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10 Innovative Manufacturing Ideas to Transform Your Home

Transforming your home goes beyond mere aesthetics; it’s about integrating modern technologies, sustainable practices, and customized solutions that enhance comfort, functionality, and efficiency. The latest innovations in manufacturing offer numerous ways to elevate your living space, making it smarter, more eco-friendly, and uniquely yours. Here are ten innovative manufacturing ideas to help you transform your home.

1. 3D-Printed Home Décor

3D printing has revolutionized manufacturing, making it possible to create intricate designs and custom-made products with ease. For your home, this means you can access bespoke furniture, unique lighting fixtures, or decorative items that reflect your personal style.

Customized Furniture: Imagine a coffee table designed to perfectly fit your living room or a lamp that mirrors your personal taste. 3D printing allows for precise customization, enabling you to create one-of-a-kind pieces that fit seamlessly into your home.

Sustainability: 3D printing can also be more sustainable than traditional manufacturing methods, as it often uses less material and produces less waste. This makes it an eco-friendly option for homeowners looking to reduce their environmental impact.

2. Smart Home Automation Systems

Smart home technology has been growing rapidly, and manufacturing innovations are at the forefront of this transformation. By integrating smart systems into your home, you can control lighting, climate, security, and entertainment systems from your smartphone or voice command.

Energy Efficiency: Smart thermostats, lighting, and appliances can learn your habits and adjust settings automatically, saving energy and reducing utility bills. For example, smart lighting systems can dim or turn off lights when a room is not in use, or adjust based on the time of day.

Home Security: Advanced manufacturing techniques have led to the development of more sophisticated security systems. From smart door locks to cameras with facial recognition, these systems can provide peace of mind and enhance the safety of your home.

3. Modular Home Additions

Modular construction is an innovative manufacturing approach where homes or home additions are built in sections (modules) in a factory setting, then transported and assembled on-site. This method can significantly reduce construction time and costs.

Flexible Design: Modular construction allows for easy expansion and customization. Whether you’re adding an extra room, a home office, or a granny flat, modular designs can be tailored to your specific needs and preferences.

Sustainability: The controlled environment of a factory setting minimizes waste and optimizes resource use, making modular construction a more sustainable option than traditional on-site building methods.

4. Sustainable Building Materials

The demand for sustainable homes has led to innovations in eco-friendly building materials. These materials not only reduce environmental impact but can also improve the health and comfort of your living space.

Recycled Materials: Manufacturers are now producing high-quality building materials made from recycled content, such as reclaimed wood, recycled metal, and glass. These materials offer the same durability as their traditional counterparts but with a much smaller environmental footprint.

Natural Insulation: Eco-friendly insulation materials, such as sheep’s wool, cork, and cellulose, are gaining popularity. These materials provide excellent thermal insulation, reducing energy costs while being non-toxic and biodegradable.

5. Energy-Efficient Windows and Doors

Windows and doors play a crucial role in your home’s energy efficiency. Advances in manufacturing have led to the development of high-performance windows and doors that help maintain indoor temperatures and reduce energy consumption.

Triple-Glazed Windows: These windows feature three layers of glass with gas-filled spaces in between, offering superior insulation compared to traditional double-glazed windows. They can significantly reduce heat loss in the winter and keep your home cooler in the summer.

Insulated Doors: Modern manufacturing techniques have produced doors with advanced insulation properties. These doors can help prevent drafts, improve energy efficiency, and enhance the overall comfort of your home.

6. Prefab Green Roofs

Green roofs are an innovative way to enhance your home’s sustainability while adding aesthetic value. Prefabricated green roof systems, manufactured off-site and installed on-site, are becoming more popular as they are easier and quicker to install than traditional green roofs.

Environmental Benefits: Green roofs can reduce stormwater runoff, improve air quality, and provide natural insulation, which can lower your home’s energy costs. They also offer a habitat for local wildlife, promoting biodiversity in urban areas.

Aesthetic Appeal: Beyond their environmental benefits, green roofs can transform the look of your home, creating a beautiful, living space that can be enjoyed from inside or outside.

7. Home Solar Panels

Advancements in the manufacturing of solar panels have made them more efficient, affordable, and aesthetically pleasing. Integrating solar panels into your home’s design can reduce your reliance on traditional energy sources and lower your electricity bills.

Integrated Solar Roofing: Newer solar panels are designed to blend seamlessly with your roof, offering a sleek, modern appearance. These panels can provide all the energy your home needs, reducing or even eliminating your electricity bills.

Energy Independence: By generating your own electricity, you can reduce your dependence on the grid and protect yourself from rising energy costs. Solar panels also contribute to reducing your carbon footprint, making your home more sustainable.

8. Smart Lighting Solutions

Manufacturing advancements in smart lighting have created systems that are not only energy-efficient but also enhance the ambiance of your home. These systems allow you to control lighting levels, colors, and schedules via a smartphone or voice command.

Dynamic Lighting: Smart lighting can adjust the color temperature throughout the day to mimic natural light, improving your mood and well-being. For example, cool, bright light in the morning can help you wake up, while warm, dim light in the evening can promote relaxation.

Energy Savings: LED bulbs used in smart lighting systems are more energy-efficient than traditional bulbs, consuming less power and lasting longer. Smart controls can also ensure lights are only on when needed, further reducing energy consumption.

9. Advanced Home Insulation

Insulation is critical for maintaining a comfortable and energy-efficient home. Recent innovations in manufacturing have produced insulation materials that are more effective, eco-friendly, and easier to install.

Spray Foam Insulation: Spray foam expands to fill gaps and cracks, providing an airtight seal that traditional insulation materials can’t match. It offers superior thermal resistance, reducing energy costs and improving indoor comfort.

Aerogel Insulation: Known as “frozen smoke,” aerogel is an ultra-lightweight material with exceptional insulating properties. It’s one of the most effective thermal insulators available, ideal for homeowners looking to maximize energy efficiency.

10. Water-Efficient Fixtures

Innovations in the manufacturing of plumbing fixtures have led to the development of water-saving technologies that reduce water consumption without sacrificing performance.

Low-Flow Faucets and Showerheads: These fixtures use advanced aerators to reduce water flow while maintaining strong water pressure. They can significantly reduce water usage, lowering your water bills and conserving a vital natural resource.

[vancouverkitchenrenovation]

Industrial Kitchen Design Ideas For 2023

If you’re looking for a unique and modern design for your kitchen space, an industrial kitchen is the way to go. It’s raw and edgy, yet still comfortable and cozy.

The design combines cold industrial elements like stainless steel and concrete with minimalistic cabinetry and countertop designs. It also uses warm tones like brown leather barstools and wooden elements to soften the look.

Key Features

A popular design style that perfectly blends industrial luxuries with a sense of productivity, an industrial kitchen can be the perfect fit for many homeowners. This design style is known for blending elements of brick, concrete, and other natural materials with sleek and stylish modern features.

One of the most common elements in an industrial style kitchen is exposed brickwork, which creates a factory-like feel. Exposed brick can be combined with other metal, copper or brushed metal accents for a sophisticated industrial kitchen design.

Stainless steel appliances are another major feature in modern kitchen designs for 2023. They add a sleek, polished look to the space and can be coordinated with minimalistic cabinetry and countertops.

White is still a popular color for high-end kitchens, but in 2023, splashes of bold color are gaining popularity. These bold colors can be found not only on base and tall cabinets, but on walls as well. Splashes of color are also finding their way onto countertop surfaces by way of plates and other decor items.

Raw and Edgy

The raw and edgy look of an industrial kitchen design is popular. This style prioritizes functionality and features raw materials, salvaged wood, and metal elements that create a minimalistic and versatile look.

For a rustic touch, you can add exposed brick walls or even a corrugated metal backsplash. This will provide a unique and interesting twist to your kitchen design.

You can also bring in a touch of nature into your kitchen with natural wood cabinets, cabinet doors, and hardware. Sierra Fallon, Lead Designer at Rumor Designs, says that she expects a move towards incorporating organic and eco-friendly materials into kitchens in 2023.

She also suggests using mirrored backsplashes, which will help bounce light around the space. You can choose reflective glass in a copper color for added texture and warmth. You can pair this with a black countertop to get the perfect look.

Comfortable and Cozy

Industrial kitchen designs for 2023 often incorporate a variety of materials that create a cozy feel. A mix of woods, natural stone and glass is a great way to bring in a calming tone that can help reduce stress in your home.

For instance, a mirrored backsplash is an easy way to bounce light around the room and add more visual texture. It also helps create a larger space without having to use additional wall space.

Another trend is to mix different metals for your cabinetry and fixtures. This gives you more freedom to design your kitchen to reflect your personality.

You can make this feel more cozy by adding a large farmhouse table and other vintage furniture. These pieces will instantly bring character to your space and give you a sense of nostalgia. They are popular again in 2023 and will help you create a unique space that’s true to your style.

Natural Light

A kitchen boasts the most windows and doors of any room in the house, ensuring that natural light is a constant companion. Using low-emissivity glass in your windows and skylights helps keep your home cool in the summer and warm in the winter while also saving on energy bills. Adding a few stylish and functional LED lights is a good idea in the long run as well, with the best ones sporting the latest technology to ward off any power surges.

The best way to go about it is to enlist the services of a qualified professional to get the job done right. Choosing the right materials, fixtures and fittings will result in a kitchen that you’ll love spending time in.

What’s more, you’ll have a space that looks as good on the inside as it does out, making for a happier family and more profitable business in the long run.

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Metro Vancouver’s Premier Kitchen and Bath Renovation Company

Your kitchen is more than just a place to cook; it’s a space that brings people together, connects them, and helps them feel relaxed and comfortable. It’s a space that makes you proud to invite guests over, and it’s a space that lets you show off your personality and style. That’s why Vancouver Kitchen Renovation wants to help you create the perfect kitchen for yourself and your family. Whether you’re interested in updating your existing kitchen or starting from scratch, we can help you turn your dream kitchen into reality. We believe kitchens aren’t just functional spaces; they bring families together, connect them, inspire creativity, and allow them to express themselves. So we strive to create designs that reflect these values, and we’re excited to share them with you.

We understand that to be successful is to stay ahead of the curve. That means staying current with the latest technology and design trends. We always want to improve our products or services without breaking the bank. That’s why we stay connected to the latest technologies of NKBA, National Kitchen and Bath Association. In addition, at Vancouver Kitchen renovation, our primary focus is providing sustainable kitchen design and renovation packages, and we believe in sustainable living. Sustainable living is a way of life in harmony with nature. It is a lifestyle which focuses on the preservation of our environment. Sustainable living is a philosophy emphasizing respect for the environment and concern for its well-being. This means we should take care of the planet and treat it as if it were our home. We should try to preserve what we have and protect it from destruction. If we do this, we will enjoy the benefits of the earth’s resources for many generations. Whether you’re planning a major remodel or adding finishing touches to your current kitchen, we’d love to discuss your project. Book your showroom consultation online.

Main Areas of Service in British Columbia:

Vancouver

North Vancouver

West Vancouver

Burnaby

Coquitlam

Squamish

Whistler

Frequently Asked Questions

How to save money on kitchen remodel costs

These tips can help you cut costs when you remodel your kitchen.

Do your research.

Research is essential before you embark on any kitchen remodeling project. This will give a clear understanding of your goals for your kitchen remodel. Doing your research will help you discover cost-saving possibilities.

Create your budget.

Once you have an idea about what you want from your kitchen remodel project, it is time to set a budget. This will allow to budget how much money you’ll spend on the project. To avoid overspending, it is essential that you adhere to your budget.

Browse for the best deals and discounts.

Always look out for discounts and deals when shopping for appliances and materials. This will save you money on your kitchen remodel.

Get a trustworthy contractor.

It is important to find a contractor that you trust and who has a solid track record when remodeling your kitchen. Reputable contractors can deliver quality work at a fair price.

Do it yourself.

You might be able do the work yourself, if you have the skills. You will save money and feel satisfied knowing you did the work yourself.

These tips will help you save money on kitchen remodeling costs.

What countertops go best with white kitchen cabinets?

If you have a white kitchen, you can make your countertop stand out. Quartz countertops are the new norm now in kitchen design. We have a few top tips for white kitchens:

Concrete grey comes in many shades

Bold Granite-like Patterns

Veiny marble-like designs

Bright, striking colours such as ocean blue or sunflower yellow are great options.

What should the duration of a kitchen remodel take?

Once the cabinets have been made, it should take approximately three weeks for the work to be completed. However, it can take months to design or manufacture custom cabinets. This means that the whole process from start-to-finish can take several weeks.

What are the top mistakes when renovating a kitchen?

It is possible to install a kitchen in an unsuitable location.

Wet floors can be caused by putting the dishwasher too far away.

If the fridge is placed next the oven, it can make opening the door difficult.

Insufficient counter space can lead to problems.

Not having enough storage is another common mistake. Make sure to have enough cabinets and shelves to store all your kitchen appliances and gadgets.

You can’t choose the appliances you want until the very last moment when installing a new Kitchen.

It is important to ensure that they are both space- and energy-efficient.

This is a mistake. They can ensure everything is to scale and fits in the space correctly.

It is common to try to do too many kitchen renovations yourself. For a successful kitchen remodeling project, it is crucial to understand your limits and when you should call in the professionals.

Planning for too little budget is a mistake. Kitchens can be expensive so make sure you have enough money to cover all costs.

Not having a clear idea of what you want is a mistake. You should know the style, layout, and finishes you want before starting the renovation.

These are just a few of the common mistakes people make when remodeling their kitchens. Avoid these common mistakes by consulting a professional before you begin your project. With careful planning and execution, you can ensure a successful kitchen renovation.

Is it better to put a backsplash or countertop on the first floor?

You must first install your countertop and backsplash before installing the new countertops. This will allow you to correctly measure and cut the backsplash to fit perfectly against the countertop. For proper backsplash installation, the countertop must be installed before any appliances and plumbing fixtures.

Statistics

Followed by cabinet cost, labour, and appliance costs consume 20 percent each of your budget. (hgtv.com)

Keep 10 to 25 percent of List 2, depending on the budget. (familyhandyman.com)

This is rather grim, but according to Business Insider, 12 percent of couples consider getting a divorce while renovating their home! (familyhandyman.com)

“We decided to strip and refinish our kitchen cabinets during a heat wave with 90-plus-degree temperatures and 90 percent humidity in a house with no air conditioning. (familyhandyman.com)

Your most significant cost investment for a kitchen remodel will usually be cabinets, typically comprising 25 percent of your budget. (hgtv.com)

External Links

homeguide.com

2022 Kitchen Remodel Cost Estimator

2022 Addition Costs

hgtv.com

Choosing Kitchen Appliances | HGTV

HGTV

forbes.com

Amazing Kitchen Remodel Ideas To Refresh Your Home

houzz.com

The Habitatilist – Project Photos & Reviews – South Orange, NJ US

Kitchen Workbook: 8 Element of a Craftsman’s Kitchen

How To

How to design and build a kitchen you love to cook in.

Kitchens should have a mix of aesthetics, practicality, and functionality. You should carefully plan the space so that you can feel at home in your kitchen, where you can cook delicious meals, entertain friends, and unwind after a long day.

Here are some suggestions to help you plan the perfect kitchen.

You should choose the layout that best suits you. L-shaped and U-shaped kitchens are the most popular. L-shaped kitchens are great for entertaining and can easily accommodate multiple cooks. U-shaped Kitchens are ideal for families who spend a lot in the kitchen. They provide plenty of counter space and storage. Galley kitchens are great for small spaces, as they can be accessed quickly and easily.

Compare the various types of cabinetry available and select quality products. There are many options available to you, depending on your budget. It will pay big dividends to invest in high-end cabinets. They will last longer, look great, and provide better protection against humidity, heat, and other temperature variations.

Pick a color scheme to make you happy. No matter what color you like, you can find a color combination that will bring life and color into your kitchen. It could be bright or pastel colors. Make sure that it matches the rest in the room.

It is important to find the right balance between function & beauty. Your kitchen doesn’t have to be all-encompassingly beautiful. Sometimes it is more important to think about functionality than appearances. But this doesn’t mean you can’t incorporate a few decorative elements here and there. To create a focal point, mix glass, brass, chrome, ceramic, stone and wood.

Create a comfortable environment. Remember that comfort is the most important thing when designing your kitchen. This is where you will spend most of your time. It should be welcoming and comfortable. You can relax after a long day by adding seating and lighting fixtures.

Make sure to store everything. You should have ample storage space in your kitchen to store all your cooking tools, utensils as well as dishes, pots and pans. So, when planning your kitchen remodel, consider adding additional cabinet space.

Include a pantry. You can store and organize food items in a dedicated pantry. You will also be able to stockpile additional supplies in an area separate from your kitchen, which will reduce clutter.

Consider new flooring. Your kitchen’s overall appearance and feel will be affected by the flooring you choose. There are many choices. If you have a small space, consider running the same flooring throughout the house to avoid the need for transition pieces.

Expanding plan. Insufficient space for future growth is one of the most common mistakes made when remodeling a kitchen. You should consider expanding your kitchen by installing sliding doors, adding another walk in closet, or increasing the counter space.

It is important to allow plenty of natural light. Being able to see your work is the best way you can enjoy your kitchen. If you intend to use your kitchen as a gathering place for the family, make sure you let plenty of natural light through your windows.

Energy-efficient appliances are recommended. Remodeling your kitchen should be about energy efficiency. This means that old appliances should be replaced with more efficient models.

Be realistic about your budget. Make sure you do an in-depth analysis of your finances before shopping for appliances, cabinets, and other kitchen items. This will allow you to narrow your options and help you save money in long-term.

Define a place for entertaining. Whether you enjoy hosting dinner parties or entertaining friends over drinks, a designated area for dining will allow your guests to socialize and gather.

Add an island. A kitchen island can be a wonderful addition because it offers extra space for prep and cooking, while also providing a convenient place to keep your drinks, snacks, or other small items.

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ash & soot

Long before the Winters come into play, a monster stalks the Forbidden Forest that surrounds the Village. Karl Heisenberg is sent to investigate, and heads deeper into darkness to find his prey, a thorn on his side and someone just like him. (Heisenberg x OC)

on AO3: chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four | chapter five | chapter six | chapter seven (ao3 only) | chapter eight | chapter nine | chapter ten | chapter eleven | chapter twelve | chapter thirteen (ao3 only, smut)

chapter 12 - cabin fever

SFW, around 5K words.

chapter 13 - liebchen (ao3 only, smut)

The sheets underneath him were worn but comfortable, ancient-looking in design but well taken care of. The bed frame is barely there, mattress a well-placed lattice away from being on the floor. He can’t remember the last time he’s been on a bed, the last time he’d laid his body down at all, for any reason. His back complains every other second, not because of the comfort of the bedding, but because it had gone without for so long. A wonderfully comfortable blanket covers him up to the hips, the soft mattress almost makes him feel like he is floating. Fuck, he really missed having a proper bed now.

He inspects himself carefully, still not fully convinced this is not a fever-induced hallucination. His hand is where it should be, and so is his leg, and every other part of his body that he recalled having before. There are half a dozen new scars that he can count, all healed over perfectly like they’d opened years ago instead of hours, forming a map of stories he would rather not tell. He is shirtless but is wearing pants now, his trench coat and hat nowhere to be found. He pushes the blanket aside to find the damn woolen slippers waiting for him on a woven rug. It doesn’t take him long to realize where he is, but nothing resembles her, no personal belongings on the nightstand, no desk or mirror or even a dresser. It looked as if the room was rarely visited, kept clean but empty, and he wondered if sleep was a foreign concept to her, too.

Hesitant, tentative movements take him down the ladder and into the living room, and he expects to find her hard at work at something or another, humming a tune while she cooks, petting the goat and telling it asinine, cutesy things in a soft voice. But the house is silent and she is nowhere to be found, the dog sits in front of the closed front door and watches his every move. It is not aggressive but watchful, like it had been given the task of keeping an eye on the ailing man and alerting his owner in case anything was amiss.

“I’m fine, fleabag.” He laughs at the dog and gets a huff in response, an acknowledgment, and the shepherd moves from its post at the door to give him passage if he so desires. Heisenberg gives it a well deserved pat on the head as it passes by, tail wagging hesitantly as it tried to make friends with him. He is glad to be alone - if anyone ever used this against him, he would deny it.

A plate awaits him at the dinner table, and despite his intentions of running out of there before she could see him again, breakfast is an offer he cannot bring himself to refuse. Bread and jam, a robust omelet served with sprinkles of cheese and herbs. He can almost see the aroma the coffee has left behind, and finds the pot on the side of the wood stove, cup and saucer set for him nearby.

He eats slowly and in silence, chews thoroughly before swallowing, as if he fears some abrupt movement would rip reality apart and throw him back into the pit of suffering he found himself in the night before. There is no blood, no pain; no sign of the madness he had come so close to drowning in. He is safe and comfortable, there is good food in his belly and a warm hearth to keep the cold at bay. His problems are far and cannot catch him, and maybe if he keeps stalling to finish breakfast he can stay in this bliss forever. The world is quiet outside, and so are his thoughts, for once in his life.

A shirt and sweater are neatly folded and arranged as to call attention on the couch, no doubt to replace his blood-stained, ragged trench coat. He feels naked without it, he muses as he pulls the moss-colored shirt over his head, and it feels awkward not to wear the hat and the glasses. It would be unpleasant if she were to catch him now, free of his usual regalia; he felt that she would see right through him, stare deep into his eyes and find out all he had worked so hard to hide.

He did not feel like Karl Heisenberg, Lord of the Village, powerful mutant capable of unspeakable acts of violence. He was… Karl, middle-aged immortal man who enjoyed tinkering, was a big fan of meat an potatoes and didn’t know what to do when he had time to waste in his hands. Karl, of German origin but Romanian by birth, come from a long line of miners and steel workers. People of few words and fewer luxuries, hardy of constitution and blunt to a fault. He had been content to be those things and nothing more, to carry on what the Heisenbergs had done for centuries, until life dumped him on his head and led him to where he is today.

But not today, because maybe just today he can forget, and let his gracious host distract him with her mystery and the delicate curves of her buttocks. Perhaps tomorrow he would go back to treating her like a tool he would use and discard, but today she would be none the wiser, and neither would he. The fresh air of the mountain and distance from the cramped confines of the factory would do him good, he decided, help reinvigorate his spirit and refresh his ideas, spark some inspiration. And if not, well, the food was excellent and she was easy on the eyes.

A pair of boots that didn’t belong to him were by the door, just the right size to fit him. He had walked all the way up barefoot, he remembers, but he would very much like to know how she seemed to have everything that he needed readily available. Was she clairvoyant alongside being a healer? Did she bleed money that she could buy information on him from the Duke and the apparel to go with it? He opened the door to find her outside, looking like the cat that ate the canary, a couple meters away from the gate that separated her plot of land from the heart of the forest. She had just emerged from amongst the trees, heavy coat over her shoulders and leather boots to keep the ice off her feet. Her hands were free, no basket for foraging or firewood in her arms. No sign of a knife or any other kind of weapon, but judging by the look on her face, he could swear she had just committed murder. Her eyes told him she would not speak of it.

“Good morning, pumpkin,” he began, leaning against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest, at least trying to fish an explanation out of her. Instead she pretended to forget the suspicious circumstances and focused on him instead, her face lighting up at the sight of him up and about, like she didn’t expect to see him anytime soon. Had it been that bad?

“Good morning, my lord. Are you well?” Shame and madness aside, he thought, things were going swimmingly. “I hope the accommodations were to your liking.” Once again with the pleasantries, with the caring for what he thought of her hospitality. Did she get a kick out of being so kind? That was the most foolish thing he had ever heard. He tried to come up with a witty response that would catch her off guard, but the night had been long and there was too much tiredness swamping his mind, and all he got was honesty:

“Quite. Hadn’t slept in a bed in decades.” As if to validate his words, he stretched and grunted in approval, pains he did not even realize he’d had gone like magic.

