didn’t come from the woman’s open mouth in a deep baritone.

Their new guest is a tall man in sleek black finery. The silk of his shirt ripples like liquid and when he walks around them to Katherine’s side there’s the tinkle of metal on the tile floor; the silver tips of his shoes make him decorated — quite literally — head to toe.

He crooks his elbow and Katherine slides herself onto his arm like she’s just another piece to his fancy ensemble. “Took you long enough…” She mutters aside.

Instead of apologizing, though, the stranger focuses on the ragtag trio in the booth. “Of course we all know there’s three sides to every argument: his, hers,” he looks away from the bristling Nighthunters to stare at Taylor; to penetrate his soul with bright red eyes, “and the truth.”

Definitely not mortal.

Everything about the way Ryder addresses the man screams recognition. Important, but not important enough to warrant an introduction.

“Cadence,” he almost sneers the name, “didn’t figure Persephone to be your kind of scene.” I thought you were better than that; that’s what hangs unsaid in the air packed to the brim with tension.

Taylor’s eyes travel down to the taller man’s hand where, indeed, the same kind of heavy golden ring rests on his finger. Cadence notices and slyly tucks his hand into his trouser pockets; as if he’s embarrassed by it. When they lock eyes again the red is gone; replaced by dark honey.

But if Nik’s remark is a trap, he doesn’t fall into it. Instead does the opposite of his companion and regards Taylor and Cal like they’re actually a part of the conversation.

“I’ll assume you didn’t come in through the front door; kudos to whatever you did that worked.”

“It was surprisingly easy.” Taylor replies.

“And dangerous — but some things are worth the danger.” The man looks down his nose — at his height it’s impossible to do anything else — and squeezes Kathy’s arm. “We should get going. We need to catch Isadora before the show starts.”

She nods curtly; all business now. Throws a look back to her—friend? rival?—Ryder.

“Well it’s been fun, but —”

“‘Isadora’ as in Izzy-Isadora? Carlo’s daughter?”

Kathy’s not the only one taken by surprise at Cal’s interruption but she does seem to notice him for the first time.

“Maybe.”

“Ain’t no other Isadora we’d know by name.” Nik cuts in.

“What’s it to you?”

“Her dad just died — what’s she doin’ here?”

Cal raises a good point. Leaves the collective group in an awkward silence. The gears turning in Kathy’s head are near visible — like the steam coming out of her ears.

“She’s here to pay off her father’s debt to the Smoke.” Cadence finally answers. Judging by the way Kathy looks at him, too, he’s not lying. “What?” He asks her in defense of her silent accusation. “What did I say?”

Only Nik acts like he’s just been shot. “Wait — Smoke’s here tonight?”

“No — Katherine stop — but her collector is. He’s leading the matches in the underground.”

“What matches?”

“The cage fights.”

Cal makes a desperate, choking noise beside him and Taylor immediately tries to see what he can do — he doesn’t have to know much about this new world to understand what they’re talking about. ‘Cage fights’ is a pretty universal term with only so many interpretations.

“That’s where they have Donny.”

Taylor doesn’t have to question him. Not with how sure, how terrified he sounds. And it makes sense — mobsters are mobsters.

“Well… we’ll just be going now…” Katherine starts tugging her partner away — actually has to tug since he seems suddenly taken by Cal’s reaction. “Cade — come on.”

Nik leans over Taylor — is personal space a concept to anyone around here? — to look Cal dead in the eyes.

“You sure?”

“Has to be.” Cal chokes out.

“Would you like to join us?”

Katherine stops tugging only to pick her jaw up off the ground. Even Taylor’s surprised by the man’s abrupt invitation. Checks his face again for any sign of cruel teasing but there’s nothing in those golden eyes.

Nothing but curiosity. Not even sincerity. He wants to see what will happen.

“Bad idea, Cadence.” Katherine warns.

“Nope!” Taylor’s shoved by Ryder — accidentally shoves the still sheet-white Cal as a result — out of the booth in haste. “Can’t take it back now.”