“Well, it remains at your disposal,” was her response as she chuckled, wiping her hands on the embroidered apron before gesturing an invitation. There was dirt on her palms. “It may not be much, but it’ll give you a good night’s rest.” She motioned for him to follow, something he would grow accustomed to.

“You know,” he began, following her into the shed, accepting the shallow basket she handed him. “I bet it’d be even better if you were there with me.” She hummed in approval, a smile as devious as his on her face. The damn woman would always catch him off guard; Heisenberg was not used to being flirted with, words thrown about only half-seriously, only to make the villagers blush and Alcina mad. He had never followed up on any of it, because it was always meant to annoy, and the fact that she not only took him seriously but fired back pulled the rug right from under him. And boy did he like it.

They laughed but spoke no more of it, tension like static in the air, both fully aware the joke had more than a few nuggets of truth to it. A dozen different scenarios ran through his mind, on ways he could take her, mark her, ruin her. Inside the shed, behind the stables, propped on the porch railing. Standing, face pressed against the floor, legs tightly wrapped around his waist. She smirked as she passed by him, smirked like she could tell every image that went through his mind. Smirked like she knew he would not do any of it, that his flirting was just a front and he had never found the courage to take the plunge, not even once. Her wink was the cherry on the cake, the challenge that made his cheeks flush at just the right moment so that she wouldn’t see it.

The morning was spent tending to the animals and the garden, and she instructed him on how to feed the chickens and keep the tiny goat happy. Its name was Prince and it demanded to be treated like royalty, lest the puny humans faced his wrath and for now adorable headbutts. The thing followed him around the whole time, demanded his attention when he collected the eggs from the coop, when he let the horse out of the stable to let it stretch its legs. Only when the weather took a turn for the worse did it scurry off to hide in the pens with its mom, settling down on a nice and dry bundle of hay.

He was put in charge of firewood while she tended the garden. The innuendos were kept to a minimum, but the static never left, and he felt her eyes heavy on him as he brought the axe down, muscles flexing and veins showing on his forearms with the effort. Maybe he ought to do more housework around her, and she’d come around and do his bidding without hesitation.

When the wind blew away his hat, Heisenberg realized there would be no going back to the factory unless he hurried. The storm had been mounting for days now, but he had never been one to pay much attention to the tells of weather; he rarely left his hideout, and with the factory being mostly underground, he would be trapped inside for a few days at best. He had perhaps half an hour for a journey that would take him one or two under such bad weather, and he would have to be lucky for the bridge to hold if it got too bad. She wasted little time paying attention to his inner turmoil, and went about securing the animals instead, making sure they had food, water and a warm place to spend the night. Snow was falling fast by the time she was done, and she ushered him in when he’d stood there too long, snow coming up to his shins already. They brushed off as much as they could on the porch before heading inside, water dripping down their shoulders. There was a long pause as they both watched the storm come down through the living room window, a knowing silence that the day would be long, and the night longer, and neither would be leaving that cabin for at least the next day.

“Well, it seems the bed is yours for the night again, my lord,” were her words as she bolted the door, a hint of joy in her voice. He imagined it was a lonely existence, secluded in the mountains and feared by all, not part of any community and especially not theirs. She always seemed so happy to see him, to see another human whose first instinct wasn’t to attack her. He would pity her if he cared, if his existence wasn’t equally as lonesome, if he hadn’t fashioned it to be exactly what he wished. He’d never needed anyone yapping about everything and nothing in his ears, interrupting his work and diverting his attention from what really mattered. Alcina was insane to have taken in the girls, really; children sounded like an exhausting chore that never ended. He never understood why she always looked so content in spite of it all. His mother always told him one day he would understand, he would want to keep someone close, and then he would want someone else just like them to cherish and love, to teach and share the good and bad moments. He would turn a hundred soon and never quite felt like it; maybe in another hundred years?

His only answer was a lopsided smile, tired and sad, and he tried to brace for the barrage of questions and comments that were certain to come. She was trapped inside her living space with the stranger who emerged from the guts of the forest, come from a village rife with death, where he was sovereign save for Mother dearest. He was the favorite son and the most powerful, gifted with strength and wits and influence and power. Those he could not talk down he could easily buy out, and those he could not buy out he could easily destroy. He was a fabled recluse and rumors ran rampant of the work he’d conduct in his factory, of treasures he kept deep underground. It would be a long day, the first in forever that he would spend so close to another breathing, talking human, and he did not know what to expect aside from a lot of chit-chat and a mounting headache. Surely she would like to know all about him, now that he couldn’t run away from her. Surely she would pry into his motives, pepper in questions about his siblings and the village. A thousand smug answers he conjured in his mind, each snappier than the other, every retort a question thrown back at her. It was only fair, of course; she had thrown much at him, bits and pieces of improbabilities that he couldn’t put together, and if she intended on digging deep, he would do the same.

To his surprise, all she did was leave her boots behind next to him and proceed to ignore him, going about her daily life like he was of no consequence. He found himself stunned, rooted in front of the door with a puzzled expression on his face. She looked at him as if to say well, this is it, make yourself at home and enjoy the day, and once again the domesticity of it all broke him more than words could ever have. He felt weird as he reached for the papers he had brought with him the night before, tucked next to the myriad of books on her shelf. They remained silent when he took a seat at the table and pushed open the schematics to get a better look at them, the potted plant centerpiece serving as a paper weight so he could work properly.

First, she dusted the shelves, reorganized her herb cabinet and found a place for his hat. The curtains were drawn and she took a peek outside, checking on the pens and the stable to make sure the animals would have a comfortable enough day. Then she bound off to a corner of the living room, producing a basket with threads and fabric, yarn and needles that she brought over to the couch. She sat cross-legged, close to the fire, and only spared him a brief glance before tending to her needlework. He felt weird as he reached for the papers he had brought with him the night before, tucked next to the myriad of books on her shelf. They remained silent when he took a seat at the table and pushed open the schematics to get a better look at them, the potted plant centerpiece serving as a paper weight so he could work properly. The first few minutes were nerve-racking, his paranoia telling him he would look away and find her peering curiously over his shoulder, trying to steal away his secrets to use against him as leverage. He read the same words again and again only to realize he hadn’t understood them, eyes turning to her every minute to make sure she still hadn’t moved. She caught him eventually, eyebrow raised in his direction as she tried to make sense of the situation, mouth turning into an “oh” as she jumped off the couch and stood on the tips of her toes to reach the very top of the bookshelf. A minute later and she had brought him a candle and holder, a half-empty box of matches in her other hand. She stood at the other end of the table and pushed it in his direction, still not curious regarding his work, but figuring that, even in daylight, the cabin was dark and he likely was not used to doing things by candlelight. It took him a moment to process and bring the light closer, shocked as he was to see that she intended to leave him to his own devices but cared about his comfort.

The hours were a blur then, when he convinced himself she would not surprise him, and his suspicions were correct; a change of environment had done wonders for his creativity, solutions jumping at him paper after paper, a multitude of new projects and ideas for him to try once he was back at the factory. He can’t remember the last time he had been so productive, the last time he had folded everything in and told himself he was done for the day, because he had done more than enough. She had brought him tea and bread at some point and he had eaten absentmindedly, crumbs and drops of jam staining the papers, but he could not bring himself to care. After tea she had brought him coffee, and then a jug of water, and while he felt a bit like a caged animal being fed periodically, it did wonders to keep his work flowing.

Night had already fallen when he finally took a break, got up to stretch his legs and look around to see just what she had been doing this whole time. Her crafts basket was back in its place, a sock taking shape on the needles. A book abandoned where she was sitting instead, the little witch nowhere near it. Instead she was busy preparing dinner, swaying her hips to a tune but quiet as a mouse, like she was going out of her way to give him peace and quiet. He appreciated it, try as he might to deny it, how she cared without meddling, made herself present but not intruding.

Maybe he should hire her to be his assistant, help him organize the half-done office he had begun building on the upper floors of the factory. She certainly would be great at helping him keep his affairs in order - and by that he meant she would keep him fed, mostly, the one thing he kept forgetting to do and that always set him back. He could provide her with something better than this, surely, her very own quarters with modern wonders such as electricity and proper plumbing, a bathroom of her own, maybe even a fridge. Had she ever seen a fridge before? He imagined she would decorate the place with all manner of silly things that would only serve to gather dust, knickknacks and wreaths and woven things, and that it would smell of flowers and fresh-baked bread. Her responsibilities would include housekeeping and Heisenkeeping - organizing his papers so he wouldn’t lose them, keeping track of all of the family meetings he had to attend, dealing with the Duke for supplies so he wouldn’t have to. He’d reward her handsomely, give her days off, be a good employer unlike his parents had been. Not a bad plan, if he did say so himself.

He had only forgotten to factor in that she was, still, a powerful, self-described blood witch. He had been entertaining himself with the thoughts of having her around as he watched her prepare dinner; she’d gone hunting in the morning, he realized, two hares hanging upside down from an iron ring. She took one down to place it at the cutting board, its insides clean but pelt still intact. He had no doubt she would be skilled at skinning it; when one lives as long as she has with no contact with the outside world, such skills are necessary for survival. What he did not expect was the way she’d go about it: a firm hand grabbed a handful of fur, gave it a gentle twist and pulled, effortlessly, the entire thing coming off in her hand, no cuts and no tears, neck and head and all. He could see the knife from where he was sitting, placed blade down into the ceramic jug.

Heisenberg bent forward to see better when she did it the second time around, and it was as unexplainable and horrifying as the first. Gross but humane, like she simply coaxed the skin to slide right off the flesh. If the thing had been alive, he imagined it would have been quite painful, a whole human suit in her hand and living flesh left behind. The thought almost makes him gag, a disgusted sound escaping his lips and making her realize she’s not alone. She slowly turns to face him with a sheepish smile, like a child caught red-handed. “Pretend you didn’t see that?” She offers, but he shakes his head no. Not in a million years he would forget the sheer brutality of it. He waits but she doesn’t explain it, goes back to making dinner like nothing had happened.

“Could you do that to something… Bigger, darling?” He approaches her slowly, like a predator carefully stalking its prey, though he feels far from a position of power at the moment. She nods her head yes. “Like, say, a good ole’ human?” He whispers in her ear, a shiver running down her spine at the sudden intrusion and hot breath against her skin, flirting his go-to attempt at getting back the reigns of any situation.

“Want me to test it on you, my lord?” She quips in the same whisper tone, and he is wise enough to back off for now.

“Think I’ll pass.” Before he can run back to his seat, she hands him the smaller, bone-bladed knife and pushes a bowl of potatoes towards him, the sudden motion startling him and eliciting a chuckle out of her. Looks like he’ll have to earn his keep. For a while they work shoulder to shoulder in peaceful silence, save for his grunts of frustration at not being able to peel a potato successfully. It’s been a long time. “You ought to show me what you can do one of these days. I’m awful curious.” She considers it for a second, head moving left and right, knife following the movement.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” and she doesn’t mean metal bending and knife juggling, he knows. He can’t think of a reason why she would want to see him, truly see him, monstrous appearance and all, but if that’s the price to pay, he’ll gladly do it. It would be good for his ego, too, that priceless look on her face as he shifts into the stuff of nightmares.

There are no more gruesome sneak peeks for the night and soon the stew is ready, he helps set the table and she finds a bottle of wine she’d stashed away for a rainy day. She explains over dinner that he was quite feverish when he arrived, and it’s a wonder he made it through the night. He truly was sturdy, no ifs or buts about it, she said in appreciation. There were cuts and bruises all over him, all shapes and sizes, like he’d fallen through glass. Did he have an accident at the factory? There was genuine concern in her voice, though they both knew that she knew better.

His curiosity gets the better of him and he experiments with a few questions, each answer leaving him further in the dark. How old was she? Somewhere around a hundred and thirty. She remembers being old enough to read around 1902, when she saw the date on a newspaper she fished out of the gutter, but beyond that time was either a blur or she’d been too young to remember. Where did she come from? Not a clue, but she’s been around: she’s seen Italian castles, been to centuries old British pubs. She’s seen the Brandenburg Gate and visited Chateau de Versailles. She’s bathed in the beautiful waters of the Greek coast, made a pilgrimage to the volcanic beaches of Iceland. She’s never made it past the ocean to the Americas or down to the warmer climates of Africa, but time has never been an issue, and she figures she’ll get to it eventually. He asks her why all the wandering, is someone after her? Her breath hitches and her eyes lower, shoulders slump, a deep breath before the replies. Something like that, and he understands maybe it’s best if he doesn’t push.

They returned to the topic of his feverish display once dinner was over, with her cautioning that he had been lucky this time around, lucky that she was home, lucky that he even made it across the bridge and found his way home. Home, her use of the word is deliberate and strokes something warm and fuzzy within him. Disgusting. There was the matter of the shard, he took a sit on the couch as she reached into a drawer to pull out a bundle of clean cloth, and he feigns confusion when she unwraps it to reveal a piece of metal shaped similar to an arrowhead. He recognized it, the shavings of a project he had worked on… Maybe a year ago? It’d been sticking out through his ribs when he arrived, she said, and it looked anything but recent; infection had taken around it, skin red and swollen. She could see that it was agonizingly painful - had he not noticed it at all?

“Ah, so that’s what it was.” He blurted without really meaning to, a humorless chuckle that left her confused. “I’d been feeling this weird poke in my ribs for the longest time - thought I’d broken something.” He shrugs and she nods, clearly aware of their peculiar situations, perhaps now beginning to comprehend just how many layers of fucked up he was made of. “You’re a miracle worker, doll.” His fingers instinctively trace over the spot where the shard had been, nothing there but a scar that had healed remarkably well. “How can I ever repay you?”

Money, gems, jewelry? She didn’t strike him as the materialistic kind. No, she was all about the meaningful gestures, the showing of kindness. There were a few ways he could think of showing his appreciation - slamming her body against the wall to press a hard kiss on her lips, a nice, firm tug on her hair as he nibbled on her neck. Or maybe something softer if she was so inclined, more romantic even, like a well-placed, resounding slap on her ass cheek. “I’ll be sure to think of something, my lord.” Was the answer she gave, though he was sure she meant something else entirely judging by the way she let her coat slide off to reveal her bare shoulders as she set about getting ready for bed. Her hands gathered more and more of her skirt until it’d reached the middle of her thighs, delicate lace adorning the band of her stockings, tiny suspenders disappearing from sight but serving to peak his curiosity. She undid the hooks that kept it in place, fingers threatening to roll the garment down agonizingly slow. Instead she turned to look at her enraptured audience, the pose propping her ass up and so close to his hands. He had thought it had all been an act, carefully orchestrated to put him on edge, but the gasp of surprise she let out told him otherwise. “I am so sorry, my lord.” She quickly let go of it all and stood up straight, a flush running across her face. “I am not used to having visitors.”

“You needn’t stop on account of little ole’ me, darling.” He is quick to say, rich laughter that filled the room with mischief. Heisenberg sprawls further onto the couch, legs parting like an invitation. Best seat in the house, in the whole village even. “I did enjoy it.”

When it was time to say goodnight, he kept his composure and even helped her move one of the pillows and blanket down the ladder. If his mother were alive she would chastise him for not being a gentleman, for not refusing vehemently to let her sleep on an uncomfortable couch instead of her own bed. But the day was over and so were the pleasantries, and he would have to take the time to cleanse her off his mind, ease himself back into his usual mindset. She was impossibly alluring, impossibly annoying, impossibly loving. There was no figuring her out and it seemed there would be no delving deeper in. Playtime was over and it was back to work tomorrow as soon as she storm had passed. He needed to shed away her kindness before it managed to ooze under his skin, but she had no intention of making it any easier on him.

“Here you go,” Heisenberg had no time to stand on ceremony, shoved the pillow in her direction and flashed her a smile to keep up appearances, mind wandering somewhere else, somewhere where he did not care about her. It was better this way. “Good night, sweetheart.”

Even though he tried, he never truly reached that fabled place where she was of no importance. Not that he would ever acknowledge it.

[jordanstrophe]

This One is Mine, Part 5

Previous           Masterlist               next is a work in progress<3

CW: Whump, Pet whump, Whipping, Reference to abuse, Low self esteem, Anxiety, then F L U F F 

“Don’t look at him, look at me”

Crack

“Sit up straight”

Crack

“On your knees!”

Crack

“LOOK AT ME!”

“STOP IT! STOP IT PLEASE!” Michael screamed, he jolted upwards. He couldn’t breath, he knew he was being hurt, but he couldn’t feel anything. Nothing around was familiar. Where was he? What’s happening? What did he do wrong?

“Michael?” a voice asked. It was quiet and concerned, but soft. He looked around the room, until he saw a man sitting across the coffee table from him. He was sitting at a chair, legs crossed with a laptop, his dark hair highlighted from the rising sunlight through the window. He set the laptop on the table, and slowly got up. 

Everything started to come back to him. He wasn’t at the factory, he was somewhere else. With someone else. Someone had draped a large heavy blanket over him. It was the softest thing he had ever laid a finger on. 

“Are you okay?” Charles asked, concerned. 

Then it donned on him. He had fallen asleep without permission, and it was morning now. He crumbled to the floor at the man’s feet, lowering his head.

“I’m s-sorry! I’m s-s-o sorry! I didn’t meant t-to! Please! Don’t!” He cried, tears streaming down his face, shielding his head with his arms. His dream had become a reality. He really had messed, and now the punishment was going to be real this time.

“Michael, it’s okay. Everything is fine.” Charles sunk down on the floor in front of him. He lifted him by his shoulders to sit him up straight, then placed a hand on his cheek, thumbing away a tear.  “You’re okay. I’m glad you were able to get some sleep. You were exhausted last night, and since you got caught up on some rest, we can do something I really wanted to do with you today.” He gave him a happy smile. 

Oh no. This is where it starts. The whips, knives, cages, shackles...

“We’re going clothes shopping!” He announced, clapping his hands together.

“..W-what?” He tilted his head to one side.

“A good friend of mine runs a lovely clothing shop not far from here. I’ve asked her to clear it out today, so it will be just us! We can get you some clothes that will fit you.” He pulled the folded clothes off the table, and handed it to him. “Here, these are Miles, they'll still be a bit big for you, but it’s something until we get you some of your own.” He smiled at him, gently ruffling his hair. 

Michael looked up at him, with a nervous expression.

“Mm... Master?” He asked, he nervously clutched the clothes to his chest.

Charles hesitated, before gently taking his upper arm, and guiding him back onto the couch. He sat on the other side of the from him, and turned to face him.

“No, sweetheart. I don’t own you, not like that.” He tried to give him a comforting smile, trying to hide any sadness that could leak through to his expression.

“B-but! W-wait! But you, you-” “I know! I know.” Charles interrupted him, placing a hand up to try and cease him from a panicked stutter.

“Like I said, it’s not like that. I promised you I would take care of you, and that’s what I’m going to do. Just consider me... Your guardian. A caretaker. There are no slaves, or masters in this house, okay?” This time, he was able to give him a genuine smile.  Michael was so used to being treated as property, or a slave who only had eyes for his master. He hardly could grasp what he meant. 

“You can call me Charles if you like, or Sir if that’s more comfortable for now. Everyone calls me that around here anyway.”

“Now my dear, why don’t you hop in a nice warm shower. After you get dressed, we’ll get some breakfast and head out, alright?” He smiled and ruffled his hair.

“Y-yes sir!” He called, as Charles took his hand and led him up the stairs.

The hallways really were endless, with countless doors and elegant lights lighting the path. He stopped him at a door, leading into a dark room. He flicked the light on, and revealed a beautifully decorated bathroom. Golden light lit up the ceiling, a soft green circular mat laid in the center floor, tall green potted bamboo plants decorated the corners, with pots hanging from the ceiling containing colorful flowers and vines that hung down.

“Fun fact! This is the only room that has synthetic plants.” Charles chuckled. “Warm water, okay? Take as much time as you like, and use anything you like. Will you be alright on your own?” He asked.   “Yes sir, thank you very much.” He bowed his head politely in response, as Charles closed the door for him. The room fell silent in an instant. He clutched the clothes close to his chest, and took a deep shaky breath, before setting them down at the sink. He slid the coat off his shoulders. He glanced at himself in the large mirror. He looked like a walking ghost. Thin, bruised, broken. He cringed and looked away, before turning the shower on. 

Charles paced around the kitchen, arms crossed behind him. “It’s been thirty minutes.” Charles muttered.  “Pff, give the kid some space, he’s been through a lot.” Liam said. He was older, and had medium brown hair tied back, and wore an apron. He cut through various fruit and vegetables with practiced speed. “I know, I know... But maybe I should just go check on him. What if he doesn’t know how to work the shower?” He stuttered. Liam only gave him a eyebrow raise, with a “seriously?” expression.  

“Give him some breathing room. He has a lot to go through before he gets comfortable! One of those things is going to be a healthy dose of both comfort and space.” Liam smiled.  “He’s right you know.” Mia chipped in. She was shamelessly sitting on top of the counter, busily tapping away on her phone. “I’ve gotten you out of the next four meetings. That gives you three days of a clear schedule to get him properly settled in before you have to start taking trips.” She muttered.  “What would I do without you guys?” Charles took a heavy sigh of relief, leaning against the table.  “Crumble? Have everything fallen apart? Disorganized schedule? Chaos and mayhem?” Mia giggled, swaying her feet back and forth.  “Accurate.” He admitted. 

“I know bringing the kid home with no warning threw something's off, thank you for being so open for him.” Charles sighed.  “Of course! From what I heard from Miles, it seems like you did the best thing. And besides, I get to keep myself busy with more meals, and show it off to him!” Liam chuckled, pouring steaming hot food out of a pan.

“S-sir?” A tiny voice could be heard from the doorway. All heads turned as Michael shyly walked in. He was dressed in a light blue button-down shirt with a light oversized jacket. His face was more noticeable, and his hair was smooth and fluffy, but the ends were every so slightly damp. 

“Well someone cleans up nice.” Mia complimented. He jolted with posture, not entirely sure how to respond. “I’ll leave you boys to it then! I have some phone calls to make.” She smiled, before hopping off the counter and heading off. 

“She’s right, you look fresh. Michael, this is Liam, he’s the household chef, the best chef I’ve ever had, in fact.” Charles introduced. “Darn right I better be.” Liam laughed.

“It seems I have the honor of serving you this morning, mister Michael.” Liam gave him a wide grin, as Michael couldn’t help but to give him a smile back. He placed all the fresh hot food onto two plates, and slid them onto a nearby table for them. “Give it a try! Tell me what you think!” He smiled proudly.  Charles pulled a chair out for him, and encouraged him to sit. The plate was filled with rich nutritious food, including steamed vegetables, grilled chicken, on the side were a fresh biscuit and fruit slices. 

“I know it’s an odd plate, but I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I made you a bit of everything.” Liam shrugged. “The.. The whole thing?” Michael asked, as Charles nodded.  “It’s for me?” He asked again, a hint of excitement in his voice. “The whole thing.” Charles smiled. He happily dug in, trying tiny nibbles of everything on the plate, before taking proper bites. Charles was hardly interested in his own plate, he was too swoon by the satisfaction in Michaels face as he enjoyed a proper meal.

“So how is it?” Liam asked, as he cleaned up the kitchen area. Michael stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes went blank for a second, as he nervously glanced at Charles, who studied his face, trying to figure out what could possibly be wrong. “Sweetheart you can talk to anyone at any time, you don’t need permission.” Charles said. He really hoped he had guessed correctly. 

His eyes immediately light up. He took a deep breath, before excitedly blurting out “It’s really good and I really like it! Thank you!” He cried out to Liam, who gave him a bright smile. Charles took a breath of relief. He guessed correctly.

“All aboard!” Miles announced. He opened up the car door for Michael, as Charles stood behind him to help him up into the car. He had significantly calmed down, he had color in his face, and didn’t look petrified all the time now. He was nervous about the car ride, sure, but Charles assured him it would be a quick trip, and the woman who owned the shop was lovely.  After about ten minutes about driving, they were now outside a gorgeously decorated shop.  

“Welcome!” A woman called, who had been waiting by the door. She had her hair pulled back into a bun, with a sleek trench coat. She was older, in mid forties.  

“Nimrah, it’s been awhile!” Charles called. He steered Michael into the stop as she held the door. “Doing alright now that you’ve been more out and about.” She smirked at him. Her eyes were a deep green, that looked like it could pierce the souls of the weary. 

“Thank you again for doing this, I apologize for any hassle this may have caused.” Charles said.   “No, no problems at all. It’s an excuse to see you again. Plus! I wanted to meet him.” She motioned towards Michael, who had already slunk behind Charles.  “Well he’s a bit shy. We’re just giving him some space. But today, he gets clothes.” Charles smiled.

 He turned around and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Alright sweetheart. Go pick out whatever you want, go on now.” He shooed. Michael nodded nervously, as he looked around the store. It looked expensive. Everything was neatly on display, mirrors taking up any spare space on the wall, and the shop was spotless and decorated with beautiful hanging lights draping from the ceiling. 

Charles heard something like a “pspsps” noise behind him. 

 “Really Nimrah?” He hung his head, side eyeing her. ‘‘Get over here, we need to talk.” She said blatantly. She nodded towards the front desk, and opened up a door for him, leading into a back office. He took one last look to make sure Michael was okay, who was nervously playing with a scarf. He followed her as she draped herself in a stool, and pulled out her phone.

“So how’s the shop doing?” He asked.  “It’s a great side job, really throws off suspicion, now enough stalling, what are you doing messing with Malcolm? We have a system, remember?” She asked. Charles let out a pained sigh, as he leaned at the table next to her.

“Things got... Complicated.” He muttered.

“Whaaat? Noooo.” She said exaggeratedly, in a mocking tone. 

“We had five of the founders all on good terms. We were stable. With a majority of the founders all buddy buddy, we never worried about voting when it came to big decisions about the business.” She crossed her arms. “Ugh, I know.” Charles groaned.

“Now, there’s currently four founders on good terms, because someone decided to go mess with one, and take his favorite toy away.” She growled.

“That toy was a young man who was about to get beat to death. Are you saying I should have just watched that happen?” Charles asked coldly. 

“Honey, I run the assassinations business. What do you think I think?” She blinked at him.  Charles didn’t have a response. 

“To be honest, I actually think you did the right thing...” She admitted.  “What!?” He exclaimed. Definitely not the response he was expecting from Nimrah Loralie of all people.

“Oh come on dear, don’t give me that. I always hated Malcolm. He’s a big pain, and only thinks for himself, not the other companies. Take that deal he made with me for instance last month, that was a total rip off! A spit in my company's face!” She angrily explained. 

“Mmm.. About that. I kind of used that as a bit of blackmail so I could keep Michael...” He nervously muttered. 

“WHAT? Hahaha! Oh goodness, yes. Hang it over his head! He deserves it!” She hissed. Charles let out a small sigh of relief. “This is why you’re my favorite.” She giggled. “Thanks for being understanding.” He smiled.  “I’m not a total monster, but, problem still exist. The only thing the uh, snowflake founders have to do, is turn one of our guys on their side, all the voting will then be in their favor.” She said. “I suggest we turn the Barron, dense as a rock, but he’s been swaying these last few weeks.” Charles nodded in agreement. “Maybe we can have dinner sometime? Talk it over, come up with a strategy and knock it out together? Just like the good ol’ days.” She smirked.  Charles' phone pinged, as he pulled it out of his pocket.

“Oh speak of the devil...” He muttered. She raised an eyebrow at him.  “Would you look at who else would also like dinner?” He asked, showing her his phone.

Malcolm: “Dinner, your place, tomorrow at 6.” 

“Tsk, tell him you're busy.” She grumbled.  “I did, yesterday when we left his factory.” He explained.

Charles: Can’t, I’m busy, remember?

Malcolm: No you’re not, I know you cleaned your schedule.

“How did he know that?!” He complained.

Malcolm: I called tomorrow's meeting, they said you canceled. Stop spending all your time with that slave and fit me in tomorrow. How’s my baby doing by the way? Does he miss me?

“Busted.” Nimrah couldn’t help but laugh. “I can’t believe he called my meeting! He’s obsessed!” Charles growled. “Well he’s resourceful, you can give him that.” She shrugged. “I’m going to check on Michael.” Charles sighed. He threw his phone in his pocket and stormed out.

Michael was waiting for him, clutching a single pair of clothes. The cheapest he could find.

“What’s this?” Charles asked. “It’s.. It’s the clothes I picked out, sir.” He nervously said. “Is it too much? I.. I can put some back!” He dug through the pile in his arms. “No, where’s the rest of it? You’re going to have more than one change of clothes young man. Come here.” He took the pile from his arms and set it at the counter. He wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him over to a shelf stacked with folded clothes. “Come one now, pick out as much as you want. What about this right here, this looks snazzy and comfortable. What about those shoes up there? Do you like those?” He asked. “But! I.. Uh.” He nervously searched for a price tag. “Na ah! No looking at the price tags!” He snatched it from him before he could take a look, and tucked it underneath the shirt.  “Do you like it?” He asked.  “I.. Yes, I do, but-No buts!” Charles butted in. He grabbed the shirt off the shelf and tossed it into the pile on the counter. “Lets go try on these coats over here.” He smiled, pulling him into another direction. Michael was practically giggling at this point, with a shy blush covering his cheeks. 

After some time, Nimrah came out, and chuckled at the entire wardrobe piled on the counter. “You’re really getting invested in this little one, aren’t you?” She smiled.  “Yep, he’s mine after all. I’m going to give him everything he needs.” Charles said. “Is that so? Well it’s all on the house.” She said, neatly folding the clothes, and placing them in bags.  “Nimrah please, as kind as that is, it’s not necessary.” Charles said.  “I insist! Besides, it’s not for you, it's for him.” She smiled at Michael, who clutched Charles' arm nervously. He looked at her with wide, confused eyes. 

“I remember you, you know. I was there once, at a party he threw. You were a very brave young man.” She smiled. Michael’s face went pale, as he stared at the floor. Charles looked concerned, looking from one face to the other in silence.  

“Thank you very much, Miss.” Michael muttered, lowering his head. 

“Well! Off you two go, Michael, I hope you enjoy all of these, and Charles, keep my deal in mind will you? And take care of this little one.” She smiled, scooting several filled bags towards him. “Of course, thank you.” He was too concerned with whatever she meant by that to muster a smile. Miles entered the store to help carry things out, and thankfully broke some tension. 

He wanted to ask, but whatever she was referring to, happened some time ago. He didn’t want to press, but the curiosity lingered. Regardless, he was going to enjoy today. He was going to spoil this kid all day if he had too. And he wasn’t going to think about that dinner. That dinner with Malcolm, that was going to have to happen eventually.

He wasn’t going to think about it.

Tag list: @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @green-eyed-whumpster       

Thank you for reading!

[aaluminiumas]

Übung macht den Meister

Although Heisenberg’s workshop was situated quite far from the main production facility, he nonetheless was able to hear the uproar of gargantuan apparatuses and clanking of heavy details falling from hooks on the ceiling. The engineer, however, paid no heed to the sounds: he’d got accustomed to the ruckus that almost deafened him once – that hubbub contained the triumph of the creator who had been able to construct such an enormous factory from scratch. And oh, did that factory function. It generated numerous cyborgs and robots just like a living organism. At first, he didn’t feel passionate about the project, and mostly deemed them as toy soldiers; but now, absorbed by the experiments, Heisenberg dedicated more time to his drafts. He could barely control the odd excitement that took over him and ignited new ideas. The man wasn’t put out by a whirl of sparks escaping a broken engine: albeit it failed to blind him, the accident certainly had repercussions. The objects he saw weren’t turning into a gray blur, but the reddened eyes were shot by a twinge of searing pain every time he blinked. Evidently, a trauma had taken place. As a matter of fact, he still felt the ramifications – bright lamps hurt just as much. Hence the glasses. Hence the dim lanterns in his workshop used as the only stable and available source of light.

In the crepuscularly lit austere room, one could distinguish outlines of a beat-up desk and a rickety table nearby: Heisenberg tended to get up so abruptly that the seat was sent flying all over the workshop to the far wall. A set of drafts was affixed beside the desk. Some of them were dog-eared; others sagged and concealed red marks and oily stains. Obviously, the engineer rectified them during the working process and, at last, he seemed to deduce that it was easier to draw up a new one taking into account all the previous mistakes. A bit further, in the darkest corner, an autopsy table peeked out through the adjacent door open ajar. An ashy arm with a German tattoo was dangling from its side. Übung macht den Meister. Practice makes perfect.

Heisenberg flicked his lighter open in the air and lit his cigar. Then, he sauntered to the operating room, tossing around various bolts and screws by the boot, his coat swishing across the floor. It had just dawned upon him: the idea that came to his mind could turn his world upside down molding a brand new impression of a universal soldier. With that, he could probably create another weapon. Far more perilous and infinitely more truculent.

Leaning against the doorjamb and inhaling the acrid odor of chemicals amalgamating with fuel and smoke, Heisenberg pensively perused the cadaver on the table. A man, approximately forty-five, maybe fifty years of age; stout, burly, even; quite strong – if the operation goes well according to the plan, he might preserve the sweep and power which will eventually make him a progenitor to the upcoming generation of universal soldiers. However, if no success obtained, the guinea pig gets jettisoned. Nevertheless, it will still contribute to the development of modern technologies. Probably.

Wincing at the smoke scratching on the eyeballs, Heisenberg nibbled on the cigar to feel the flavor of the tobacco. Today was a special day, and everything gained additional intensity to it. Even an ancient and dreary tool kit, standing beside the autopsy table, looked like an artwork. In any case, a saw slightly rusty at the handle, with its blade covered in gore, could pass for a picture painted at the time of war – or for a not-so-deft scheme.

Heisenberg checked the blade with a finger, positioned himself so the blade leveled with the forearm, and gently pressed the saw to the spot under the elbow. He spotted a glimpse of the phrase tattooed into the flesh, Übung macht den Meister. Yeah, right. Years of endless practice didn’t turn out fruitless, and he could approbate his skills on the man. It’s a pity the silent patient couldn’t quite appreciate the grandeur of his advanced body. Pressing himself against the handle, Heisenberg began to slash – and realized that splatters of lukewarm blood sprayed across his face. The unfastened shoulder swerved to the side making the tool spring off and leave a gash several inches higher the elbow. He was used to other operations, so he expected the blade would immediately be intercepted by the bone, but the assumption was wrong. Moreover, he hadn’t fixated the body, hadn’t chosen the right angle… he got to focus.

The blood was pouring out, ploddingly trickling across the leg of the table and collecting near the tool kit: the drain was jammed, and Heisenberg didn’t have the time to clear it up. The stale air saturated with the odor of smelting iron, rapidly assimilated with a heavy smell that completely eradicated the smoke of the extinguishing cigar. He no longer tasted the tobacco.

Heisenberg gave a quick once-over to the besmirched mirror of the prosectorium: it reflected his apathetic, blemished face with blood splashes pointing out the white scars, so they looked fresh. Wiping off his lips, the engineer swiveled back to his patient. He was wrong from the very beginning; the tactics he had picked could not work well. He needed to come up with a finer instrument – this operation required as much accuracy as a clockwork mechanism. First off, he had to expose the bone and check its condition. The man might have fractured his arm in the past, and in this case, the radius would crack.

Heisenberg pulled a drawer under the table. A metallic glimpse of the medical instruments slapped him in the eye. Comparing to his usual kit, tweezers, trocars, dilators, and forceps seemed puny and completely useless. How much time would he have wasted trying to dissect a corpse with a scalpel? How much energy would it require to grasp all vessels in a human body? However, he had to admit the obvious: medical instruments did provide a better view – and helped avoid any collateral damage that could eventually impact the functions. Though, he didn’t lack guinea pigs, so for the most part, Heisenberg’s cyborg army consisted of crude details roughly pinned to the joints: who the hell cared what cannon fodder was made of?..

Forcing the blade into the forearm, Heisenberg made a surgical incision. The blood sluiced over the table, but, heedless of it, he made no attempt to stop it. On the contrary, the man loved the sense of superiority and dominance over this nameless cadaver sprawled in front of him, whose future – if there was any – totally depended on him. Heisenberg’s breath slowed down, and he cut through the muscles pushing the scalpel further. It wouldn’t take too much time reaching the radius, though he couldn’t wait any longer. Shoving the tool aside, the engineer splayed the wound open and plunged his gloved fingers inside – he sure relished the feeling of the fabric being sodden with blood. In a moment, he propelled his digits deeper between the flavescent taut tendons and ligaments.

Soon enough, he bumped into a solid bone and palpated the surface blotted with crimson chunks to discover a barely perceptible jut: it was either a long-healed crack or a consolidated fracture. Satisfied, Heisenberg hummed under his breath, took a deep drag, exhaled – and lifted the cheroot back to his mouth. A plume of smoke mingled with a metallic flavor of blood. Taking off his glove, the engineer reiterated the maneuver to convince himself of the presence of the flaws. There indeed were tiny clefts, lumps, and bulbs which may have been caused by either strenuous work or occasional fights. To hell with the initial plan; the bolts could be twisted into the elbow or higher if needed; the saw had left its mark already.

Heisenberg affixed the arm by the belt and scorched the spot of the future cut by the cigar. A galvanic thought came to his mind: a hacksaw would be more convenient – it had no teeth to get blocked by the skin.

Finally, the blade sank into the radius; a wet, slushing sound came, and the hacksaw leaped off the bone, somehow slashing Heisenberg across the hand. Blood, rich maroon color, flushed all over the floor and splattered the stained coat – although he didn’t seem to have a grievous injury, the man got an impression that he had damaged an artery.

“Fuck,” the engineer cursed through the clenched teeth, squeezing the wound with his good hand, “You will pay dearly for what you’ve done.”

He didn’t have a first-aid kit on the premises but nonetheless possessed a number of bandages in the top drawer under the autopsy table. Heisenberg never marveled at where they came from or who could have brought them here, so, ignoring all the possible questions that were about to pop up in his head, the man decided to use the gauze according to its intended purpose. The blood was trickling down his forearm, leaving a vermilion trail – just the same as the wounded villagers hounded by Lycans. This spoor simplified the task significantly: their sense of smell, considerably amplified by various experiments, inevitably led the beasts to the victims. He tended to come across those obnoxious, deformed, hirsute creatures gnawing on the broken bones until they got spotlessly clean. Would they dare track him down and pounce on him if they smelled the scent of his blood?..

Quickly swathing the gash, Heisenberg plummeted into his metal chair and stared at the gauze growing redder with each second. He managed to avoid such accidents. The last he recalled was when he took interest in vivisection several years ago. The test subject was still alive and bit him. Of course, there was no point continuing the research – he didn’t plan to splurge time and resources: no gag could muffle shrills and groans that later rang in his ears; tight leather belts rarely helped – the people writhed and squirmed, and the incisions weren’t accurate. It was simply easier to work with corpses. They were, at least, quiet. There was enough din at Miranda’s spontaneous sessions: apart from the usual reports and graphic descriptions of what they did with their Cadou specimens, she had a horrible tendency to arrange meetings saying she missed her “lovely children.” Bruh, he missed his seclusion, for all he cared, but his desires were never a subject of discussion.

Heisenberg scrutinized the massive figure on the table; the half-severed arm dangle off the edge – he had cut the belt in half, too. The blood kept dribbling on the floor, and he recollected his first murder.

He hadn’t planned that: a tantrum caused the killing, and he always indulged when it came to outbursts of rage. Then, a particularly boneheaded villager riled him up. Gaunt, with dark, deep-set eyes, the man was arrogantly leering at the lord, grinning lopsidedly from beneath the sandy-colored mustache.

“Your days are numbered, you know? Your and that goddamn factory of yours,” the man spat a clot on the ground. “In a blink of an eye, you’ll be another pile of metal over there.”

He didn’t even try to save his life – he did not beg, plead or pledge eternal allegiance. Heisenberg never paid attention to ingratiation and groveling, but such audacity sure as hell drove him crazy. The fellow was not frightened in the slightest, no, he even seemed to probe how far he actually could go before crossing the line and getting himself killed. What an idiot. An idiot, who nevertheless was given a special honor: normally, the Lycans did the dirty work, Heisenberg himself didn’t find solace in senseless brutality that brought no results whatsoever.

In all honesty, it was nearly impossible to run a real show in this godforsaken place – there were no individualities to taunt and to play with (that smug loudmouth moron may very well have been the only), and testing his booby traps on despicable worms ready to sell their God appeared absolutely dull and stultifying. The cutthroat on the table could’ve attempted to stand out and take part in a confrontation with the lord, but, unfortunately, he failed to resist a mere lycan. Sore loser.

Heisenberg peered at his wounded hand – and swiveled his eyes toward the blood-soaked glove.

Übung macht den Meister. That was his last blunder – and it will never happen again.

[aerisahale]

Multitudes of Memory

@korrasami-valentine-exchange

Words: 5,032 Rating: T Summary: Asami remembers five of her favorite memories with Korra in the process of repainting their house, and then she makes a new one.

A crash from the entryway pulls Asami’s focus away from the metalwork of springs and cogs before her. Korra was a bit later than she had expected, but she has been keeping herself busy. Gently laying the half-finished work on her desk, Asami exits her home office.

Along the way to the living room, she is surprised to find herself with an armful of excitable Korra just on the other side of the threshold. Korra babbles about how sweet the cashier was as Asami pulls them both down the hall and into the living room, coming to stand side-by-side in a mirrored pose of hands-on-their-hips and looks of determination. Asami asks, “You still want to do this, right?”

Waggling her eyebrows, Korra says, “Of course. You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”

“It was my idea!”

Korra puts her hands up in surrender. “I’m just saying it’s okay if you are.”

A grin slides onto the engineer’s face and she slaps a hand onto the pile of paint cans next to her with the same look of determination she wears after she has closed a particularly lucrative business deal. “No, let’s do this!”

Whooping with all the enthusiasm of a prospective retailer in a Future Industries factory, Korra is already dragging a chair out of the room, careful to avoid the pile of paint brushes, rollers, tape, and trays that must have crashed from whatever container Korra had originally brought them inside with. “I’ll start moving the furniture out of the room!”

“I’ll get the walls!” she shouts over the scraping of chair legs against hardwood that is too far gone to chastise her wife about picking things up instead of dragging.

Grabbing a nearby box that they had spent time assembling the night before, Asami starts pulling picture frames off the walls. Newspaper gets wrapped around each one before they get laid gently into the box. It is a repetitive process and she finds herself getting into the rhythm. It is only when her fingers brush the cool metal of a certain picture frame as her heart gives a thump against her chest, warmth of nostalgia takes hold, and she remembers the evening it was taken.

--

 Gentle but romantic piano music rises above the din of the restaurant as Asami tuck a strand of hair nervously behind her ear. Sitting alone makes her feel too conspicuous, already noticeable as the heir of Future Industries and the Sato holdings. Her fingers tap restlessly against the table, blunt fingernails tapping a beat against the table as the waiter brings her the glass of wine she asked for.

There are couples around her, dressed finely and sipping their own wine, nibbling on appetizers. The couple closest to her aren’t have a particularly scintillating conversation and she finds herself both nervous and bored. She suddenly wishes she had something better to do with her hands and presses a pattern into the stem of her glass, eyes roving over the restaurant as she waits.

Moments after, a commotion at the front begs her attention. She finds Korra dressed in a Water Tribe blue dress, arms bare, defined muscles on display for anyone to admire. When Korra greets her, she is breathy and it makes her wonder if it was nerves or if she genuinely ran here. Neither would surprise her. Asami hugs her and all of her own nerves from earlier melt away in the arms of the woman she loves. It never fails to amaze her how strong Korra’s simple presence can make her feel.

Reluctant to part, she knows she surprises Korra by holding on longer than would be normal. Korra’s arms tighten back around her and she takes a deep breath, sighing out against the other woman’s shoulder. They finally settle down at the table and begin perusing the menu, deciding to start with an appetizer of octopus fritters.

She asks Korra how her day has been, knows the other woman has been busy with politics. Korra along with Tenzin have been appointed as unofficial advisors in Zhu Li’s presidency and it has led to many long nights as they deal with various issues of running the Republic of United Nations. Asami herself had been a part of some of those nights as the unique blend of immigration and technological advancement in Republic City created as many problems as it solved.

Asami listens attentively until Korra shifts the conversation toward praising Asami for her latest invention allowing for faster, more efficient mail and package delivery after several rather large Spirit Vines had bottlenecked delivery by vehicle in several different areas. Glowing under the praise and reveling in how genuine Korra is as she delivers it, Asami is taken by surprise when someone other than their waiter approaches the table.

“May I take your picture for the Fire Ferret Times?” The camera is already in front of the speaker’s face.

Asami shares a silent conversation with Korra before they slide away from the table and wrap their arms around each other’s waist, heads leaned into each other. It is a short moment, and their meals arrived shortly after, but it still stands out as one of the best dates they had ever gone on.

 --

 The glow of the conversation that was interrupted still brightened their faces and the smiles they held were both genuine. The article that was run the next day about the parallels of finding balance in one’s personal lives to finding balance in the city, featuring Korra’s delicate balance of her duties as the Avatar and her individuality as a person was surprisingly well-written and was deserving of more credit than they had given the man on their drive home that night. There was a copy of it in a scrapbook on one of the shelves in Asami’s office.

Korra is back in the living room, giving Asami a questioning glance. She holds up the photo to her. “Remembering this night.”

“Spirits, you were gorgeous that night!” Taking the frame from Asami, Korra grins down at it. She looks thoughtful for a moment before she looks Asami up and down quite conspicuously and smirks. “Still are!”

Asami grabs the next photo as Korra wraps that one and places it in the box with the others Asami already wrapped. There are only a couple more photos and she runs a gentle finger down their wedding photo, the last to be placed in the box, taking extra care wrapping it. She places it gently on the top and closes the box, taking into the spot they had cleared out in the garage of their house.

“Asami!” Korra yells. “Look what I found!”

She is holding up a half burned red tablecloth and the sight of it catches Asami in surprise. A laugh bubbles up and bursts out. “I thought we threw that away!”

“Me too!” The Avatar is already grinning, but it grows wider as her eyes fly wide. “Wait! We got a bit, uh, distracted.”

“Oh, yeah!” Asami laughs as she hooks an arm around Korra’s waist and nuzzles her nose into her neck, eyes falling closed.

 --

 Varrick has been working on a secret project he only allowed Zhu Li to be privy to for months. When he comes to Asami, seeking to syphon off Future Industries private power grid, she had been understandably skeptical. She had even said no, at first, but several foiled theft attempts on Varrick’s part and a phone call from Zhu Li asking on her husband’s behalf, she had finally relented.

It had been a mistake.

Whatever the madman had done had shorted out half of the power grid for Republic City. It makes the rest of the day a frustrating one, fielding phone calls from her various factory managers, losses of product, and brainstorming with Zhu Li and Varrick about getting the grid back online. Eventually they call it a day and all Asami wants is to lose her troubles in her favorite dish at Kwong’s Cuisine but it is one of the many businesses affected by the power loss.