The Nighthunter adjusts his shirt and coat sleeves like he’s wearing something bought on the same rack as every other bespoke suit and outfit there. When he speaks he’s looking straight at Katherine — now fuming — and has to be getting his kicks judging by the look on her face.

“We’d love to.”

All it takes is a gesture for their new guides to turn and start walking. Too far ahead and too fast for Taylor to catch any of the whispers Katherine hisses under her breath. But he’s more focused on Cal.

“We’re gonna find him — don’t worry.”

Cal swallows audibly.

“Cage fights, Taylor. They’ve got him in cage fights.”

“And we’re gonna get him out before anything happens.”

Nik passes them; offers him grim two cents.

“If it ain’t happened already.”

#nightbound #playchoices #playchoices fanfiction #nik ryder x mc #cal lowell #nik ryder #katherine nightbound #oc: cadence smith #nightbound mc #mc: taylor hunter #oblv: bound by circumstance #oblv: new chapter #; my fics

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rinusagitora · 7 years ago

Text

Gems flow in her bloodstream.

Fandom: BLEACH

Characters: Toushirou Hitsugaya, Rangiku Matsumoto, Momo Hinamori, Shuuhei Hisagi

Pairings: HitsuKarin-centric, minor Rannao, minor ShuuHina, platonic HitsuMatsu

Words: 2,000+

Summary: Modern AU, movie star!Karin, trans!Karin. WARNINGS-- depression and horror themes. Gift fic for @gloomyplum for HitsuKarin Secret Santa 2017. Toushirou, famous novelist, is having his latest and most popular horror trilogy adapted into a movie. Unfortunately, the lead lady is hot.

FFN | AO3 | NEXT

His eyes peeled open, jostled from his slumber, to Rangiku as she smoothed her blonde hair. “Nap’s over, Hitsugaya-kun. We just landed.”

“Motherfucker.” He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. “These flights are gonna be the fucking death of me.”

“That’d be a lame way to kick the bucket. Your novels portray such artistic deaths. Wouldn’t you be embarrassed to die of jet lag?” she teased.

“Hence my complaining.” He popped his neck. “Do you think my sister will forgive me if we detour for some fucking coffee? I may die otherwise.”

“She has a press at home, doesn’t she?”

“She had one of those coffee bars-- two, in fact. Both defective in the space of a year. She just goes to the Starbucks by her place now.”

“Send her a text, then. You have manners.”

“Yes, mom,” he snort as he switched his phone off airplane mode. “It’s a quadruple shot night, though. I’m not looking forward to tomorrow.”

“Maybe for you. I’m going home to my girlfriend and sleeping for the first time ever, so you’re gonna have to catch a cab. As much as I love you, I miss my girl.”

“That’s fine. Tell Ise I say hello and look forward to seeing her once we start filming.”

“Aren’t you sweet? Will do, Hitsugaya-kun. See you in the morning.” Rangiku grabbed his elbow and kissed his cheeks, ever affectionate. He couldn’t help but smile to himself. She had been his publishing agent for so long she was almost his friend. What was once an annoying gesture made him smile even as exhausted and overall standoffish as he was.

“Get some sleep, Matsumoto,” he told her.

He dragged his luggage behind him and hailed a cab from the entrance. It was only four o’clock in Shibuya, but he swore it was four in the morning. His tour in the Americas fucked over his circadian clock. He, ever a creature of habit, took days to adapt to a new routine, even if it was a return to a year’s-old routine.

In the backseat of a cab with his luggage in the seat beside him, he sighed. “The Kamiyo high rise apartments,” he told the driver.

“Fancy,” the driver replied. “Are you from Shibuya?”

“I live here, if that’s what you mean. I moved to be closer to my sister and work. She owns the Hisagi Gothic Art Gallery with her husband.”

“Oh, hey, you wrote that Haruka trilogy, didn’t you? I knew I recognized you. My wife raves about those books. All that gore makes me kinda queasy, though.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, that’s the point. I love writing nasty stuff.”

“She adores the ghost chick too. My wife normally only likes male characters, but she tells me Haruka was captivating. Congratulations on your movie, by the way. I watched Funeral Home and it was fantastic. I’d love to read it if I didn’t work so much. Got a baby on the way, you know.”