When she finally gets home, she is displeased to find she is out of power too. Her and Korra’s house laid on the dividing line of those who had been spared and those who were left without and it seems that her frustration was fated to continue. Familiarity allows her to hang her jacket up and throw the keys to the Satomobile in the bowl by the door.

“Korra?”

“Hey, baby. I heard you had a rough day. What do you need?” The woman in question walks out of the kitchen and pulls her wife into her arms.

“I need Varrick’s hairbrained ideas to stop effecting the entire city before he gets it right,” she growls out before realizing her tone and sighing, going boneless in Korra’s arms. “You’re not the one I’m mad at, I’m sorry. It was a rough day. How was your day?”

She tries to listen to Korra, she really does, but she gets distracted by the rumbling of her stomach. By the fourth growl, it is loud enough that Korra pauses mid-sentence to ask, “Have you eaten?”

“Spirits, no. I just wanted to go to Kwong’s but they were out of power too.”

“Lucky timing then because I ordered enough food to feed an army from Narook’s. I even got some of that artic hen you really like. I was about to go pick it up.”

“That sounds wonderful. I’m going to clean up as best I can without a shower but you can take the Satomobile. I don’t care if Kuvira is suddenly mounting a second invasion, I’m not going anywhere tonight.”

Pressing a kiss to her temple, Korra scoops the keys out of the dish Asami threw them into. “I’ll be back soon.”

Korra makes good on her promise and Asami is feeling much better when Korra comes through the door, both hands laden with bags of food that make Asami’s stomach growl all over again. She takes the bags from Korra’s hands and brings them to the table where she’s lit a couple candles for light. She lays the food out as Korra closes the door and takes her shoes off.

“Asami, this is so romantic!” Korra smiles.

Surprise registers as her eyebrows raise, a laugh bubbling up. “I hadn’t even realized. Our own candlelit dinner. Maybe today won’t end as badly as the rest of it was.”

Dinner passes quickly, more quickly for Asami than Korra. She has all but inhaled her food in her hunger, now describing all the atrocities the day had visited upon her as Korra finishes her meal at a more reasonable pace. Korra is howling in laughter as she recounts thwarting a particularly annoying theft attempt on Varrick’s part. After she’s finished and they both stop laughing, Asami wipes the tears from her eyes and glances around.

“We don’t have anything special for dessert but, I can grab a bottle of that dessert wine we brought home from that last trip to Ember Island.”

When she comes back, Korra has finished her plate of food, and Asami pours them both a glass of wine. As she sets it onto the table, the bottle knocks over one of the candles, the flame quickly catching on the fabric of the tablecloth it landed on. It takes them both by surprise but Korra is on her feet, quick to bend the water from a nearby vase onto the flames before the damage spreads further than the tablecloth.

“Thanks, Korra. I should have been paying more attention.”

“No harm done. You okay?” she asks, pulling Asami against her chest.

“It’s just been a frustrating day.”

“Perhaps I can help distract you from that?” Korra pleads with puppy-dog eyes to rival Naga at her sweetest.

“We should clean up,” she protests weakly, even though she already knows she wants it.

“It can wait until tomorrow.”

Asami lets herself be pulled into a kiss. It’s sweet and familiar as it soothes Asami’s frayed nerves. She presses a hand to the small or Korra’s back and pulls her body flush against her, kissing her for a moment longer. They stay lost in each other as they allow muscle memory to guide themselves to a more appropriate location.

 --

 “That night was far better than that day had been. At least Varrick restored power by the next day.” Asami laughs.

“Maybe we should keep a square of the tablecloth for the scrapbook?” Korra suggests. “We kept it all this time, apparently.”

“Good idea!”

Better to do it while it’s on her mind, Asami is quick to grab the scissors and the scrapbook from her office. As she is pulling the scrapbook down, another book tumbles from the bookshelf, pages flaring out as the spine hits the ground. It opens to a particular page and she is delighted at what she finds, so she picks that up and brings it with her as well.

She dances around the furniture Korra has shoved into the kitchen and sets everything on the counter. She calls Korra over, holding the contents of the book open on display. Korra’s eyes widen as she approaches.

“I remember this!” Korra says as she picks up the pressed blossom by the stem, twirling it in her fingers. Asami listens to Korra’s view of that night as she sets to cutting a good square out of the tablecloth, thinking about her own sequence of unfortunate events that evening.

 --

 There was a summit with the outlying Earth Kingdom provinces that had originally been resistant to joining the United Republic of Nations and Korra had taken their personal Satomobile with her to make the trip easier. The provinces in question were always peaceful in their resistance and their admiration of the way Korra and Zhu Li were handling the merging of the Spirit World and Republic City, a strong contrast to how Kuvira had demanded submission, had finally pushed them to reach out with an offer to make peace and finally formally join the United Republic of Nations.

Asami was already antsy since the night before since Korra was due home that day, a treaty having been signed the day before. She had received a garbled telephone call the day before that she was fairly certain she had heard correctly. She was certainly setting herself up for disappointment if Korra was delayed for some reason, because she could not contain her excitement after a week without her wife.

Borrowing a Future Industries Satomobile while her own Satomobile was absent for the week has been a small thing, but tonight is a nice, warm night and Asami wants to enjoy it with a walk. She takes a detour past a section of the city that had been particularly vocal about their displeasure with the Spirits and she wants to know if she can find a particular reason why.

The buildings are average as far as Republic City is concerned. The streets did not seem particularly crowded by vines, not anymore so than the rest of the city. A few apartments had been lost to the growth, but not enough to warrant the amount of complaints Zhu Li was receiving from this section. She made a mental note to look into the matter further, wanting to ask some locals questions. It was too late and too nice for that to be a venture for this evening.

It is too bright to really see the stars, but Asami definitely enjoys the cool breeze that cuts through the warm evening. There are not as many people as she would expect to find in the day, but the Friday evening has brought many people out of their homes for a night on the town. The street lamps cast a soothing glow across the buildings and people walking side by side, some hand in hand.

She had not been fruitful toward her originally intended investigation, but she did come upon a delightfully bright shop, bright colors popping in the lighting. It was bright enough to wash out the yellow of the street lamps and drew Asami in. Peeking at the floral arrangements on display outside the shop, she was startled by the hunched elderly woman who appeared at her elbow with a gravely greeting.

“What type of arrangement are you looking for, Ms…?” the woman asks, grinning like the cat that caught the canary. Asami is unsure if she was the canary, yet.

“Sato. Asami. They just caught my eye.”

“Oh, the Avatar’s wife, come! Come inside, I have the perfect arrangement.”

The floral scent inside the shop is strong. She is led to the back where a long counter where a pile of flowers lay, vases of different varieties angled behind the table to be grabbed easily. The old woman picks one last flower and places it in the center, the only one of its kind in the bunch, rolling it into a bouquet and tying the paper in place with a ribbon.

“What is this one?” Asami asks, pointing to the black and white flower in the center.

“Ah, that is the panda lily. It only grows in the Earth Kingdom, on the rim of volcanoes with certain soil and humidity conditions. Giving the panda lily to someone is a sign of great love. Quite ironic that I was just putting this together, don’t you think, Asami Sato?”

Deciding she is most certainly the canary, Asami is quick to agree and she paid the woman far more than the flowers were worth. A particular giddiness came over her as she carries them home. She had never bought flowers for Korra or anyone before. She had treated Korra to nice meals, jewelry, trinkets she built herself, but flowers felt sentimental in a way Asami did not often find herself.

By some stroke of luck, Korra is already home when she got there. Her wife is in the shower, so Asami searched through the storage closet in the garage for a spare vase to set the flowers in. The closet is a mess and several things fell out, narrowly avoided by dodging out of the way. It had taken fifteen minutes just to pack everything back into it after she found the vase she is looking for, but it is worth it to watch Korra’s tired eyes brighten at the sight of the flowers.

Watching Korra gently run her fingers over the petals of the panda lily, Asami recounted the story the elderly woman had told her. Korra listened intently, a smile growing on her face as she continued. By the end, Korra had drawn her into a tight embrace, arms encircling Asami while her face pressed into her neck. “Thank you, love.”

Asami held Korra tight against her. It had only been a week apart, but she had missed the closeness with her wife, the comfort she found with her arms around her. The solid presence of her made Asami feel like she could take on the world, had taken on the world with Korra by her side a time or two. Eventually, she began to feel the tremors running through Korra’s body and she pulled back, looking at her with all the concern she felt.

“Korra, what’s wrong?”

Turning her face away to rub at her eye with the sleeve of her shirt, her voice is steady when she says, “It’s nothing bad. It was just a very long week and I missed you very much. I’m a little overwhelmed.”

Korra reached out and touched the panda lily again. “I want to keep it. I want to remember what coming home feels like.”

 --

 Smiling sweetly, Asami gently plucks the panda lily from Korra’s fingers and presses it into the proper place in the scrapbook, and the red square of tablecloth finds a home a few pages before.  The scissors and scrapbook go back to their places in Asami’s office and she returns to tackle the living room with renewed interest.

Korra drags another chair out before tackling the couch. Asami asks if she wants help but the big, strong Avatar denies she needs it and Asami gets to laugh at her struggling to drag the big, overstuffed couch out while Asami herself drags a box that had been tucked behind it and forgotten about.

Opening the box, she finds the contents are random, seemingly thrown in there to clear space. She digs through it for a moment, before her fingers brush against a soft furred item that ignites her curiosity enough to seek it out. The stuffed animal she finds makes her smile.

 --

 The day starts with breakfast in bed, delivered to their door by the hotel staff. It is an Earth Kingdom specialty, oven-roasted pears stuffed with ice cream and crunchy sweet bread, a combination of flavors that Asami is certain she will never forget. She cannot help the moan that leaves her. Breakfast isn’t something she often indulges in and that makes it all the sweeter. “This is so good!”

She looks over at Korra to find the woman’s mouth stuffed full, cheeks bulging like a frog squirrel, and cannot help the giggles that overtake her. Judging by the empty plate held in her hands, the Avatar of legend has shoved the entirety of the breakfast into her mouth in one go. They do not get many moments like this back home when they are both busy, so her mirth grows to full on laughter when Korra tries to speak but it just comes out garbled.

After breakfast, they spend an hour lounging in the bathtub together, refilling it with hot water whenever the temperature drops too low. The scented oils and soaps that are provided are heavenly, and Asami takes the time to smell each one as Korra undresses to join her.

They talk about their future in a way they have not in a long time, politics, jobs, and life often too hectic to allow for the languid depth they find now. That they still have so much in common thrills the engineer and she wraps her arms around Korra. Asami holds her tightly, the warmth of Korra’s back against her front and the water surrounding them is relaxing. She presses slow, lazy kisses against Korra’s ear, neck, and shoulders.

They finish their bath and get ready to tour the city. They spend some time visiting each and every historical and art museums. Korra studies the displays that talk about Avatar Kyoshi. She knows Korra has fears about the future knowing she cannot access the memories and wisdom of her past lives, so she reminds her wife that she is not alone by lacing their fingers together, leaning into her side.

Korra leans back into her, still reading the aged documents that describe Kyoshi as a wise, long-lived woman who would do what was necessary to enact justice. It spoke of her victories over Tagaka to Xu Ping An and more. It was astounding how long she lived, trying to influence the justness of the world as best she could.

After they have visited every museum Ba Sing Se has to offer, Korra suggests they visit the zoo just outside the wall. It is not far from where they are but it is about time for them to stop and grab lunch, so they stop along the way. It is a Ba Sing Se specialty restaurant, with a bright green gem over the doorway that attracts Korra like a magpie to silver.

They are in the middle of ordering when Asami notices the head that peeks around the corner from the kitchen, and that is the only warning she gets before an older man is dragging the waitress down into a low bow beside him. He gushes to Korra and insists on burying them in far more food than they intended to order. Korra grins good-naturedly and is happy to get some extra food out of it. The owner hovers nearby, quick to jump into the conversation in any place that he can. Thankfully, the food is delicious and it only takes a few tries to get away from the chatty owner after they have finished and insisted paying for their meal.

The arching entryway of the zoo is taller than Asami by three times and she stares up at it before looking back down at the crowds of people roaming from exhibit to exhibit. There is a line to get into the park and it is warmer here than Asami is used to in Republic City so she unbuttons her blouse to bare her arms to the cool breeze that floats by.

A grin spreads across her lips when she catches Korra checking her out, not once but three separate occasions before they have even purchased their tickets. If it makes her stand a little straighter and hold her head a little higher, Korra does not say so, but the stuttering of the young man at the ticket counter does.

The first exhibit inside the park were platypus bear, being a favorite of the former monarchy of the Earth Kingdom. They thrived inside their private outdoor enclosure and Asami and Korra were both delighted to be able to get to see them.

Korra grabbed Asami’s hand and pulled her to the next exhibit, turtle seals, playing with each other in the shallow edge of the pool. Watching Korra’s eyes light up is the highlight of the trip so far for Asami. She sneaks away while her wife is distracted, finding a nearby vendor and buying a stuffed animal turtle seal. The delight on Korra’s face fills Asami’s heart to near bursting and she pulls her into a hug.

 --

 Turning the stuffed animal over in her hands, the same warmth of that moment makes her heart beat a little faster. She turns to show the animal to Korra when she comes back in from maneuvering the couch out into the kitchen. Korra’s grin turns sweet and she reaches out for it, giving it a gentle squeeze. “That was such a good day.”

Hefting the box up onto her hip, Asami holds it out for Korra to tuck the animal back into it and carries it out to the garage. They get the rest of the furniture moved into the kitchen and everything else packed into boxes in the garage. The stack of boxes is so much larger than Asami had originally thought it would be, but she had many years with Korra to accumulate things.

The empty living room felt weird so Asami is quick to grab the painter’s tape and start lining the trim and windowsills, Korra joining on the other half and they worked towards each other until they met in the middle, like they did in so many aspects of their lives.

Once the taping is done, they laid plastic to protect the hardwood from paint stains and then they set up a paint tray, each grabbing a paintbrush. One can of paint gets dragged over to the tray and the satisfying pop sends a thrill through Asami, excitement for the changes the new color is going to bring to their home sending goosebumps down her arms. It is an eggplant color that a part of Asami thought was the perfect amalgamation of their preferred wardrobe and an even better living room color.

They each grab a paintbrush and set to work filling in all the edges near the painter’s tape. It is tedious work and by the time Asami has reached the window in the center, Korra is already near her edge of it and she accidentally bumps into her.

“Hey!” Korra warns.

Asami’s eyebrow quirks. “I’ll show you ‘hey!’.”

Korra is clearly not expecting the hip check if the way she jolts sideways is anything to judge by. The flail of her arms as she tries to regain her balance has left a splotch of purple across Asami’s cheek that probably detracts from the indignant expression she is trying for. Asami grabs her own paintbrush and as soon as her eyes slide to the tray of paint, Korra is moving.

The race to be the first to the paint tray ends with Korra getting there first, but Asami pushes her forward so that her momentum carries her past it, jams her paintbrush into the paint and flings it at Korra who has just turned around to double back. Korra is quick to get her own paintbrush in the paint and flings a glob that splatters across the thigh of Asami’s pants, falling to land on her shoe

The ensuing fight leaves splatters of purple across not only the walls but the window, plastic, and both women. The laughter it causes is more than worth any trouble it may bring later and it had been a long time since they both fully abandoned adulthood for pure, innocent, but messy fun. Laying side-by-side, covered in paint, giggling with her wife is something she will cherish for a long time.

“Do you remember our first vacation together? When I went to the Spirit World for the first time?” Asami asks. Memories of neon spirits and tea with Iroh, the Dragon of the West, but most importantly Korra and their first kiss make her sigh happily. It did not take her long after that to know she was in love in a way she never had been before.

“How could I forget?”

“I never dreamed we would be where we are, almost two decades later. We’ve been through a lot together, haven’t we?”

“We have! It hasn’t always been easy, but we’ve come out stronger for the problems, I think.”

“Definitely.”

The day of reminiscing left her with the impression this would be a new memory she would remember for a long time. She considers getting a keepsake to commemorate the moment, but pushes it aside for a more appropriate time. Korra’s hand cups her jaw, pulling their lips together and Asami allows herself to get lost in it.  They had so many memories already, but Asami cannot wait for many, many more.

[fleckcmscott]

Fun and Only

Summary: During a night out, Y/N and Arthur bump into someone from Arthur’s past. Y/N tries to decipher him.

Warnings: Swearing

Words: 4,088

A/N: This was a request from the sweet, kind @imdeaddear2! I hope you like it! Thank you for making the request, because I never would have written this scenario without it. 😀 Special thanks to @arthurflecc for the beautiful intro pic! Also, thanks to @hhandley80​ for reviewing the exchange in the middle section!

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

"Y/N, it's little league season. Know what that means?"

Needing to finish the paragraph she was reading, Y/N raised a finger. The dense case on her desk was a tough assignment; she'd been toiling at it most of the morning. She liked her new position. Truly. But the pace at which she prepared files was slower than she would have preferred. The particulars of labor laws were, well...laborious. Reviewing evidence types she wasn't familiar with took time. It made her impatient. Anxious to soak up all the information she could get her hands on.

But, she supposed, no longer being plagued by guilt for indirectly supporting the Waynes was worth the learning curve.

Leaning back in her chair, she crossed her ankles, swinging her foot back and forth as she regarded Terry. While he was incredibly friendly, chatting with everyone and anyone, they remained acquaintances. Periodically, she conferred with him over a motion or sought to get his opinion about the upcoming mayoral election. ("I've seen Wayne's legal bullshit. He's not getting my vote.") Those discussions didn't go far. Usually, he tried to bond over parental matters - she and Arthur didn't even have a plant.

She could tell this was going to be another attempt. "You're doing a fundraiser and I should buy chocolate bars?" she asked.

"Even better." Digging into his too-tight pants pocket, he retrieved a checkbook-sized pamphlet. "The Gotham Squires are selling these to charter a bus for the All-Stars tournament. They're the number two team in the state!" He shoved a photo of his kid at her.

She murmured a polite, "He's all grown-up." He spoke of the team's new uniforms and his nine-year-old's batting average. Half-listening, she flipped through the booklet. It was a coupon collection, mostly two-for-one sales at various restaurants and vouchers for discounted movie tickets, good on weekdays only. They were quite pricey at fifteen dollars apiece. But she was inclined to buy one. The savings might help Arthur practice letting go of his wallet. Allow him to stop worrying about money and indulge a little, the way he deserved.

What made the cash fly from her purse to Terry's palm was the certificate in the back: a half-off deal for Amusement Mile. Satisfaction was written all over her face as she studied the yellow cardstock's terms and conditions, the outline of a circus tent, the faded ink encouraging her to "Enjoy the Ride!" Coming from a rural area, she'd never gone to an amusement park. One had been four or so hours east, but her father had preferred to stay close to home, fearing he might be needed in an emergency.

The annual county fair had been a must. Everyone had worn his or her Sunday Best, the occasional breeze kicking up dirt as they toured the fairground. The rides had been creaky, unsound, and should have been reported to the local safety commission. She'd gone on the Tilt-A-Whirl and the giant slide, waving at her parents and hanging onto her burlap sack. One year, Mabel had screamed and cried until Y/N grabbed her hand and led them out of the house of mirrors.

Swinging the mallet as hard as he could, her father had impressed her mother with the strongman game. The puck wouldn't hit the bell. Doily and needlework competitions had been her mother's purview, crafts Y/N had practiced but quickly tired of. She'd preferred the pie contest. Her mouth had watered, hankering for a taste of the first-place winner. The agricultural exhibits had been the largest section, with its prized horses, pigs, and chickens. She'd broken the rules and stuck her fingers in the rabbit cages to feel their soft fur; she'd been bitten once.

Wistfulness wasn't the only reason the theme park appealed to her. There was Arthur's history with it. He kept a postcard of the Ferris wheel pinned to the divider in his writing nook. And he'd described some of the odd jobs he'd done. Carrying boxes of merchandise, filling in for other clowns, picking up litter (and keeping the returnables). It hadn't been steady, merely hours offered to him if he'd inquired. But it'd given him pocket change. Enough to buy cigarettes and keep the utilities on for another month.

The week had been warm up till now, and the good weather was expected to continue. He loved taking her to new corners of the city, had ever since their first date. Introducing her to his old stomping ground wouldn't take a lot of convincing.

When she got home, he was perched on the sofa, clad in a thermal shirt and a pair of her too-short pajama bottoms. (A funny combination that meant their laundry was in the machine.) Elbows on his knees, journal on the coffee table, and pen at the ready, his concentration was plain to see. The discipline he had to pursue his dreams, the way he studied comedy specials on TV was admirable. She got a glass of water and smiled at his ill-timed laughter. That he didn't understand the host's humor was logical. Roasts were usually unkind. While Arthur's jokes weren't always funny, they weren't mean-spirited.

She crouched next to him, peppered kisses along his shoulder. His damp curls brushed her cheek, and she breathed in the zesty musk of his shampoo. "I wouldn't waste too much effort on this guy," she said. Her caress followed the freckles on his bare forearm, feeling the muscle flutter under her fingertips. "He's kind of an asshole."

"The audience helps me figure out the timing." He muted the television, lips quirking. "You like some of his songs."

"He makes a better singer than comedian," she rebutted with a peck.

They went over their respective days, how his earlier appointment went, the paperwork she'd done. Tuna casserole was their choice for dinner, and Arthur put on an LP while they cooked. Once the dish was in the oven, she hugged him close. "I have an idea for Thursday night." She went over the Amusement Mile discount, enthused about his expertise, reveled in how her praise softened his features and brightened his eyes. "I'd love it if you took me around. Taught me all the magic behind the scenes. And I'm dying to see where you do your street performances." She massaged the nape of his neck. "Maybe I'll stop by and give you a tip."