His heart slammed like an emergency brake in his chest. “Congratulations,” he said.

“Shit, my wife is gonna dig this when I tell her, though. She loves your books.”

He smiled. Hearing from his fans in an everyday setting was one of his favorite parts of being a writer. He wasn’t so popular he was swarmed when he was just out and about, but he was recognized just around in coffee shops and bookstores. He didn’t mind so long as he wasn’t bugged at the grocer’s or the mall.

With his fare paid, he walked inside and rang his sister’s suite from the ground floor. He was soon welcomed into an elevator and then his sister’s spacious suite.

Momo giggled, her lips pulled into a wide, ruby-colored smile as she jogged over to him barefoot and wrapped him in a hug.

“Welcome,” Momo cooed with a squeeze to his neck. He rubbed his hand over her chiffon top and kissed her cheek like Rangiku kissed him. “It’s good to see you again. I missed you so.”

“Hey,” Shuuhei cheered from their kitchen.

“You’re all looking splendid,” he told them, shoes and bag left in the genkan. “I come with gifts! Do you guys want them now or after we do some catching up?”

“After dinner. I want to hear all about your time in the States.” Momo pulled him onto the couched and curled her dress and her legs under her.

His sister so easily made him smile, however exhausted he may be. “My god, it was eventful,” he told her. “My English is still shit and I hate road trips, but I got to see a couple of art galleries in New York and a gothic-inspired independent fashion show in Los Angeles which was superb. I got to try a lot of good food. There’s nothing more to say other than Kyouraku driving his assistant up a wall.”

“Ugh, you’re so boring.” She reached into her clutch on the table and pulled out a cigarette. “Tell me about the places you ate at.”

He laughed. “Well, it was either diners or Michelin star establishments where I had to wear a fucking suit and tie. I really liked this one diner outside of Orlando, Florida. It was towards the end of the tour and I was fucking beat. Their cheeseburgers and milkshakes were to die for. So juicy, so cheesy. Just thinking about it makes my mouth water.”

“And those art galleries?”

“I saw one in Houston, another in Seattle, and the final one in DC. None of them were gothic or otherwise related to horror. My favorite was the abstract gallery in Seattle. The artists featured expertly demonstrated feelings and events through color and shape. There was this installation where there were these glow in the dark strings in this dark hallway. I think it was meant to express the feeling of MDMA at a rave, or something. I loved it.”

Momo cackled. “Oh god. It sounds like you had fun. What was the fashion show like?”

“Fantastic! I sat next to Marilyn Manson. We talked a little before the show began. Apparently, he’s read my novels and had wonderful insights on Bear Claw. My English is shit but he was understanding and promised I was understandable.”

“Marilyn Manson?”

“He’s a popular metal musician in the United States. It’s atmospheric and angry. I adore it. I listened to his newest album while writing the Haruka trilogy.”

Momo hummed. “Well, I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.”

“Here you guys go.” Shuuhei deposited three plates on the table they surrounded. Steam wafted up to his nose, sausage and potatoes and oregano. He grinned.

“It smells amazing. Thanks Shuuhei.”

His brother-in-law winked with a click of his tongue. “No trouble. It’s great you have you back, Toushirou. It just doesn’t feel right when you’re not in Shibuya.” Shuuhei kissed Momo’s cheek. “How’s that new book going, by the way? I saw an outline pulled up on your laptop the last time we were over.”

He laughed. “Pretty good. I’m finished world-building for now, I’m working on the cast now. More ghosts, more grunge, violence galore.”

“Look at you, corrupting our children with your books.” Shuuhei and he laughed.

“By the way, how’s your book going?” he asked.

“Oh god. I’m either writing at lightning speed or distracted by my wife,” he answered. “I’ve been researching interrogation approaches so that’s a bit of a speed bump. Can’t read and write at the same time, after all. Nonetheless, progress is progress, as Rangiku-san tells me.”

“Don’t you have researchers to help you out with that?”

“Technically. I’ve always preferred doing things myself, however. I was always taught to do as much as I can and then ask for help when there’s nothing more.”