Crooked tooth peeking out, he nodded. Then he grasped the counter on either side of her hips and pressed his forehead to hers. "That sounds great."

~~~~~

A small memorial flowerbed, filled with alternating swirls of white gardenias, purple pansies, and yellow daffodils, was situated just beyond the park's main entrance. The marble fountain bubbling in the center reminded Y/N of a bird bath. It was modest, from a bygone era in which the wealthy hadn't dared to flaunt their fortunes for fear of strikes. The bronze plaque declared the city's thanks to Benjamin Wayne for funding Amusement Mile's construction during the height of Gotham's industrial boom. Before most of the factories had fled. Before times had become tough for the majority Gothamites. It was annoying, how the Waynes had their fingers in everything. She hoped not one nickel of what they spent tonight went into their bank accounts.

Arthur paid it no mind. His head was tipped back a degree or two, his clear green eyes darting from attraction to attraction. Smoking was one of his habits she disapproved of. But she couldn't dispute how attractive he was, puffing the cigarette dangling from his puckered lips. The chestnut tones of his brown hair were brought to the fore by the grounds' multi-color lighting, and a lock or two fell over his temples. The loose curls at his neck bounced with each step, a boyish buoyancy to his gait.

Her stomach growled as soon as the aroma of fair food hit her. They picked a booth that claimed it sold Gotham's original franks. He asked to order for her. She let him, watching as his grin widened and he stated, "Four hot dogs for my girlfriend and me, please. With relish and mustard." Then they shared a candy apple, taking turns nibbling at the fruit's hard, sugary shell. Its juice dribbled onto her pale pink top, staining the embroidered neckline. Her groan of disapproval became giggling as he stole chaste kisses, wiping her off as she chewed.

His palm at the small of her back, guiding her as they walked down the midway, fanned a glow in her heart. He'd made headway when it came to displaying his affection in public, though he still tended towards timidity. Early on, she'd concluded his reticence had nothing to do with her - he never pulled away if she grabbed at him. He was simply a gentleman.

Most examples he followed were from an older era, one lost to the bluntness of the eighties. Those moments he'd let himself go, when he'd make it clear they were a couple, lifted her spirit. Not only due to the pride she felt at being on his arm, but also because it meant he was finding his own way. Arthur wasn't a shy suitor or a contemporary romantic hero. Rather, he was somewhere in the middle. Old fashioned, through and through, with threads of modernity woven into his fibers.

As they strolled, they stumbled onto a black and white photo booth. She sat on its cracked wooden stool and tried to tug him inside. But he wanted a picture of her, he said. To put in his wallet. To look at if he was having a bad day and wasn't at home. Her response was to snag his collar and yank him to her lips. Snorting, he shut the nylon curtain. At the clink of quarters in the coin slot, she straightened her puffed, cap sleeves and fixed her hair in the scratched featherweight mirror. The camera's flashes blinded her, but she thought she'd managed to smile naturally enough.

Before she had a chance to stand, he whipped open the drape and showed her the strip of portraits. "I knew I was dating the prettiest woman in the city. Maybe even the sweetest."

She cupped his cheeks as she stepped out. Rubbed the tip of her nose to his. He was unfailingly generous. Too generous. While she was fine with her appearance, she wouldn't win a beauty pageant. Hell, she wouldn't even be a runner-up. Or a contestant. And sweet was one of the last words she'd use to describe herself. But she wasn't going to correct him. "And I found the handsomest, funniest man." His stare was wide-eyed. After releasing a stuttering breath, he pulled her along.

Upon entering the gaming area, he slung his arm around her waist. Mischief laced his whisper as he spilled secrets. The darts for the balloon pop were dull, the balloons underinflated. He advised her to stay clear of the baseball and milk bottle stand, saying, "The bottom bottles have lead in them. You'll never knock them over."

Then he warned her off the ring toss, saying the rings were too small to win the best prizes. She decided to take her chances, regardless, and paid the attendant. Arthur tutted gently as she gave him the last ring, having already wasted four.  A step to the side, then he paused to line up his throw. A short clap announced his victory. The prize options included a dinky toy car and a rubber snake. She picked a plastic, red keychain, embossed with "I was Amused in 1982" and the silhouette of a coaster. It was an improvement over her old car dealership tag. "I'll think of tonight whenever I see it."

Gaze fixed on her mouth, he sighed happily. He began to reach towards her, his arm raised ever so slightly-

"Art!" a rich baritone called. "Hey, Art!"

Arthur flinched. She moved to peer behind him. The approaching man was tall, his balding head half a foot higher than Arthur's. A blue and red flannel shirt with gray trousers covered his portly physique. Confidence oozed from him with every stride, a pleasantly surprised smirk on his round face.

Y/N's interest was piqued. Unless it was someone who remembered Arthur from Live! with Murray Franklin, no one ever approached him on the street. And she hadn't heard him be referred to by anything other than his proper name (besides Penny's terrible "Happy.").

But his reactions concerned her. Arthur's back tensed as the man closed in, stopping a yard away. "Hi, Randall."

"How's my boy been?" Randall asked jovially, hands at his sides. "Gary told us about your mom. Could you use a little cheering up?"

Arthur blinked faster than usual. "No. She's okay. And I feel a lot better now."

"Oh. Well, good for you," Randall said.

Going back and forth between them, she tried to puzzle out their dynamic. Their familiarity was obvious. Randall seemed caring enough, although she found it odd he'd referred to her thirty-five-year-old partner as "boy." Arthur had mentioned Gary was a former colleague. It would make sense Randall was, too.

He threw her a glance. "Hey, you have family visiting. Is this your cousin?"

She brushed off the assumption and extended her hand. "I'm Y/N L/N. His girlfriend."

"Oh, yeah. The paralegal." He shook it firmly before addressing Arthur again. "Gary said you finally got a date."

The pat to Arthur's bicep was a little too hard, jolting his stiff frame. The set of his jaw and flaring of his nostrils betrayed a turmoil she hadn't initially picked up on. She touched his hand but he shoved it in his pocket.

All right. She had to get to the bottom of this. It was hard to ascertain if his current reaction was due to his social challenges (which could cause discomfort) or Randall's words. She didn't want to jump to conclusions. After all, she and Patricia teased each other whenever they met for lunch or chatted on the phone. A good ribbing was needed every once in a while.

Starting a cross-examination in front of Arthur would contribute to his unease. After a moment's deliberation, she nudged him. It took a couple of tries to get his attention. "Would you please get us a large lemonade?" His brows rose, anxiety in the wrinkles of his forehead. She stretched to kiss his temple. His eyes narrowed but he got the hint, scuffing his shoe and glowering at Randall as he walked off.

When Arthur rounded a corner by the water pistol race, she lounged on one of the booth's metal poles. "Have you known Arthur long?"

Randall nodded in the direction Arthur had gone. "We worked at HaHa's. I'm a clown, too. We did parties, the children's hospital, store openings."

"Arthur loved that job." She crossed her arms over her chest. "It's too bad the slow season hit. But he's doing pretty well on his own."

Confusion crossed the big man's visage. "Uh, yeah. The slow season." He chuckled, then. "Anyway, you and Art, huh?"

Smiling broadly, she folded her arms over her chest. "Yes, me and Art."

"Pretty serious, huh?"

If he wanted gossip to bring back to the workplace, she'd gladly give him some. Especially if it reflected well on Arthur. "We live together. It's been great."

"No kidding." With a sardonic grin, he shook his head. "A woman like you. I didn't know he had it in him. It was always just him and his mom. Talked about stand-up sometimes. Mostly kept to himself, though. Never really talked much." Randall shrugged lightly. "But we liked him. He did all the shitty jobs no one wanted and never complained."

Arching a brow, Y/N felt her suspicions grow. While Arthur was learning to disagree and contradict her without hesitation, he nevertheless had the inclination to go along. It was plausible he hadn't argued about gigs. Had they taken his preferences into account?

Then Randall confirmed her skepticism, saying in a jokey tone, "That laugh really got everyone going, too. And his laminated cards. We had a pool on whether it was part of his act. I mean, him being in Arkham and all, who knows what the fuck he could have come up with?"

Deciphering what kind of man stood in front of her was suddenly uncomplicated. She'd run into his type all too often. They lurked in garages and offices. Diners and restaurants. Courtrooms on both sides of the bench. People with no real power who walked on others. Persons who threw their weight around to feel in charge. Bullies who hid behind a veneer of kindness.

She understood why he'd called Arthur "boy."

What she said had to be chosen carefully. Randall and Arthur worked in the same field, likely competed for clients. If her big mouth came back on Arthur, she wouldn't forgive herself. She straightened, squared her shoulders, and forced her voice to stay professional. "If you liked him, wouldn't you have split the less desirable jobs with him? I'm sure he didn't like being taken advantage of."

His looked at her in disbelief. "Hey, he was paid fair and square, like all of us."

"And he understands how to speak to a 'woman like me' more than you ever will." A sharp exhale as her cheeks burned. "From what Arthur has said, you could learn a lot from Gary. Please tell him hello from us and have a good evening." With that, she headed off to find Arthur, ignoring Randall's lame attempts to call her back.

Arthur was in line when she spotted him. He stepped forward and pointed to the menu. As she approached, she noticed how he fidgeted with his cigarette, tapping it repeatedly though there was no ash. The subtle tremble in his knee. If he continued to carry himself so tightly, his muscles would cramp.

Clearing her throat, she slipped behind him and hugged his back. "Did you have to deal with that insufferable know-it-all every day?"

He grabbed the proffered cup from the clerk and headed to a nearby table. Plunked himself down and took a drag off his smoke. Stress poured off him, clear in every flex of his fingers. His palm went to his stomach as he practiced controlling his breathing. "What- What did he tell you? That everyone thought I was a freak? How much I fucked up?" His voice lowered then, barely above a whisper. She could tell he was talking to himself. "The hospital?"

"Enough to know he was a jerk. I'm glad you're not there anymore." She put her chin on his shoulder. Watched him take a sip of lemonade. "Nothing he said matters, but I told him how important you are to me." She tucked a hair behind his ear, and he leaned into her touch. Their gazes met, his shining in the dim light. The evening had been fantastic so far. She wasn't going to let some asshole ruin it. "Come on," she urged, jutting her hip towards him. "We still have half the park to explore."

~~~~~

About a third of the way through their ride on the Mad Hatter, Amusement Mile's famous coaster, Y/N realized eating had been a mistake. A big one. Thrown to a fro in the sharp curves, she could nearly taste the bile in the throat. She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, willing her nausea to pass. For his part, Arthur appeared exhilarated, laughing with every peak and valley. Seeing that happiness was a gift, one that gratified and partially distracted from her queasiness.

Fortunately, the enclosed cabins on the Ferris wheel were a respite. They waited an extra turn to board the outer wheel, which rotated at a leisurely pace and allowed her stomach to settle. The view from the top was beautiful, Gotham Cathedral's lit spires and the Westward Bridge prominent against the night sky. Wayne Tower was also visible, but she did her best to ignore the high-rise and its gaudy "W." He pointed in the direction of Burnley and said, "There's our home." She was unexpectedly moved. Then he kissed her soundly, which quickly advanced to mild necking when the wheel paused.

The carousel was antique, according to the sign. The only original attraction left in the park. A massive wooden structure with a mirrored center, it had three rows of horses, broken up by the occasional bench. He stepped onto the gray platform and picked one, painted red and yellow, roses etched along its back. But she climbed a nearby leaping horse instead, its black mane and tan body faded by years of sunlight.

He quirked a dark brow until she beckoned him with a nod. Cheeks pink, countenance tender in the lingering blinks of the incandescent bulbs, he followed suit. "Hang onto me," she instructed. As the calliope's whistles began their jaunty tune, he cupped her hips and pressed into her. A flutter tickled her stomach. She reclined against him, let her eyes fall shut as his warmth surrounded her. Round and round they went, chuckling airily. Not at any jokes or amusements, but at the joy of one another.

Arthur picked the last ride, an old mill called Romantic River Caves. She had to stop herself from snickering at the idea of a middle-aged woman and her nearly-middle-aged boyfriend cruising along in something built for teenagers. But he delighted in cliches and corniness, a preference she attributed to his inexperience and kind nature. Though such gestures hadn't thrilled her since she was a girl, she appreciated them with him.

The boats were short and narrow, just wide enough for the two of them to sit side-by-side. Curved backrests encouraged cuddling. Off-key versions of old standards played through tinny speakers. Myriad displays were inside, a mix of plaster dioramas and paintings. Two swans swimming, their beaks touching. A couple on a picnic under a tree. Bouquets and hearts galore. There were five or so seconds of darkness between each one. He took advantage of those breaks, kissing her again and again until she was breathless.

She scanned the starry painting above them, the comets' trails stretched across the tunnel's ceiling. "It's been a long time since I've done anything like this. Twenty-five? Thirty years?"

"Me, too. I snuck in when I was a kid. To see the circus and the merry-go-round." He smoothed his hair back, pressed his legs tighter together. "When I moonlighted here, I could've gone on the rides and to the shows. I- I didn't want to alone."

He paused and she put her palm on his thigh. Gave him an encouraging squeeze. "That postcard I have?" he said. "By my desk? It was in my locker at HaHa's." His fingers covered hers, tips tracing her knuckles. "It's good to have a person to have fun with. To have you."

She beamed at that sentiment, for she felt it, too. Yes, she'd been complete on her own. No, she hadn't been lonely. But he added to her existence. Introduced her to activities and experiences she hadn't previously considered or realized she'd needed. Going to a comedy club. Dancing despite her lack of skill. Or enjoying vulnerability during quiet conversations in their bedroom rather than fearing it. He'd broadened her life in ways she was still discovering. And he regularly told her she'd bettered his. "You're my favorite ride," she said.

A sharp snort left him, followed by a bashful chuckle. He shook his head. "You're crazy."

"I didn't mean that." She batted his chest playfully. Tried to cross her legs under the safety bar. "This relationship we've started." Light appeared at the end of the tunnel, the shallow pool's grimy floor coming into view as the water level fell. Soon they'd be amongst the crowd. "Remember when I said we'd never be perfect? I like our imperfections. They fit. Like..." She contemplated. "A pen and paper. They're good on their own but they're best together." Cringing, she covered her face. "God, that didn't even make sense. A pen needs paper."

"Didn't you say you needed me?" he teased, pulling her hand from her brow to place it on his sternum. "I don't mind being your paper." Blushing, Y/N turned to him when he cupped her jaw. Ran his thumbs over her cheeks. She joined him in ignoring the attendant's instruction to disembark. Arthur kissed her, a delicate graze to her mouth before he drew her bottom lip between his. "You're the best ride, too."

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve​, @howdylilflower​, @sweet-nothings04​, @stephieraptorr​, @rommies​, @fallenstarsabyss​, @gruffle1​, @octopus-plasma​, @tsukiakarinobara​, @arthur-flecks-lovely-smile​, @another-day-in-chuckletown​, @hhandley80​, @jokerownsmysoul​, @64-crayon​

[thehardy-boys]

Woman? Tommy Shelby x reader

Hi everyone!!! It’s been way tooooo long! I’m really sorry, you would not believe the year I’ve had!!!! But I’m back for a bit and I’m really trying to catch up on requests. If you’ve sent one in don’t worry I haven’t forgotten about you!!!

Request: Tommy Shelby request please? The reader needs money for her younger siblings so she dresses in her father's old clothes, cuts her hair and goes to work for the Shelby's and learns how to fight and fire guns, caughting tommy's interst he takes her under his wing thinking she's a boy but when things go bad in a trade off the reader is badly hurt and while helping her tommy finds out the truth. \(> ♡ <)

The clouds were beginning to darken as you hurried home from your job at the tailor shop. You could tell that the rain would be starting soon. It had been a long day of measuring limbs and trying very hard not to poke the customers with bobby pins. 

But, at last, the day was finished and you couldn't wait to get home. Most days you barely had any time at home because of the number of jobs you had. But today was Friday and Friday was a special day because you didn’t have another job for the rest of the evening.

 But, unfortunately, most Friday evenings were spent worrying about your finances. You were barely scraping through with the money that you had. Both of your younger brothers were far too young to start a serious job and anyways, you wanted both of them to have an education rather then drop out and work themselves to death, like you had. 

As you had matured your life had become increasingly panicked and miserable. When you weren’t working you were taking care of your brothers and when you weren’t doing that you were trying to sleep. But most times you could barely sleep a wink, to occupied with the idea of having to live on the streets and both your brothers dying of starvation. And each week the cycle would just start all over again, working, taking care of your brothers and worrying. It was endless.

Your one wish in life was to have one job that could support all three of you. You had yet to come upon one. Most jobs required some level of higher education that you didn’t have or the employers didn’t see the benefits of hiring a woman for the job. It was a dead end. You were stuck and tired. 

When you entered your small apartment you carefully removed your wet shoes. You hung up your coat and started making dinner for the three of you. Both brothers, Liam and Tom, were busy with their homework. 

“How was school, then?” You asked, putting on a cheery voice. 

“S’okay,” Liam responded not looking up from his paper.

“Learn anything good?” Both boys shook their heads.

You nodded getting the feeling that neither one of them wanted to talk. You knew both boys were aware of how little money you all had. Liam, on multiple occasions, would propose the idea of him dropping out of school and taking up a job at the coal factory across town. But each time you vigorously shook your head. You didn’t want him condemned to the life that you have. You wanted both of them to grow up and get out of Birmingham and live a life. 

It was late. Liam and Tom had had their dinner and gone to bed. You were worried, you needed money, a lot of it and quickly. Your bank statements and bills were scattered all over the dining room table. You paced for ages, you bit your lip and chewed your fingernails until finally an idea came to you.

 You quietly dragged a box from underneath your bed and opened it. Inside there was an assortment of tattered men's clothes. You sorted through it and picked out the nicest looking articles of clothing. You put on a pair of trousers and a belt. You needed a couple of layers for your top half to hide your chest. So you put on a couple of undershirts, then a waistcoat, and finally a jacket which completely covered any feminine features. The only thing left was your hair. At the moment it was too beautiful and silky looking, you needed to cut it. You hacked away for a couple of minutes until you were satisfied. The end result left you quite surprised. You actually resembled a young man, a rather good-looking young man. 

You cleaned up the mess you made. You filed away all of your bank statements on the table and when you had finished it was nearing six in the morning. You thought you would try your luck and see if you could find any work out on the streets. Even though it was early most factories would already have started work. Men hurried about the streets lugging big packages of either coal or metal. The market in the center of the town had vendors already setting up their stalls. You had hunted for work all morning. It was nearing lunchtime and no one seemed to want to give you the time of day. You had been to the butchers, bakers, metal factory, multiple pubs and none of them wanted you.

 You didn’t have enough money to buy any lunch so you surrendered and decided to walk home. You were so deep in thought and so hungry that you ran right into a pack of men. 

“Oi! Watch where you’re going mate!” 

Before you could even regain your balance, one of the men pushed you over onto the ground. You didn’t dare look up and instead focused your attention on the ground. You mumbled a few apologies and just hoped the group of men would move on. 

You noticed out of the corner of your eye that one of the men went in to punch you and you braced yourself for the hit but someone stopped him.

“Stop it, Arthur, look at him. He’s sick.” You didn’t think your lack of food and sleep showed so much but that was probably because you were used to looking at your gaunt features in the mirror. It took Arthur a couple of seconds but eventually he moved back and instead decided to yell at you. 

“You know who you just ran into!? Eh!?” You glanced up at the group of men. And immediate dread ran through your veins. The infamous Peaky Blinders were standing over you. Only two out of the three brothers had their eyes trained on you. 

The third brother didn’t seem to deem you worthy of his attention. 

“I’m talking to you!” The eldest shouted when you still wouldn't look them in the eyes. 

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled to the ground. 

“Come on, Arthur, he’s not worth our time.” Thomas said, already walking forward. The rest of the brothers followed suit not even bothering to look back. You sat there for a second until you realized that you had a golden opportunity. You jumped up and ran after the Blinders. 

“Scuse me!?” You shouted after the men. They turned to look at you, all looking vaguely surprised.

“Wot?” Arthur yelled back.  

It took you a few seconds to gather your wits about you, “I’m looking for work.” None of the men said anything so you continued.

“I need work, I have two brothers and I don’t have any money. I want them to stay in school but I don’t have the money to pay for it or pay for food or anything. I just need work. Any work at all.” Your desperation seemed to shine through strongly because the middle brother, Thomas Shelby seemed to finally find you interesting enough to really look at. 

“What can you do?” He asked. His eyes were piercing, as strong as his voice.

“Anything. Absolutely anything.” You looked at him and there seemed to be a shift in his dolphin blue eyes.

“Okay,” He said throwing out his cigarette and stepping towards you, “Okay, come with us.”

He seemed to almost be challenging you, trying to see if he would scare you off. But, you needed this job badly. You stood your ground.

“Where are we going?” 

His mouth quirked up and he granted you a nod of approval. 

They brought you to The Garrison. The pub was full, now with it being near lunchtime. It was also thick with smoke from the rowdy pub goers. They led you through to the back room. You trailed behind, feeling only mildly out of place. You watched as all three brothers and a few other men set up a table and a few chairs. Tommy walked over to you while lighting a cigarette. 

“Here's your first job. We’re having a business meeting, right?  You need to stand guard by the door.  Look tough. Don’t say anything. Just stand, alright?” His deep accented voice flooded your ears and you found yourself nodding right back. You walked over and stood. 

It continued on like this. You worked all day six days a week doing small jobs. Standing guard, being a bodyguard, trailing someone, or occasionally helping with the accounting. They were easy, insignificant jobs. You could tell you had yet to earn their trust but you weren’t complaining, it paid good money. You could tell that the brothers didn’t trust you enough yet to do the important work, work that involved the family business but you weren’t surprised, you were a stranger after all. 

But soon a couple weeks became a month, and then the month became a year and you maintained your loyalty and perseverance. And you were rewarded with a few quick smiles from the Shelby family. You and Finn become quick friends you helped teach him how to do his math better and since then Finn had always put in a good word for you with the family. And his words seemed to pay off because soon you found the sister, Ada, becoming more friendly. 

“No, no, no, not like that, like this.” You laughed as you tried to show Ada how to fold the paper into a swan. 

“I was doing that! I was!” She yelled indignantly but with a smile, of course.

“Having fun Ada?” The voice was unmistakable, cold but if you really listened there was a hint of warmth in between his words.

“(y/n) was just showing me how to fold a swan, look!” She proudly brandished her rather crooked piece of paper. Thomas chuckled.

“Very nice, Ada. (y/n) I got a job for you.” You immediately stood from your seat and listened to his instructions. 

Since Ada had become a friend of yours the rest of the family seemed to relax more around you. It was only when Polly Shelby walked up to you in the crowded betting shop and handed you a pastry from the local bakery that you finally gained the approval of every Shelby, along with their trust. You had been leaning over Michael and helping him with the betting money when Polly had walked up to you. You turned around expecting her to give you some sort of order but instead she held out a pastry.

“For me?” 

Polly rolled her eyes, “Who else?”

You took it from her, “Thanks, Mrs.Shelby. I really appreciate it.”

You glanced around the room and found all three sets of Shelby brother eyes on you. 

“Back to work now.” Polly stated and walked off leaving an atmosphere of authority in her wake. 

And since Polly’s acceptance of you all the Shelby’s have accepted you. You had been given more meaningful work. You had been Polly’s bodyguard, dealt with illegal gun shipments, and occasionally kept tabs on Ada in secret (much to your discomfort, you didn’t like lying to her). Both John and Arthur have welcomed you with open arms and on multiple occasions made you drink more alcohol then you would like to admit.

It was Tommy, however, who although deemed you trustworthy still hadn’t warmed up to you. You, of course, weren’t that surprised you had heard from Ada that Tommy was disconnected and cold from most. And he was, of course, undeniably handsome. But you didn’t voice those opinions allowed to Ada. But all in all you were happier, you had more money, and both of your brothers were well fed and finally enjoying their childhoods instead of worrying about your finances. 

It was a cold morning and as you walked down the mostly empty Birmingham streets you could barely see anything because of the cold mist. You wrapped your jacket closer around you as you hurried to the betting shop. You were just rounding the corner of the street on which the shop was located when a hand grabbed your upper arm and twirled you around.

You gasped and tensed yourself for a fight but you found yourself looking into those ocean eyes that, as far as you knew, meant no harm to you. 

“(y/n), what are you doing up so early?” You didn’t fail to notice that his hand was still wrapped securely around your arm.

“Michael called me in, needed help with the stocks.” You replied.

“Never mind Michael, I need your help, come with me.” 

You opened your mouth to respond but Tommy turned and walked in the opposite direction. You quickly scurried after him.

“Where are we going?” You asked him and then immediately became anxious when he stopped walking and looked over at you. 

“We’re going to the stables. My horses, they need grooming and you seem to be the best person for the job. I get the sort of feeling you’d be good with them.” He started walking again.

“I really love horses, when I was a little gi-boy, when I was a little boy I loved running into the fields to try and spot a few. The family next door owned a herd of them. We never had enough money to buy a horse but I always loved the idea of owning my own horse. Must be lovely for you, having so many.” You replied with a smile, still hurrying to keep up with his long legs. 

He stopped abruptly, again and turned to look at you. You also halted in your steps and looked up at him.

“You’re a bit odd, you know that?” He stated, looking over your face, no real heat behind his words. He said it more as just an observation.

You chuckled, “I've been told that before.”

“You look- you’re,” Tommy for once struggled to find the right words to say. “ Softer than most gangsters I've seen, you’ve got a softer, kinder face than most. It’s just different.” 

“Good different?” You asked.

Tommy made a non committal sound and was once again walking off towards the stable. 