“I suppose you’re right. Progress is progress either way. That’s the most important thing to remember, especially about writing. Research, writing, working with the publishing company, et cetera. Matsumoto tells me that it’s like a circle filling in at stages rather than a linear progression. She’s wise that way.”

“Rangiku-san is wise in many ways,” Momo smiled. “She’s good to us, especially you, ‘Shirou-chan. I hope you treat her well.”

“I try. She likes making her life difficult, I think, since she’s so opposed to actually doing her job.”

Momo and Shuuhei snort in unison. “Yeah,” Momo replied, “that sounds like our Rangiku-san. But you know what I mean.”

“I do,” he smiled.

He sighed, plate finished, and then stood. “Enough chat. I have gifts! Let me fetch my bag.”

Momo’s sigh followed him to the genkan. He hooked his arm through his rolling luggage, not brave enough to risk Momo’s anger for ruining her flooring. Shuuhei had cleared their plates and he set his bag down. Moments later, he presented Momo a velvet box.

“To start off, for my lovely sister.” He opened the box to a jeweled collar, the color of Momo’s eyes, chocolate diamonds draped with milky pearls. “I thought of you the second I saw this.”

Momo’s eyes bugged out of her skull. “Holy shit….” Gingerly, she lifted the collar out of the box. Shuuhei clasped it behind her. “Toushirou, it’s gorgeous. How did you ever get your hands on this?”

“I have an internationally bestselling trilogy and movie deals. I’m loaded,” he answered.

“Shit,” Momo chuckled, “you spoil me and I don’t ever have anything for you.”

He shrugged. “I don’t mind. You’re my sister. You’re the most beloved person in my life since our grandmother’s passing, I don’t mind giving you nice things. Anyways.” He presented Shuuhei a pair of silver guitar-shaped sleeve cuffs. “For you, my friend.”

“These are nice.” Shuuhei pulled his wrist cuffs to his eyes. “Damn, look at the detail. My publishers are gonna dig these. Thanks so much.”

“No problem at all.”

“Now then,” Momo laughed, “I adore these gifts and I’m sure Shuu does too. I want to hear about your movie deals, though.”

“Obviously, the one for my second book is finished-- thank god. I had to fight tooth and nail for the studio to keep the details and plot to the book. I’m not exactly optimistic about my trilogy’s film adaptation, however. The studio still doesn’t seem to trust my judgement despite my prolificness as a writer. I’m grateful to have Kyouraku directing again, since he’s more open to keeping to my story rather than shooting off with his own, but the company is a pain in the ass.”

“I hope they stick to the book. You’re a very talented writer. You know what you’re doing.”

“Alright,” He slid out of his chair and hugged Momo. “I have an early morning tomorrow. Thanks again for the food, it was delicious.”

“Of course. Don’t be a stranger, now.”

“Of course.”

He called another cab outside. It was silent his ride home. Tours always took a lot out of him, but with the excitement of seeing Momo fading, he was beat. He longed for his plush mattress, his satin sheets, the smell of home.

He sighed as he flipped on the light. He dropped his luggage on the couch, he’d take care of it sometime the next day. He undressed and turned on soft violin music and laid beneath his blankets.

His suite was very open. In terms of music, the acoustics were fantastic. He could turn on the speakers in his kitchen and he could hear it in his room. In the enclosure of his room, the very air seemed to reverberate with melody. His heart felt like the strings the bow slid over.

It crushed his chest like stones.

His home was empty like he. He adored Momo, but they only had so much social energy. Dating took effort he didn’t have the time for. He could barely take care of himself, let alone a pet. He was alone. Even with Momo divorced from Sousuke for years and back in his life, even with Rangiku, he was alone. Ever doomed to be stuck with fame and money and the sound of his keyboard and violins, never to be completed by someone wrapped in his arms.

Tears streamed down his cheeks as he stared wide-eyed at his stucco ceiling. The hollowness of himself and his home made him ache.

#bleach #hitsukarin #toshiro hitsugaya #rangiku matsumoto #momo hinamori #shuhei hisagi #gloomyplum #I'll get the next part up as soon as I got it revised #this ended up a lot longer than I thought it would s weats

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