Since then, tending for Tommy’s horses has been part of your job description. You enjoyed every moment in those stables, you much preferred it to holding guns and playing bodyguard. It even brought you a bit closer to Tommy, he began to warm up to you a bit.

Somedays you would be grooming the horses and Tommy would come in, not saying anything, and just sit down on one of the many barrels of hay and smoke and think. Never staying for very long, but staying long enough for you to grow quite fond of him and long enough for you to realize how attractive those cheekbones really were, how emerald blue his eyes really were, and how sad he looked, how tired. 

Somedays you both would chat, usually briefly and softly.

“How are you then?” He would always ask. 

You’d answer and he would always listen. 

Sometimes you’d talk about the weather, occasionally the horses, sometimes about the business but usually it was just comfortable silences.

“You’ve got a girl, then?” He asked on a particularly cold Tuesday afternoon. 

The question took you by surprise and you had to remind yourself that you were a man. 

“Um, I don’t really have the time, you know? Between this job and looking after my brothers I don’t really have, you know, time.” You finished lamely. 

You glanced over at Tommy and he was staring back at you, he nodded. 

“How about you then, Mr.Shelby?” You asked.

“Suppose same as you, don’t have the time, I mean a quick fuck here and there but nothing substnatial.”

“You want something...substantial?” You carefully asked, feeling that you may be crossing a line.

Tommy sighed and thought for a few minutes.

“I mean, yeah, I do. I just, I can’t...find anyone.” He sounded so much younger, hints of vulnerability shining through. 

You enjoyed these times with Tommy, you felt even a little privileged being able to see him when he’s quiet, vulnerable, unguarded. 

It was late or really early in the morning and you were stationed at the Shelby’s house with Polly, Ada, and a few other young Blinders. All of you waiting to here how the deal had gone down. Tommy had expressed concerns about the deal, feeling that the client might try and stab the Blinders in the back. 

The kitchen, where you all were sitting was charged with anxiety and worry. 

“Should be back by now.” Polly mumbled, shakily lighting a cigarette. 

You glanced over and gave her a compassionate look and before you could say anything you all heard the front door bang open.

“Help, we need help over here!” You heard Arthur’s voice yell. You immediately jumped up and headed over to the front hall and saw blood. Tommy’s shoulder was gushing rich red blood. 

“His shoulder, grab him! Come on!” John yelled at you. You immediately jumped into action, you held Tommy by the waist and dragged him into the front room and laid him out on the coach.

“Oh god, god! What are we going to do?” Polly started to panic and Michael had to pull her back and out of the room.

“I know first aid. I’ll deal with it.” You stated calmly as you carefully took off Tommy’s jacket and shirt to see how bad the wound was.

“Gunshot, went straight through.” Tommy mumbled. 

“I know, don’t worry, I got you.” You comforted. The Shelby family was buzzing around you. You went about cleaning the wound, sewing it up, then bandaging the thing up. Tommy didn’t make much noise, except for a few grunts when the needle went through or when the alcohol stung the wound. Throughout the process you would occasionally glance up at Tommy’s face and find him already watching you. 

With a look on his face you just couldn't place. 

You volunteered to stay up with him and watch over his wound. Tommy was lying on the couch and you were sitting on the floor, your back leaning against the front of the couch. 

“Thank you.” His voice startled you and you shot up on your knees to look over at him.

“How do you feel? Your shoulder?” Your were worried. 

Tommy smiled and slowly pushed himself up so he was in more of a sitting position. 

“Fine.” He replied with a grimace. 

“What went wrong?” You asked. “If you don’t mind me asking” You stated as an afterthought.

Tommy chuckled but it turned into a pained wince.

“The bastards turned on us, the moment we handed over the goods, they pulled out their fuckin’ guns and started shooting.” He winced again. 

“Sorry.” You said, and then realized how lame it sounded. 

Tommy smiled only slightly, “Not your fault.” 

Soon his eyes began to droop. “You better rest, Mr.Shelby.” You stood up and started to help him lie back down.

“Tommy, call me Tommy.”

“Okay, Tommy.”

Just before he fully slipped under he mumbled something, “You’ve got...really pretty eyes.” And he reached up and brushed your cheek gently and then he was gone. Fully asleep.

And you stood there, shocked. He couldin’t have known you were a girl, was he gay? No, maybe, no, could be. Your brain was going a mile a minute, you didn’t sleep all night. 

When morning came you left the house early and did your rounds at the stable and then did a few errands for Polly and all day you didn’t run into Tommy. All week actually, you didn’t see him. It wasn’t like you were actively avoiding him you just made sure you kept really busy so you kept away from the Shelby house, the betting shop and by luck whenever you were in the stables he was never there. You just didn’t want to have an awkward conversation with Thomas Shelby, you didn’t want to lose your job, you didn’t want anything, you just wanted to live your life and make money. 

You found that you really missed seeing Tommy. You missed just seeing him in the betting shop and exchanging a small smile. You missed your small talks in the stables, you missed him. He had become a rather strange comfort in your life. It was Sunday, which meant it was usually a quiet day, not a lot of work. You were sitting in the betting shop with Ada and Michael. Just talking. The door burst open and all three Shelby boys barreled in.

“(y/n), we need you, get your gun, get your things, we need backup.” Tommy said as he ran into the back room. You quickly gathered your things and followed the boys out to the car.

You learnt to ask no question when you were on a serious mission and instead wait to be told instructions. 

“We have a transaction with a client we know is going to try and kill us, we need you there, as soon as you see one of us take our guns out so do you, and shoot, shoot to bloody murder. Understand?” Tommy said all this without looking back at you and never taking his eyes off of the road. 

You nod.

You pull up to an old crumbled bridge. You all step out. Tommy leads all three of you, you bring up the rear. You slip both hands into your pocket, casually, just so you can reach the gun easier. 

You carefully watch the business and the moment you see Tommy reach in and pull his gun so do you. And then it’s just full out war. You hit two of the men, one in the shoulder, the other in the abdomen. The brothers take care of the rest.

And just as soon as it had started it stopped. And all that was left was the slight ringing in your ears from the gunshots. 

“Good work (y/n).” Tommy said pocketing his gun.

You give him a curt nod and as you all begin to turn and head back towards the car one last gunshot rings through the air. 

You were confused, none of the brothers had their guns out. Then it was just pain, surges of pain and you looked down and it looked like a rose had blossomed over your shirt. But it wasn’t a rose it was blood, your blood. Tommy glanced back at you and you saw just a glimpse of his face, his beautiful face. And then you staggered and fell all the way down. 

And then it was just pain and lights and blurred faces. Tommy yelling at his brothers to help you. Tommy picking you up and dragging you over to the car. Then it was Polly holding your face looking at you with worry. Then it was Tommy’s voice yelling. And then, then someone tried to remove your jacket and you were ripped from your pain induced dream. 

“No!” You yelled and ripped away from the hands, “no, I can’t, I’ll do it.” You stood up and braced yourself with one of the chairs scattered throughout the room. 

(y/n), you can’t do it, please, you can’t.” It was Tommy, it was Tommy and you were so glad, so grateful. You looked at him and you looked at his eyes and you begged him with your eyes to understand. 

“I’ll do it, alright, I’ll help you, just me, alright? No one else.” He said this with his arms open, palms up, inviting. 

You swallow, swallow the pain and nod. 

And then you were alone. Tommy stepped closer and gently helped you into the seat you were leaning on. You allowed him to remove your jacket.

He looked up at you before he moved to unbutton your shirt.

And you looked at him and gave a slight nod.

And you watched as he unbuttoned the piece of cloth. He helped take it off of you. Then you were left in a simple white t-shirt. 

And you realized this was it, this piece of cloth held the power over your job, the power over your life. And you gentle took it off and let it slip between your fingers onto the floor.

That was it. You were left with nothing on your torso except the binding around your breasts. 

You sat there with your head hung and then you let your head fall onto your hands. You didn’t want to look at him, you didn’t want to look at anything so you closed your eyes.

You could feel the wound seeping slowly. You could feel the pain become part of your soul and you felt the sadness and despair peek in and make a home in your mind. 

“You’re a woman.” Such a simple statement, but the words that had dictated your life for years. 

“Yeah.” You whispered hoarsely. You raised your head and glanced at Tommy. 

“You can fire me, you can.” You said. “I’ll understand.”

Tommy just stared at you, his arms crossed.

“Let me clean you up.” Was all he said.

And you nodded.

He cleaned your wound with alcohol, sewed the wound up, his fingers were firm but the held a soft kind of gentle. And then he wrapped it up and then there was silence. You slowly stood up and without looking once at Tommy put on your undershirt, then buttoned up your dress shirt, and then finally you pulled on your jacket. 

“Thanks.” You said and walked out. 

Three weeks had gone by. You were back to working at least three jobs a day and not even making enough money to buy a loaf of bread. You weren’t sad, you were angry. You were angry that you had gotten shot and you were angry that you had let Tommy know, you shouldn't have let him see, you should have gone home and dealt with it yourself. 

You didn’t know if Tommy was angry, you didn’t know what he felt, maybe betrayed? Who knows, you hadn’t seen a Blinder in three weeks. Your hair was still short, a constant reminder of your life before, a reminder of everything you had lost. You had gone back to wearing your normal clothes, gone back to your normal life. 

And it was a Friday when you saw his eyes. Those sea glass eyes. And you almost stopped walking but you forced yourself forward, he wouldn't recognize you, he wouldn't, you repeat that in your head like a mantra as you slowly walked towards him through a sea of people. 

And you were almost passed him when his hand gripped your wrist and you stopped breathing. 

“Can I talk to you?” he asked. He looked at you, and the way he looked at you, you felt he just knew. Knew everything, everything about anything. And you felt this kind of tug, a tug on your heart strings. Cause you really fucking wanted him. You wanted him and nothing else. Because he was a good man.

And you say, “yes.”

He pulls you away from the current of people and leads you next to a bakery stall. 

You look at each other, his hand it still on your wrist. He doesn't seem to want to move it.

“I’m really sorry.” You say, “sorry that I lied to you, I just-I needed a job, my brothers were starving I need-” Tommy cut you off with a shake of his head.

“No, no, love, I’m sorry. Okay? I’m sorry, because I should have said something that night, I should have stopped you, because I don’t care, I don’t care that your a woman, you did some of the best work I had ever seen, better than most men. Alright? I don’t care. And I’m sorry, I want you back. I want you to take the job back.” he looked at you. And then you saw it, you saw that emotion you had seen in the stables, vulnerability. 

“I can have the job back?”

“Yes, and more, I can give you a better job. Even better.” He grabbed both your hands in his and stared at you. Those eyes, god, those eyes. 

“Thanks, Tommy, I really appreciate it.” You replied softly.

And you looked at each other and you just felt your entire chest open up to him, and you wanted to be his and you really wanted him to be yours. 

He leaned in, leaned in so close, his lips were so close. It was perfect for once, the scent of freshly baked bread, the scent of the flower stall across the street, and the overwhelming scent of Tommy.

And then his lips were so soft, the way they molded against yours was heaven. 

When you separated there was this glow around your eyesight. And the glow you realized, was happiness.

“You’ll be mine, won’t you?” Tommy asked now letting go of your hands and instead slipping his gentle hands around your waist and pulling you closer. You nod. 

“And you’ll be mine?” You asked snaking your hands up around his neck.

“Yeah, love, all yours.” and he ducked down to steal another kiss but you decided to give it to him for free. 

[lu-undy]

Chapter 29 - SBT

Here it is!

"Meow."

It had been days now, days that the adventure at the sugar factory had happened.

"Oui, mon bébé." 

[Yes, my baby.]

Lucien had been tailing the hunter for the past few days from the comfort of his own home. He had eyes and ears of his own so he didn't need to go outside himself. Something had struck him. M did indeed get his meals in town, sandwiches here and there, but he would always drive out of town come night time. Lucien thus concluded that the hunter lived somewhere in a hut, in the middle of the desert. 

But he was still curious. That determination he had seen in M's eyes when he said that he wanted to kill Duchemin… Lucien had only ever seen it on his own self when he looked in the mirror. Could it be possible that Duchemin had done the same thing to M? 

Lucien raised an eyebrow and looked up, leaning back on his sofa, Perle laying on his warm lap. 

Non, there was no way on Earth that man had had a fiancée and a child. Pff, he could barely dress up on his own, how would he provide for a family? 

Then why did he also have that obsession with Duchemin…? Could he have lied about it all? Could he have been sent by the Australian government? Was he an Australian spy? Non, France had insisted to be the only one to deal with Duchemin. That's what the file said at least.

But this man…

Lucien scooped Perle and put her on his shoulder before going to the piano.

This M. 

M, like Marie, like the half of his life that Lucien had lost that fatal day. 

He raised his eyes and where the scores stood on the piano, there was that letter. 

M, like the author of that letter. 

Lucien started playing lazily. 

M, like Maurice. 

"Hm." 

He stopped playing sharp and put Perle down. She mewled in protest but Lucien was already out of his suite, slipping his balaclava on as he ran down the stairs, walking decidedly to his motorcycle. He straddled it confidently and put the helmet on before riding off to the poorest neighbourhood in town. 

When he got off the motorcycle, a group of excited children came to marvel at the sublime and classy vehicle. Lucien left it there, parked along the pavement with the helmet on the seat. He went through the street but no sight of Maurice.

"Évidemment… C'est quand j'ai besoin de lui qu'il n'est pas là!"

[Of course… It's when I need him that he isn't here!]

Lucien headed to the house that Maurice had taken him through. 

"Oi, who're you?" 

He turned. A beggar was there. 

"L." 

"Oh, bugger, sorry mate." The beggar came close and led Lucien through the house. "Let me get you through, though Maurice is busy right now." 

"It is quite urgent." Lucien insisted. 

"Right then…" The beggar unlocked the door to the cellar. "Anyone asks you anythin' down there, tell them you're L." 

Lucien nodded and went down the dark stairs. His eyes adjusted to the dimness quite quickly and he soon found himself in the gallery of tunnels. He lost no time and headed in the direction that Maurice had taken him before.

"Who're you?" 

A large man blocked his path in front of the last door. Lucien sighed. 

"L." 

"Maurice is receiving someone at the moment." 

"I know but I need him now." 

"I can't let you in." 

The spy's eyebrows jumped. 

"I respect your commitment but I will ask one, and only one, more time." Lucien raised his index finger. "Please, let me in." 

The mass of muscles in front of him made Lucien look like an ant.

"No, you just wait here." 

"Fine, but please remember that I did give you a choice." Lucien's hand flew faster than the big man could see and next thing he knew, his throat hurt like hell. The pile of muscles fell to his knees, choking for air and Lucien adjusted his gloves on his hands. He pushed the door in front of him. 

"Maurice? Ah…" 

Silence fell in the room. Maurice was sitting on his usual end of the oval table. Lucien was at the door, the door knob still at the tip of his slim fingers and Mundy was standing in between them. 

The spy and the hunter eyed each other, they both tensed. There was a taste of unfinished business between the two.

"Speaking of the devil…" Maurice cut the uncomfortable silence. "What have you done to the man at the door?" He asked.

"He will have a sore throat for the next few days." Lucien shut the door.

"Ah. Well, I should be mad at you for hurting one of my employees." Maurice said. 

"You would be right in being so, but I did give him a choice and he chose poorly for his throat." 

Maurice smiled and shook his head. 

"Ah, L…" 

Mundy raised an eyebrow. 

"So you really know him, eh?" The hunter asked the beggar. 

"I do indeed. Don't look at me like this, M, I never said that I did not." 

Mundy turned to the Frenchman. 

"D'you mind waitin' at the door? I've got some business to finish here with Maurice." 

Lucien raised an eyebrow and smirked. 

"Non." He simply and arrogantly said. 

"What? Who do you think you are, mate? Just go! I was nearly done with Maurice."

Lucien got closer to Mundy, he put his fingertips on his chest and pushed him out of his way to take a seat around the table. He dusted off his chair with the back of his gloved hand and pinched his trousers' legs elegantly before sitting down. He put a leg on the other and leaned down on his seat. 

"I won't interrupt again, pray continue." Lucien added and he lit up a cigarette.

Mundy was about to answer but Maurice was faster.

"Well, I for one won't complain if I can talk to you both at the same time. It saves me sending two of my boys." 

Lucien and Mundy looked at the king of the beggars on his throne of old wood. 

"Why would you tell him stuff about Duchemin, mate?" Mundy asked. "I don't get it." 

"Excuse me, Bushman, but I think I should be the one asking that." Lucien said. 

"Why? You sent by the Queen or something?" Mundy spat. 

Lucien chuckled and his cigarette smoke flew out of his mouth and nose in small clouds. 

"Almost."

"For the love of God…" Mundy put his hands on his hips. 

"Gentlemen…" Maurice said. "I seem to pick up on some animosity, here?" 

"The mongrel's been following me everywhere I go and wants to get Duchemin first. But no, mate, I told you, I'll get him." Mundy asserted. 

"Not if I get him first," Lucien answered. "which I can assure you I will, won't I, Maurice?" 

Mundy's eyes went to Maurice and the man in the rags raised his hands left and right. 

"Not my problem." He answered. 

Lucien raised an eyebrow. 

"A certain Jean Delacroix will be disappointed to learn that." He answered and saw Maurice's lips part at the mention of the French Minister of Defense. "Your job is to help me locate the man, Maurice." 

"Y-what?!" Mundy asked. "Who's that Jean whatever? And in any case, Maurice, you said you'd help, you know why I have to do it!" 

"Oh, oui, pray say why." Lucien encouraged the angry Aussie. 

"Oh you shut your mouth and stay out of this! You have no idea what you're doin', mate. Next time I find you in front of me, I'll do what I should have done when I found you in that hangar."

Lucien sprang up his chair and got closer to Mundy. Their furious faces were a mere inch away from each other. 

"And what is that, hm? Run away and shoot me from the other end of the world, like a coward?!" 

"Watch yer mouth, mate." Mundy bared his teeth. 

"Or what? You will take your absurdly big knife and slice me like a beast?! I am not a simple deer you can hunt down, if anything, I have been hunting you all along! Maurice will help me, whether that suits you or not! It is his duty!"

"Well mine is to make that Duchemin bloke eat his bloody teeth! Now get out of my way and let me finish my chat with Maurice here!" 

Lucien's anger melted in a second. He opened his legs slightly, standing like a capital A in front of Mundy and staring disdainfully into his eyes, he smirked. 

"Make. Me." He whispered. 

That provocation was the drop of water that made the vase overflow, as they say in French and Mundy's punch flew to Lucien's jaw. The Frenchman stopped it and elegantly twisted Mundy's arm in an armlock. 

"Argh! Damn you!" Mundy winced in pain and grabbed his kukri with his free hand. He slashed blindly where Lucien was but the blade came dangerously close to the Frenchman who had no choice but to let go of Mundy's arm to dodge it. 

He got his short blade out and both leapt at each other. Mundy parried again and again as Lucien slashed faster and faster, his feet slid on the floor effortlessly, the sheen of his ice-blue eyes was cold and, when the light was right, they shone similarly to the Frenchman's blade. 

"Ouch!" 

Lucien had slashed across Mundy's face, on his cheek. The cut wasn't deep and wasn't too close to the eye but Mundy could feel it. He put a hand to it and looking at his fingers, he saw some blood.

Steel crossed and clinked, as one rushed to the other and vice versa. Lucien frowned and threw his blade up in the air. Mundy raised his head to follow its trajectory but soon regretted it as the Frenchman had only used that trick as a distraction and punched him in the throat.

"Argh! Oorh!" Mundy dropped his kukri which clinked on the wooden floor, and put his hands on his own throat as he coughed and choked on his saliva. When he raised his head to meet Lucien again, the Frenchman caught his blade without looking at it and put it back in his inner pocket. He kicked the kukri away and opened his jacket. 

"Now, will you listen to reason and stop this foolish quest of yours?" He asked.

Mundy panted and tried to catch his breath. Oh his throat hurt like hell, but no one would stand between him and his revenge for his parents. He removed his hat and threw it away on the table.

"Nah, I'm not done with you," He said with a voice that was even more husky than usual. "Not by a long shot." He raised his fists.

Lucien removed his jacket and threw it. It landed on the table next to the hunter's hat. He undid his cuffs and rolled his sleeves up. 

"Let us settle this like gentlemen, then." 

And with that, Lucien threw his foot up at Mundy's face. The Aussie was astonished at how flexible his older foe was, and in his surprise, he took the blow straight to the jaw. 

"Ah, you have brought me back twenty years ago at least!" Lucien said. 

Mundy's glasses flew away from his face and Lucien's smile disappeared when he saw the tall man leap and catch the yellow tinted aviator glasses before they hit the floor. He landed in a thud and his entire right side would remember it but at least the glasses were safe. 

"You mongrel, you nearly broke them!" Mundy's voice was still damaged and it broke half-way through his sentence.

"Oh, my apologies, I will make sure to break them now." Lucien calmly said and he knelt on the floor near Mundy and punched his face. 

The Aussie took the first blow to have time to throw his glasses far away from them. He then grabbed Lucien by his collar and headbutted him. 

"Aargh!" 

That was unexpected! The spy hadn't seen it coming and Mundy pulled him on the floor before straddling his slender body and punching in his turn. 

"GET! OFF! OF! DU! BLOODY! CHEMIN!" Mundy yelled as he landed a punch between each word.

Lucien could feel the iron taste of blood on his tongue and the warm trickling of blood on his upper lip. He managed to gather up enough focus to stop one of Mundy's fists a few millimetres away from his face and twist it. 

"Argh!" The hunter bent forward and Lucien met his head with a headbutt. Mundy's head jerked back which pushed him off balance just enough for Lucien to free himself from him and let him fall next to him on the floor. 

They were both bruised, bloodied and tired. They caught their breaths in loud, big inhales as they gathered enough strength to stand on one knee, and then fully up. 

Lucien saw the yellow glasses lying in the corner. He looked at Mundy who understood what the Frenchman was set to do. Lucien leapt to them but Mundy tackled him and both crashed against the wall. 

"I said! You don't touch them! You bloody idiot!" 

Lucien's left side hurt after the collision with the wall. They both stood up anyway and went on throwing punches and kicking, left and right. They received as many as they gave but neither of them gave up, however bruised and disfigured they were becoming. 

"Fils de…"

"What's that, Frenchie?" Both breathed heavily. "Givin' up already?" 

"I said, son of a - orfh!"

Mundy's punch flew definitely faster than Lucien had anticipated and his jaw twisted under the blow.

"YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO TALK ABOUT MY MUM! YOU SHUT YOUR BLOODY MOUTH!" 

Mundy grabbed a chair and threw it at Lucien who dodged it in time.

"WHY?" Lucien yelled in answer. "Am I striking a nerve?! Was your mother really a wh - oh!" 

A direct hit took Lucien by surprise. His face contorted in pain and he spat some blood away. 

"I see we are sensitive on two things." He said, unfazed. "The glasses, and your mother. Did the glasses belong to her? Non, they are men's glasses, quite old in fashion - ooh…!" Lucien chuckled as he closed one eye under the pain of the hit he received. "The glasses were your father's, non?" 

"I'LL KILL YOU!" 

Mundy picked up his kukri and leapt at the Frenchman. In his blind fit of rage, Mundy's moves had become very predictable and Lucien only had to move away to see the tall Aussie crash on the oval table. 

"Your parents are a sensitive subject. I shall remember that." 

"SHUT UP!" 

Mundy turned and pulled Lucien by his collar. He pushed him down on the table and Lucien's back hit it hard. 

"Aargh!" 

Mundy quickly grabbed his kukri back and Lucien felt its blade against his throat. 

"One more word about my parents - ONE MORE WORD!" He shouted. "And I'll cut you open from one ear to the other!" 

Mundy had barked loudly. Lucien smirked through his blood covered face. 

"You do that and you will lose your ability to have children, not that any woman would indulge anyway." 

Mundy looked between his legs and saw the sheen of his foe's blade pointed at his crotch.

"You will bleed profusely and die of blood loss before they can get you out of this underground facility." Lucien added. 

"You'd be dead way before that." Mundy said. 

"Oui, painlessly, which is not something you will have the privilege of, on the other hand." Lucien answered. 

"Take it back." Mundy said. 

"I will take my blade back when you do yours." 

"Not your blade, mongrel."

Lucien raised an eyebrow. The tall Aussie's face was as disfigured as the Frenchman felt he was. 

"What then?" 

"What you said about my mum. You take it back." 

Lucien pushed the blade a bit more and Mundy felt something through his trousers and underwear. He clenched his jaw.

"I am pointing a blade in your nether regions, Bushman." 

Mundy pushed his kukri against Lucien's throat a bit more.

"Take. It. Back."

Silence fell. One couldn't understand how a few words could get to him that strongly while the other was more than entirely convinced that he would rather die than let anyone dirty the name of his mother.

"Why are you so sensitive about this? It is only words." Lucien asked, raising his head to try to evade Mundy's blade. 

"Because… It's why I want to get Duchemin." Mundy stepped back and put my kukri back on his belt. 

"What? Did Duchemin insult your mother?" Lucien straightened his back and put his knife in his pocket again. 

"No, you mongrel." Mundy picked up his glasses and put them on, his back turned to Lucien. "He killed her and my dad." He screwed his eyes shut and bit his cheek. Saying those words cost him a lot, and hurt beyond what his body had endured during the fight with Lucien.

Lucien's eyes snapped wide. 

"That's why I need to find him and kill him." Mundy took a seat and wiped his bleeding nose with the back of his hand. 

"And Maurice was helping you because…?" Lucien took a chair and sat opposite him. 

"He used to know my parents. They helped the poor here... Ouch, you really didn't hold back, did you?" Mundy touched his nose. It wasn't broken but it hurt.

"I did hold back, I just hit strategic areas."

"Well, you certainly know what you're doin', you devil in a suit…" 

Lucien raised his eyes and they exchanged a smile. 

"Well, I was trained in close combat. You, however, have no idea how to deal with such situations, I can see that." Lucien rolled his sleeves down and put his jacket back on. He took Mundy's hat off the table and put it on his head. The hunter grinned. "Your smile is horrible to look at, you are covered in blood." Lucien added. 

"Well, thanks to who?! It's all your fault, mongrel…!" 

"It's 'thanks to whom' if you want to be grammatically correct, Bushman." The Frenchman put his hand in his inner pocket and for a second Mundy got shivers and tensed up. He thought he would get his knife out again. "Relax… Here." From his inner pocket, Lucien retrieved his cigarette case and flipped it open. 

"Can I touch this time?" Mundy asked.

"Your hands are full of blood." Lucien answered.

Their eyes met and held on to each other for a second. Lucien's irises sank and Mundy imitated him. He saw the cigarette case move closer to him. He raised his head as if to ask again, arching his eyebrows, and Lucien blinked with both eyes as he nodded. 

"Oh… Thanks." 

"Thank you." Lucien answered and lit both their cigarettes. 

"What for? For rearrangin' your face? Maybe now you look better than before under that ski mask of yours, eh?" Mundy joked. 

"I highly doubt it." Lucien answered. "And I told you already. It is called a balaclava."

"Yeah, well, balala-mask thingy…" 

They both chuckled.

"I won't comment on your face although, on my side of things, I am certain this new makeup enhances your features."

"You just said my smile was ugly." 

"And I did not say that the enhancement was a favourable one." Lucien teased. "But non, I thank you for your honesty, for telling me why you are after Duchemin. I… Respect your ambition." 

The door opened and Maurice appeared. 

"Ah, I see you two have finished. Oh, gentlemen, look at the state of my room! Blood everywhere and a broken chair!" 

Maurice looked around. 

"Sorry, mate. He started it." Mundy pointed at Lucien.

"What?! Non! You threw the first punch!"

"And you punched me back!"

"It was self-defense, nothing more."

"Yeah, look at this face here, does that look like the face of self-defense?" Mundy asked. 

"Again, I assure you this little improvised makeup suits you." 

"For halloween, maybe." 

"Certainly." Lucien confirmed. 

"M," Maurice interrupted their banter. "If you two can still walk, why don't you go and see the Doctor, hm?" 

"Yeah," Mundy stood up. "Oof-! Oh that hurts, come and help me, mate…!"

Lucien stood up. His entire left side ached. 

"You should be the one helping me, I am older than you…"

They held onto each other, putting an arm over each other's shoulders, and Maurice asked for someone to show them out. 

Once they resurfaced, Lucien looked up at Mundy. 

"Please tell me this doctor of yours is nearby…" 

"Y-yeah, it shouldn't be too far." 

"You lie terribly badly, Bushman... Aïe!"

[Ouch!]

Mundy had elbowed him softly but it was on his left side and the Frenchman winced under the pain. The Aussie chuckled softly and both of them walked on the pavement, limping awkwardly.

[holyfuckthisfishcandrive]

Marrige and Obliviousness

First, Previous, Ao3

Word count: 1883

Warnings: implied past trauma, alcohol mention and they’re so oblivious it hurts

I have no idea how weddings work. Never been to one, especially not a church wedding! I'm sorry for the inaccuracies! I'm just guessing here and loosely basing this on the wedding in Sherlock and it's been forever since I've watched that.

"Do I look alright?"

Virgil glanced up from his phone.

"Yeah, I guess," he shrugged.

"I mean it," Logan insisted. "Do I look good?"

"Your boyfriend will like it. Relax."

"He's not my boyfriend. And I simply want to look good for this wedding. I want to make a good first impression on these people."

"You rescheduled a raid for a highly dangerous chemical so you could come and you're worried about what they'll think? And he's totally your boyfriend. You're just both too stupid to realize. Maybe you should just propose to him today. Steal the show a little."

Logan scoffed. "Can you take this serious, please? I will do no such thing! Is my tie straight?"

"Nothing in this house is straight," Virgil glanced up again. "Except for your tie."

Logan halted in his movement. "Wait, did you just come out to me?"

"i- Yeah, I guess. Haven't I before?"

"No. No, you haven't."

"Oh. I'm gay."

"That's great, buddy. I support you," Logan went over to him and ruffled his hair.

"I really never told you?"

"No, you haven't."

"Huh. Can I order Chinese for tonight?"

"If you want to. Sure, you can," Logan noticed the look on Virgil's face. "Do you want me to order for you?"

"That would be nice," Virgil said in a small voice.

"Alright, are you hungry already or should we do it the same way as last time?"

"You won't have your phone with you," Virgil shook his head.

"I will. Of course, I will. Just call me when you get hungry and I'll order for you," Logan returned to the mirror and fiddled with his tie again. "Why wouldn't I have my phone on me?"

"You've been so chuffed with this invitation, I don't want to interrupt your evening just cause I can't order for myself. I want you to have some fun tonight."

"You're not interrupting anything, Virgil. Making a small call for you will in no way keep me from spending time with Patton. I'm sure nobody will mind if I leave to talk to you for a few minutes and then call whatever restaurant you want me to."

Virgil still looked unsure.

"I mean it," Logan turned back to look directly at Virgil. "Just call me when you get hungry. If you don't feel up to calling just text me. In that case, I'll text you back once I've ordered so you know when the food will come."

Okay," Virgil gave a half-smile. "Thanks, Papa."

Logan went over again and gave him a tight hug before pulling away. "Try not to go to bed too late. I bought new lavender tea if you can't sleep. It's in the cabinet over the coffeemaker. Love you, buddy."

"Love you too, Papa. Have a good night."

Logan pressed a quick kiss against his forehead before grabbing his keys and leaving to meet Patton by the flower shop, from where they would take Patton's car to the venue.

It was still rather early in the afternoon and the wind had blown away the factory smoke, letting the sunshine down onto the streets freely. It was a nice day for a wedding.

Patton was just locking up the shop when Logan came.

He looked mesmerizing in his light blue-grey suit. There were no leaves or flower petals in his hair like usually and once Logan got closer he noticed that Patton was wearing a bit of makeup. There was a light pink blush over his cheeks and on his nose and Logan was pretty sure that he had done something to make his eyes seem bigger but wasn't familiar enough with makeup to be able to tell what.

"You look," Logan cleared his throat. "You look great."

Patton looked up at him and smiled widely, his dimples showing.

"Thank you! You look wonderful too!"

Logan couldn't help the small smile at the compliment.

"Thank you. Let's go then, shall we?"

Patton led Logan to his car, an old VW Beetle.

"Do you want to drive?" Patton offered but Logan shook his head.

"I don't know where it is," Logan shook his head. "I also haven't driven a car in... quite a while. I think the last time was about five years ago. I believe you likely have more experience."

Patton chuckled and got in at the driver's side.

"Why haven't you driven in so long?" he asked, starting the car and pulling out of the parking spot.

Logan thought about it for a moment.

"Well, when I drive to work," he carefully chose his words, "we usually drive with many people in one car. Since I don't have a big car and usually the owner of the car drives I just don't really drive."

"Don't you ever drive your son anywhere?"

"No, not unless it's an emergency. He tends to get very anxious in cars so we try to avoid that."

"Oh, I see."

They chatted a bit on the drive.

The wedding venue was a bit out of town, surrounded by trees and had been decorated with flowers and colourful bands, near a small church where the ceremony would take place.

Logan hadn't been in a church in... Gosh, how long had it even been?

Considering how often his parents had dragged him to church they probably would've been very disappointed. Not that that was the only reason they wouldn't approve of his current life.

The ceremony was nice.

The groom, a young Asian man with blonde dyed hair, cried as the bride, a tall beautiful woman, came down the aisle and they looked beyond happy when the pastor declared them husband and wife.

Afterwards, they drove back to the venue and Logan subtly checked his phone while the best man, one of the groom's brothers gave a speech. He didn't know these people so most of the jokes made little to no sense to him.

Virgil hadn't texted him yet but it was still pretty early so he probably would do so later.

The cake was pretty good and Patton introduced him to his sister, Martha, her husband, Luan, and Martha's son from her previous marriage, Janus. Janus seemed about Virgil's age if a bit taller but then again most kids were. Logan guessed Martha's first husband had been black since Janus was, safe for a few light spots, the biggest he could see covering half his face. Vitiligo, apparently.

An elder couple came over and hugged Martha and Luan tightly.

"I'm so proud of you!" the woman told Martha. "You look so beautiful!"

She ruffled Janus hair who tried to bat her hand away but failed.

"Oh, Patton, it's so great to see you! Is this your boyfriend?"

Logan noticed Patton's ears go red. He liked seeing Patton blush. He did it a lot.

"We're friends, not a couple," Patton protested.

"You aren't?" Luan asked. "I thought you were. From what you said about Logan it sounded like it."

Patton let out a strangled sound.

"We're just close friends," Logan clarified ignoring the part of him that burned with curiosity over what Patton had said about him.

"Sure," Janus said and clicked his tongue. "I believe you."

He didn't sound like he believed it at all.

He would probably get along well with Virgil. Maybe Logan should introduce them sometime.

His phone vibrated in his pocket and Logan used the opportunity to duck out into the garden.

 Virgil: do you have the number of that chinese place down the street?

 if not I can send it to you

  Logan: No, I don't have it.

 Also, why are so many people assuming that Patton and I are dating?

 Virgil: because you are

 Have a nice snog w/ him

Logan rolled his eyes.

Virgil sent him the number and his order a moment later, Logan saved it and ordered for him, sending Virgil a last quick text before heading back inside.

A band had begun to play and the newly wedded couple was dancing together, smiling at each other.

Logan found Patton who greeted him with a wide smile and pulled him onto the dance floor as soon as the first dance was over.

"Patton, I'm not sure this is a good idea," Logan tried to protest.

"Why? Can't you dance? You seem like the kind of guy who knows how to dance."

"I can-"

"Then what's the problem?"

Logan noticed hurt seep into Patton's voice.

He probably thought Logan just didn't want to dance with him.

"I- Nothing. Sorry, I just did not expect to dance," Logan nervously licked his lips and adjusted his hand to be on Patton's waist, taking the lead.

Patton let him, something he was very grateful for.

The band played a pop song, so different from the one he remembered from that fateful dance so long ago.

He was in a nice venue with a nice garden in the outskirts of Woethough with Patton.

Not in a skyscraper. Not in New York. Not with that man.

"Are you alright?" Patton asked gently. "You seem tense."

There was a line of worry between his brows.

Logan took a deep breath and tried to release the tension in his shoulders.

"Yes, I'm fine," he said, half to reassure Patton, half to remind himself. It was just a bad memory. "Don't worry."

Once the song was over Martha asked to have a dance with her brother, telling Logan that she would have his boyfriend back to him in a few minutes and laughing when he repeated that they weren't boyfriends.

Logan wandered over to the punch table and grabbed a glass.

"You shouldn't drink it," Janus stopped him and stepped out of the shadows. The kid apparently had a flair for the dramatics. He'd make a good villain, Logan thought.

"Why not?" he asked.

"Well, someone might have spiked it," he shrugged and a small flask became visible under his jacket for a split second. "You never know."

"What a shame," Logan set his glass down again. "Why would someone just spike the punch at a wedding like that? Purely hypothetical of course."

"Perhaps because it is boring?" Janus pretended to speculate. "So they might be hoping for something interesting to happen. Like that."

He pointed at a goth who Logan was pretty sure was Luan's mother who came over and filled two glasses with punch before taking a sip of both, greeting them and going back towards the bridesmaid she had been chatting with to give her one of the drinks.

"I see. That would make sense, very good theory. But why would that person then tell someone not to drink it?"

"In theory?" Janus raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, in theory."

"Maybe they don't want that person to get too drunk and embarrassingly declare their love for the drink spikers uncle or something."

Logan frowned.

"I am not in love with Patton," he insisted.

"I never said that," Janus said. "But, for the record, you definitely are."

Logan pinched his nose and sighed.

Janus laughed at him until Patton came back and asked Logan for another dance.

Somehow one of the violets decorating the place had found its way into his hair, matching his bow tie nicely and how was Logan supposed to say 'No' to a smile that beautiful?

Next

Taglist:

@patton-cake

[aftepes]

@ffviihalloween

Day 3: Black Mirror- Agent Reno [Last Name Redacted]

Warning for minor discussions of death

Some of the old folks would talk about a life before The Shinra. That's always what they called it, sitting around tables where they drank, played cards or chess or whatever someone had brought, sometimes they bet money, sometimes they didn't notice if a few gil went missing, as long as the little redhead would listen.

They would talk about how these used to be towns, and you could travel between them but after the daylight faded streams of Mako would light up the roads like streetlamps. Shinra was just the name of a man who sold weapons, and materia that his people harvested from the streams.

And Reno listened, because even then he knew information was power. Information, and the small change that no one missed.

Once, one of the men told him about the first day they turned the lights on in the town that would become Midgar. It didn't have a name back then, he said, or at least not one anyone remembered. But suddenly, it was the center of everything. It was the light in the middle of the nothingness, where all the Mako streams led.

"Of course, the Shinra rerouted the Mako streams, but nobody remembers that part, all the digging, all the pipes right under our feet that took away the streams of life we used to have."

"Nobody leaves Midgar anymore, anyway."

The center panel of the chessboard was a Shinra logo, and back then that was a symbol of prosperity to Reno. The background noise of his life, with everything good, there was a Shinra logo. When his father worked, the checks were signed with a Shinra logo. The television had a Shinra logo in the bottom corner, the only channels they got in the slums were company owned. The soldiers, the police, the uniforms all had the same logo.

But at night Reno would dream about the stories the old men told, the way the roads would light up with natural streams of Mako, glittering with materia, with the souls in the lifestream. He dreamed of real darkness, the kind that didn't exist anymore with the constant glow of electric lights and the factories. Of lands outside of Midgar, that no one ever saw anymore.

The first time he saw the real darkness, he had his own Shinra logo. The suit, the tie, the callous disregard for life, because he was one of those uniforms he used to idolize, he stepped into the Mako cave outside of Nibelheim, looking for survivors. No one was supposed to talk about the fire. No one was supposed to see the streams of life that fed Shinra. He saw real darkness, in the way the survivors looked at him.

He had power, sure. Information, gil, a license to take life, or to give it. He had everything, he bore the Shinra logo, all but branded into him. But power was the fear in their eyes when he pulled the trigger, and darkness was the nightmares. Even still, he fed the lifestream, and the lifestream fed the Shinra, and the Shinra fed him.

It was life now, there was no life before the Shinra.

[sergeant-donny-donowitz]

The Essentials (Donnyx Fem!Reader)

@owba-chan @tealaquinn @inglourious-imagines @war-obsessed

Let me know if you wanna be added to the Basterds, or OUATIH taglist! :)

Requested by @sodapop182

The basterds hid in the shadows of Paris, moving undercover, drifting with the moon toward free France. After a few days, they made it to the city of Lyons, where there was a secret allied base.

The reason for their trip was most unusual. In fact, the basterds had only ever left nazi occupied territory once during the war. A year before, so Hugo could be identified, approved, and briefed by the OSS.

Since then, the basterds had lost three brave young soldiers: Simon Sakowitz, Andy Kagan, and Michael Zimmerman...

It took a few months and eventually orders from the general to convince the basterds to come back to the base so Aldo could choose a new basterd. It wasn't what the team wanted. There was nothing that could replace the boys they lost, but the general was right. The lack of manpower was costing them time and efficiency, and there were more and more injuries as a result. They couldn't afford to lose another troop. So,  they were convinced to take at least one more member to make up for it.

Aldo sighed, standing around the lobby with the basterds, smoking and waiting.

There were a few rows of women in uniform behind type writers, sending messages, decoding secrets and missions. Essentially making the world keep running. There were a few officers and troops around base that day, hoping to be recruited by the basterds.

Aldo approached a young woman in uniform standing by a desk. " 'scuse me, ma'am, my boys and I are here to meet with the general. You mind pointin' a lost basterd in the right direction?"

You looked up from a sheet of codes you'd deciphered and nodded with a kind smile, "Up those steps there, go down the hall, to the left. Big  conference room, you can't miss it."

Aldo smiled, "Thank you ma'am."

But before Aldo and the basterds could proceed, a corporal stood between you and Aldo, "Hey honey, how 'bout some coffee?"

You gritted your teeth, but kept your smile.

The basterds glared at him, and Smitty stepped up, refusing to acknowledge the man outranked him. Smitty may have been just a private but he outclassed the corporal... And frankly was much more of a man. "Come on, sir, she's got a job to do like everyone else here. I'm sure it's not so hard to get some yourself."

The colonel started to make a fist, power hungry, and eager to show his place above Smitty and half of the basterds.

Aldo rolled his eyes and sighed, "Come on now, corporal. Utivich here's just a kid. Stand down."

He nodded, with fake smile as he gritted his teeth, "Apologies, sir..." he cleared his throat, and looked at you, then back at them with a crooked grin, "Ah what do dames know, they love it! Especially with a man in uniform." He leaned onto the desk, and looked at you and lowered his voice, "So how about that coffee now, sweetheart?"

You clenched your teeth and your fists, but you nodded, forcing a blank smile as you muttered niceties through your bare teeth.

The younger basterds read the look on Aldo's face. 'Stand down,' he seemed to say... That asshole wasn't worth it.

But Donny, Hugo, and Aldo outranked him. And collectively pushed past him.

If it were up to them, it would have been so much worse for that corporal.

Donny was fuming, muttering something about wanting to beat some sense in to him. Donny's older sister worked in a factory back in Boston, and his younger sister worked as a secretary in a naval base in the Pacific, but if he ever even heard a rumor about anyone treating either of them like that, it would be over for that animal. And yet... it broke his heart knowing that it inevitably would happen anyway without him knowing.

Aldo wanted nothing more than to beat that corporal down. He fought all his life for a world decent enough for everyone to live in, and he was slowly giving up. And it hurt him to have to leave it like that...but sometimes the basterds just couldn't fix everything.

As for Hugo...the one thing he had left in Germany was his mother. She raised him on her own. And he couldn't stand that corporal, or anyone like him. If it were any other circumstance, he would have bashed the corporal's head against a wall. But for now, pushing past him would suffice.

"Men," The general nodded, acknowledging their salutes as he opened the door when he heard the unsynchronized, basterdized marching approaching the conference room door. He ushered them in, and they sat around a long table.

The general took a seat at the head of the table, in front of a stack of folders. Each one was the name and file of possible future basterds.

Each one of varying ranks, origins and stories, each one of them impressive.

And all of them were in the base that day. Each one came in for an interview of sorts.

Each one a medal winning sniper, or legendary sharp-shooter, or a rogue assassin.

But none of them were really basterds by nature....

Next, the general called in "Corporal Jonathan Williams, outstanding young man. Record number of headhsots in his platoon."

And there he was.

The disrespectful corporal. 

The only candidate to have shown up in full uniform, medals, pins, ribbons. Every one else was in civilian's clothes, like a basterd.

But he showed up, bragging, and pining for more recognition.

What more recognition could a soldier have than be a member of an elite squad like the basterds?

Aldo and Donny stuck with the shortest, simplest interviews, and Wicki made sure they stayed within the rules of decorum to make it as short for everyone as possible...

There was a knock on the door.

Without any authorization, Corporal Williams tried to assert and show his command while he ordered, "Come in."

There you were, dressed as a civilian.

With a piping hot cup of coffee in hand...

And moments later, there it went. All over his lap, his disgraced uniform, and his unearned medals.

There was a wave of silence...but of course under any other circumstances, the basterds would have broken out into a roar of laughter and applause.

"Sorry, Corporal...but then again, what do us dames know?" You shrugged, as you held out your compact mirror, and touched up your red lipstick. You smirked a little, hearing the basterds snickering.

You stood at attention after that.

The general smirked a little, and nodded, "Next, is Sergeant Y/N L/N."

Corporal Williams looked to you in disbelief, disgust, and disillusion...Simply because you outranked him.

Aldo nodded with a smile, gesturing for you to sit for your interview, "Sergeant."

The general looked to Williams, "Dismissed."

"B-but she-"

"Dismissed. That's an order." 

Donny smirked a little.

The general introduced you, "This is First Lieutenant Aldo Raine. Staff Sergeant Donny Donowitz, Sergeant Hugo Stiglitz, Corporal Wilhelm Wicki, and Privates First Class Smithson Utivich, Omar Ulmer, and Gerold Hirschberg. Boys, this is Sergeant L/n." Hugo, Wicki, Omar, Smitty, and Hirschberg saluted you.

You smiled and nodded to the basterds you outranked. You all took a seat.

You had to admit, you were a bit starstruck though you didn't show it.

Your heart raced a little as they went through your file.

And even more so when it was Sergeant Donny Donowitz asking the questions.

The more they heard about your impressive history in the army, the more Donny wondered about the brave soul behind it all. The embers behind your eyes. The drum behind your heart.

He wondered about the girl behind the soldier.

When it was all over, you and Donny hardly noticed that you were both looking into each other’s eyes...

You lifted your chin a little, clenching your teeth to spare yourself from smiling and falling, but you couldn't stop a sly devilish grin.

And it stole his heart.

The general nodded when it was over, "Thank you sergeant. Aldo, we've got Staff Sergeant Duke Livingston next-"

Aldo shook his head.

He didn't know much, but he knew how to read a room.

There was no need.

"Weeell, general. I'm thinkin' a basterd's what we need, and a basterd's what we got right here."

The general raised his eyebrow, "You don't want to see the last few? Or look through the files again, son?"

Aldo shook his head, "Nah...This here been enough, general."

The general nodded. He'd trusted Aldo to put his own team together once before. There was no regret in that.

So he'd do the same again.

"Sergeant L/N, I'm assuming you have everyhing in order to join the basterds, effective as of now?"

You nodded with a slight grin that caught Donny's heartbeat.

"Just the essentials, sir." You left a handful of objects on the table to be inspected and approved as you were led to another room to be debriefed.

On the table you'd left five things. Five things that had saved you from a world of pain, and five things you'd saved from the world you left behind.

A switch blade. Your oldest yet noblest possesssion. It had saved you quite  a few times. More than you cared to admit. You'd kept it on you from the moment you were allowed to walk to the corner store on your own, way back as a kid running around a rough part of an asphalt jungle.

Cherry red lipstick, with a tint of bordeaux. In fact, that was where you bought it, not too long ago. Well...you were a bit of slave to appearances yourself. It never hurt anyone to make a good first impression. Especially when nazis and top secret information was involved.

A mirror. A plain compact mirror. To make sure you looked ok. And to see behind you without turning heads, or raising alarms. A mirror to make signals. A mirror to remember who you were.

And if all else failed, a lighter. Yes, it was nice to light your own cigarette. But sometimes, other things needed lighting. Like...nazis...

And a flower. It had been taken from a lei. A sign of goodbye...Something that once was. Something you carried with you always.

Usually in your hair.

Donny was about to pick it up, but the general shook his head, "Wouldn't do that if I were you, son. That lady was just a private when her outfit was ambushed in the Pacific. Carries that thing with her for those kids lost back there."

Aldo sighed. He knew what it was like to lose good men. But he couldn't imagine losing his entire team all at once... Much less being the only survivor.

It didn't take too long until you were back in the room.

You slipped your lighter into your pocket, held your switchblade between your teeth as you put the flower back in your hair, and looked at yourself with your mirror. You put the knife away, along with your lipstick, and snapped the mirror shut.

Omar laughed a little, out of nervousness, and admiration, "That was a quick briefing."

You nodded a little, "Simple mission. Kill nazis. Scalp em for Lieutenant Raine. And try to make it to the end of the war." You winked at Donny, which took him back for a moment.

No one had ever been so forward with him...usually he was the slick one.

But damn did he like you...

So you travelled with the boys, back past enemy lines, into Nazi-Occupied France.

You didn't have to go more than a few steps it seemed, before you ran into a few nazis.

Rather...they ran into you.

A brand new basterd with a license to kill, the means and guts to do it, and name to build.

You were known in the Pacific for being a strong leader and a hell of a soldier. To the enemy you were known to be brutal.

There was a way about you. So deceiving. So comforting to the untrained eye. So menacing to the enlightened one.

Like a siren, calming and alluring to the unsuspecting man, but a threat and a beast to the one that was evil,

And there at your feet was a young bloodied, battered, black and blue nazi. Looking up at you, what he presuemd to be an innocent, civilian french girl, perhaps taking pity on him.

You crouched down by him.

The basterds stood around you, watching in curiosity.

You placed your hands gently over the nazi's cheeks, filthy with dirt, and innocent blood. His breath was shaking, his eyes were red with tears. He looked into your eyes. Warm and forgiving. But not for him.

For yourself.

Every nazi you took  was a chance to avenge brave men and women...practically kids that you fought with once.

Every nazi you took down avenged an innocent lives stolen from their own homes, not too far from there.

Every nazi you took down was a step closer to home.

He didn't know that.

And as you held his head firmly and steadily, you murmured something for him in the language that brought him comfort.

And in that final moment, in his last breath, his eyes went wide with terror, realizing what was really in your mind, the purpose behind your unexplained  caress

In that moment he was consumed with realization and horror.

And in that moment, you twisted your hands sharply, and snapped that nazi's neck, separating the vertebrae from his skull.

You took his scalp.

Your very first one.

Wicki nodded, and smirked, "Not bad. Ninety-nine more to go."

You smirked a little, and asserted, "I'll catch up." You cracked your knuckles, then wiped the blood away from your blade with the corner of your blouse.

Donny smiled as he handed in his scalps. He had thirty seven to go. "I like your style, kid. Where ya from?"

You grinned  a little, catching his eye, "New York." You wondered if he was just making conversation. After all, there was no way that wasn't in your file.

Aldo sighed as he inhaled some tobacco, "Well, we know that, Y/n. But we know New Yorkers get testy over which part of New York they're from. See, we got Queens and Manhattan back there,"

You turned and spotted Omar and Smitty eagerly waiting for your answer.

You smiled and nodded at Aldo, understanding...

You made direct eye contact with Omar and Smitty as you answered, "Hell's Kitchen."

You watched as their eyes went wide.

"You boys from uptown."

Omar shook his head, slightly intimidated by you as he pointed to Smitty, "He's from Manhattan."

"Upper West Side?"

Smitty nodded, gulping a little.

You shrugged, "I like Manhattan."

Smitty smiled and took a breath in relief.

Omar didn't ask about Queens...he left well enough alone.

The basterds set up camp for the night, and sat around a fire, trying to stay warm and fed, and entertained. Topics varied from night to night. Every once in a while the basterds went into their deep thoughts about life and earth and the world. Some nights they were subject to Donny and Omar fighting: Red Sox vs Yankees.

 Some nights were tiresome and quiet and smoke filled.

But that night, you were on everyone's mind. Your first  kill was an instant basterd hall of famer. Your name was on everyone's lips, and was carved into Donny's heart.

Aldo passed around a few bottles, "Alright, alright kid, how long you been a basterd for?"

You raised your eyebrow, "Bout twelve hours, sir."

Aldo shook his head, "Nah, you see... Most of em boys there been basterds damn near their whole lives. For example, Donny there's been swingin' that bat of his since before he could run. Me? I done my share of bootlegging. Hugo's been a traitor. You?"

You smirked a little, knowing what he meant. "Just me n the ring, sir."

Hirschberg looked up, and pulled the bottle away from his lips, "The ring?"

You nodded, leaning back against a log. "Yeah. I used to be champ of an underground boxing club, up until the war started." The click of your lighter sliced through the silence and shock among the basterds.

Donny managed to sputter, as he looked up at you, "A boxer, huh?"

You smiled, as you puffed smoke into the air, "Yup."

The silence evolved into incoherent chatter and bets among the basterds.

Hirschberg asked, "So...do you think you could take some of us down?"

Donny shook his head, "Hey come on, trained fighting is different from the bar-fight bullshit we throw."

Omar nudged you with a smirk, "Yeah but everyone from Hell's Kitchen fights like a fucken devil. With or without training."

You shrugged, "You got that right, pal." You had to fight from the moment you were born into a world that would turn a cold shoulder to you simply because of your chromosomes. 

And even more so when you overpowered what was expected of you.

Hirschberg chuckled and joked, "You should fight the biggest baddest basterd. Claim your title here too."

The basterds weren't laughing. They turned to him...

Then to Donny.

Donny tilted his head, his eyes gazing to you, pleading for a way out. He shook his head, "No. I'm not gonna hit a lady."

You respected him for the sentiment. But you'd faced eviler, and frankly bigger opponents, in and out of the ring. "Just sparring, Donny. No hits on the face, none below the belt, no one gets hurt. Deal?"

He hesitated for a second, but was egged on by the boys.

He was dared... By Hugo, no less.

And he was dared by you.

You with your smirking raised eyebrow, your silent grin mocking him, and cunning and calling eyes.

He nodded, giving in with an exasperated sigh. "Ok."

How much damage could you do anyway, he wondered. You were relatively tiny compared to him. And you rose to the occasion. You set out your cigarette on a patch of moss on the log you’d been sitting on. You passed the bottle of bad brandy over.

The boys went wild.

Wicki stepped up, "Alright basterds, I want a good clean fight. No hits in the head, no hits under the belt. No grappling, no rabbit hooks, no back handing. Clear?"

You both nodded, and pressed your fists together out of sportsmanship.

But that look in your eyes was so much more than that.

You distracted him.

You distracted him with your devilish smile, with your striking eyes.

You were quick with your strikes, and light on your feet. Your endurance was practically godlike.

There was a reason you were champion once.

And Donny had to admit that.

He also had to admit he was getting tired...

See, he had brute strength, for certain, but that wasn't everything, or even enough for a boxing match.

He also had to admit you had a pretty damn good swing.

He smiled...He respected the hell out of that.

And then... you swept your leg under his legs, knocking him down.

He leaned on his elbows, taking it as an opportunity to take a short, secret rest, while the basterds laughed, as he called you out. "That's not even legal in boxing!"

You crouched down, "I said underground. We fight dirty because that’s what brings in more bets." You held your hand out, and pulled Donny to his feet.

He smiled a little...somehow energized by your smile.

He looked back at the basterds, all indeed betting on how it would come out. Hugo smirked as he cheered on, as he always surprisingly did, "Donnyyyy!"

"Guess you still got it, kid." He winked at you, and you raised your head a little, your cheeks burning as you saw him bring his fists back up, sweat beginning to roll from his chest, and determination and intrigue in his eyes,

You blocked his next few hits, "Guess I do," you winked back at him, which was the ultimate distraction. His heart fluttered, and he smiled foolishly.

And you got him with a right cross, left uppercut, a jab, and then a fist going directly going to his face.

He shut his eyes. Couldn't help it. You were a damn good shot.

You could do some serious damage if you really wanted to...he’d admit that now.

Aldo made a damn good choice, that's for sure.

Donny opened his eyes in the absence of pain and a bloody nose, seeing your fist hovering in front of his face. He could see the fading pink marks of long forgotten and numerous scars on your knuckles.

"You were a bare knuckle boxer..." he murmured.

You lowered your fist, "God observation sarge." You smiled up at him cheekily...

That wasn't his only observation. He couldn't help noticing eveything about you. The small streak on your cheekbone from a forgotten victory. A chip in your tooth, from an unforgettable loss. A relentless soul that made certain you fought on. And the eyes of a basterd.

He respected the hell out of you as a basterd, as a fellow sergeant, and as a woman.

Aldo and Wicki called off the fight.

Donny rubbed his jaw as he watched you walk away... He sighed with a smirk, "What a woman..."

The next day you had your first mission with the basterds. Everything was going as planned.

And then, one of the last surviving nazis threw a grenade at the boys.

You ran and slid, picked up the grenade, and ran with it as the basterds ordered you to stop.

You raised your hand, and threw it back at the nazis, took cover yourself, and held your hands against your ears as it went off and killed the remaining nazis.

You looked back at the basterds. They all seemed to be in one piece. But they were looking at you with their jaws on the ground.

Donny rested his hand behind his neck as he asked, "Where'd you learn how to pitch like that, kid?"

You smiled, "I used to play baseball."

Omar raised his eyebrow, "You mean softball?"

"Yeah that too." You nodded as you cracked your knuckles.

Donny looked at you as if he'd never seen a woman before...

And he still did as the missions and the months went by...you never ceased to surprise him... But...The war grew more intense, and your missions got riskier.

Even more so when Donny realized why everything you did made his heart burst.

Goddamn... That first night, at the end of the ‘fight’...that was the moment he knew you could do some real damage to him, without your fists. You could break his heart, without meaning to. And there you were...running straight into a fire fight.

Donny ran after you, and pushed you down to the ground saving you from a guaranteed gunshot... ...and he fell on top of you...

 He looked down at you, "You can't keep doing this Y/n!"

You smirked, "Why not? I rather like it down here."

He grunted in frustration, "Because!"

You raised your eyebrow, but then your eyes went wide. You rolled out from under him, held onto him protectively, and shot an approaching nazi.

You looked back at Donny, "Because???" as you pulled him back behind a grove of oak trees.

"Because-" He leaned over and shot a nazi straight in the forehead, then looked back at you. He looked at you, his voice grew soft, his eyes were wide, "Because I love you."

You smiled a little, "Oh? I hadn't noticed," you winked, and melted his hert.

He knew it was your way of saying you loved him too.

And among the basterds, the blood, and the bullets, you kissed.

And so it began...

You had something more to fight for, and you had the essentials to do it with. You had everything you'd ever need to survive. You had your lipstick, your knife, your lighter, a mirror, and a flower. You had a memory of what you had to leave behind. And when you saw Donny, you had a glimpse at what you had ahead of you.

The basterds themselves had the essentials: A bootlegging hick, a batter from Boston, a traitor or two, a few kids from uptown, and a boxer from Hell's Kitchen.

Donny himself had the essentials. He had his brothers with him, his bat, and most importantly, form that day on, he had you.

*Based off of @sodapop182. 's amazing art!!!

[raven-romanoff]

I See You

(Arthur Fleck/Joker x Reader) Okay, here we go. I had this plot from the very beginning, but got a bit carried away in the process, so I just hope this one is not too awful X)

Nothing too explicit, so I guess PG-13 will be safe.

When the police car rode past you, you couldn’t believe your eyes – he was there, the one the whole city was bustling about. You reached out your hand as if you were about to wave at him… The next moment an ambulance dashed from around the corner and hit the police car with shattering force. Horrified, you froze; your heart stopped, your chest clenched painfully. This just couldn’t be, after you’ve just barely found him!

- No…

You rushed to the ruined car – he was lying there, in the backseat, all bloody and unmoving.

- No, no, - you kept uttering under your breath, trying to open the door, but to no avail – it was too deformed. Two guys, masked as everybody else in the street, approached. They pulled him out of the window and carefully laid him onto the hood. You climbed there too and bent over him to check his pulse. Finally, you heard his heartbeat. It was feeble, but constant. You let out a ragged breath.

- He’s alive, just knocked out, - you said to the silent crowd around.

You gently put his head onto your lap and stroked his face.

- Wake up, please, - you said, cupping his cheek.

He was totally still, but after a while he stirred, and his eyes fluttered open.

- Hey. You are back, - you smiled down at him, trying to blink away the tears brimming your eyes.

When his gaze focused, the first thing he saw was you. For a long moment he just looked at you. He blinked slowly, and as he started taking in his surroundings, he realized you were still holding him. He lifted his head to see the people gesturing to him to rise. Their faces were hidden, but he could see the gleam in their eyes. Because HE was there. In their eyes, there was silent praise, acceptance and loyalty. Because right then, he was their KING. And it was his moment of glory.

He rose slowly, as you slid down from the car, and opened his arms, smiling. He danced, as the crowd cheered. He swirled around, and when he turned back, there was a new, a brighter smile painted on his face. The crowd roared, as you watched him with delight. Then, a different sound came – police sirens – getting closer by the second. People ran as he was looking where the sound was coming from. You grabbed his hand, pulling him down.

- Run!

And you ran. You led him into the narrow passage, where your motorbike was parked. You hopped on, and he followed your suit. You turned to look at him.

- Hold on!

When his arms circled your waist, you sped off. Very soon the sirens faded away completely, and you rode on almost deserted highway into safety.

You were trying not to think of what his hands on you made you feel like. You imagined it so many times before, though it never involved anything remotely dangerous, let alone a severe car crash or police. You just couldn’t wait to get home. You wanted to make sure he was OK, but there was no point asking now because of the noise. So you glanced in the mirror to check up on him, and saw that he was watching you with a curious look on his face. You winked and flashed a smile at him. His eyes gleamed, and he returned the smile. You sped up, and in a few minutes you drove into your backyard. You parked the bike and sat facing him.

- They will never find you here. It is safe, - you smiled again.

- Do you live here? – He asked, glancing around. – Is this your house?

- It used to be a factory, but now it only looks like one. Yes, I do, and you can stay as long as you like.

He looked back at you, a mixture of emotions on his face.

- But – why are you helping me? I mean, thank you for getting me away, but -

- This is why.

His make-up was smeared, the wind tangled his hair, but he still looked dazzling, and most of all you wanted to touch him. So you did. You lifted in your seat and put your hands onto his chest. You leaned in and kissed him. Under your right palm you felt his heart giving a jolt. You whimpered and pressed your lips to his more firmly. He grabbed your head, and soon you were giving each other more heated, open-mouth kisses. Shivers were running through your body, your head swam, and you only wanted to get closer to him. Short of breath, you two leaned into each other, your foreheads touching.

Suddenly, he sagged and nearly fell, but you caught him around his middle.

- It’s OK, I got you. Let’s get you in bed. You really need to rest - you got a nasty blow in your head… Can you walk?

- Yeah, I think so…

- Just hold onto me, - you put his left arm across your shoulders and supported him with your right.

You slowly walked him into your house and led to the bathroom.

- I have to check your wounds, but first we need to wash away all this blood for now it’s hard to say where they are and how many.

You let the water running to fill up the tub and went to get some clothes and a towel for him. The fluffiest one.

- Tell me if you need my help, okay? - You said, handing the towel to him. - I just wanna make sure you don’t faint in the water.

- Nah, I’ll be alright, - he said softly, unbuttoning his vest.

- Good.

Just when you were about to leave, he spoke again:

- Wait…

- Yes?

He looked at you for a long moment and said:

- Thank you.

- Sure, - you smiled at him warmly and left.

You went to your room to make a bed for him, and after few minutes you headed back to the bathroom, grabbing your first aid kit on the way. You peered inside to see him standing by the mirror and examining his reflection.

- Ready? – You stepped inside. – C’mon, sit here.

He obeyed and looked at you expectantly.

- First I need to make sure nothing is broken. It might hurt, so - sorry about that.

- Sure you’re not gonna hurt me like that ambulance? – he suggested with a corner of his mouth curled up.

You chuckled.

- Okay, let’s get this done.

You carefully examined his head for wounds. There was a large bump on the right side, where the blow came. He flinched when you touched it.

- Sorry! It doesn’t look so bad though… You definitely have a concussion, but I hope there’s no internal bleeding. Here, hold it there.

You handed him a pack of ice you brought with the kit. As he pressed the ice to his head, you addressed the cuts on his face and hands. His back was covered with nasty-looking bruises, and your chest tightened at the sight of it, but thankfully, nothing was broken.

- That’s it, at least, it’s all I can do now.

He rose and dressed. You felt another pang in your heart as you saw how tired and battered he looked.

- And now, you really need to rest. Come on, - you wrapped an arm around him, leading him to the bedroom.

He tried to protest and tell you he was fine. But just as he sank onto the soft mattress and pillows, he let a satisfied moan.

- Mhm, it feels so much better…

- Of course it does. Now, sleep.

You smiled softly and nestled next to him, with your arm across his chest and your head resting on his shoulder. He raised an eyebrow, but tiredness was quickly taking over him. He sighed deeply and before falling into sleep, he gently squeezed your hand that was lying over his heart.

When you awoke, something was different from usual – you were surrounded by delightful warmth. You leaned into its source and opened your eyes lazily to the most wonderful view of the man you loved more than anything the world. You were still lying across his chest, your hand still in his. You just couldn’t take your eyes off him – he was sleeping peacefully and he was oh so beautiful in the soft morning light. You smiled, resisting the urge to caress his cheek. Unwilling to leave his side, you started to climb out of the bed, carefully trying to untangle yourself from him. He stirred and asked through his slumber:

- It’s morning?

- Yeah, but you can sleep as long as you want. It’s the best cure for you right now, - you assured him, stroking the side of his face. – Take your time.

You looked back at him from the doorway; he was apparently asleep again. You headed to the bathroom to clean up last night’s mess. You cleaned the blood from his vest carefully; by a miracle, the rest of his suit was intact. You ironed it and left it there. You rummaged in your art supplies and found some greasepaint – blue, white and red – and left it by the mirror together with a flat brush, in case he wanted to use it. After that, you went to the kitchen to cook some meal. Absorbed in the process you didn’t hear footsteps in the hallway and water running in the bathroom. So he took you by surprise when he appeared in the kitchen in his full attire. He looked so dashing, that you could only stare at him in awe.

- You look gorgeous… – you breathed.

He smiled, as he took a few more steps towards you, stopping about a foot from you.

- I think last night we got interrupted in the middle of something, - his grin grew wider as he leaned forward to give you a kiss.

Your eyes fluttered shut immediately, and you hummed, placing your hands over his chest, as he cradled the back of your head to keep you close.

As you pulled apart for breath, he pressed his head to yours, then looked at you, slightly puzzled.

- I have a very odd feeling that I know you… Funny, isn’t it?

- Well, actually, you do… – you said, feeling your pulse getting quicker.

He gave you a quizzical look.

- It’s - quite a long story, - you stuttered, sitting at the kitchen table.

He sat across from you, raising an eyebrow at you. You sighed deeply.

- You might not remember me, but I remember you very well. I’ve known you for many years… You know… I used to be your neighbor.

- Oh. But I still cannot remember seeing you… Have I  met you?

- Yes. Many times. But I was too young for you to notice me. My family moved in, when I was twelve. I never liked the way people were looking at you. You were so sad and tired all the time; I wanted to come up and hug you. And then, I found one of your cards and wanted to hug you even more. It hurt me so much because it was so unfair! I wanted to cheer you up somehow, so sometimes I would make little lucky charms and leave them on your door handle… (He smiled fondly at that.) I lived two storeys up; our windows were at the same side. (Here you blushed a little.) I used to watch you from my balcony. It might sound weird, but I really liked looking at you. Because every time I saw you, it brightened up my day. Especially, when I could sneak after you and see you as a clown in the streets. I loved watching you dance…

He was gazing at you with an amused look and a soft smile.

- … and then, when I was about fifteen, I realized I was in love with you… I obviously couldn’t show it back then, until one day… It was Christmas, and I came up with a crazy idea. I still cannot believe it actually worked. I attached some mistletoe in the elevator hoping to get there with you eventually…

Suddenly, he knew.

- The mistletoe! It was you!

There was certain amount disbelief in his voice, but also – awe?

 *flashback*

You bought some mistletoe twigs and made a little wreath. Making sure nobody could see you, you stood on the tiptoes and put it as high as you could. You were both scared and excited by your idea – scared that it simply would not work (what were the chances, after all?) - and equally scared it WOULD. You had to wear a mask so to remain unrecognized (you hated you were still only sixteen!). You peeped from behind the column in your yard. You were close to freezing by now, but it was the chance you couldn’t miss, so you just kept on waiting patiently. Finally, he showed up down the street. Your heart jolted, and you rushed inside the building, praying nobody else would come in. You entered the elevator, and just before the doors closed, he stepped in and pushed the button without glancing up. The cabin jerked and moved. You gathered all your courage and stepped up.

- Hey, – you smiled up at him.

He turned, surprised, but seeing you smile, he smiled softly too.

- Hey.

Suddenly, the cabin shuddered and stopped. That was it.

- Oh. Not again, - he muttered.

- Look. It’s mistletoe! – you nodded up.

He glanced up.

- I thought Christmas wreaths were made of holly?

- That’s funny… I think I read a book, where two people who stepped under mistletoe, were magically glued to the spot and couldn’t walk away unless they kissed.

He chuckled, a bit nervously.

- So… if we kiss, the elevator will move?

You said nothing, only looked at him. Suddenly he realized he probably shouldn’t’ve said that, but before he could say anything else, you stepped closer, put your hands on his chest and placed a soft kiss on his lips, closing your eyes. He froze, but the next moment leaned into the kiss. Just when he was about to put his hand on the back of your head to pull you closer, the cabin shuddered once more and moved. You pulled apart, smiling and dizzy. The doors opened. You gave him the brightest smile and said:

- Merry Christmas!

Before the doors shut, you stepped out.

- Th – Thanks… Merry Christmas! – he mumbled, a happy smile on his face.

You ran up to his floor as quietly as possible to have a look at him. Still slightly out of breath, you were there just in time to see him leaving the elevator, smiling softly. He fumbled for keys, still smiling, then, disappeared inside his apartment. You sighed in relief and joy. It WORKED.

    *flashback end*

You could see exactly the same mixture of feelings on his face now. You waited with bated breath.

- It was my happiest memory in years, - he confessed with a soft smile.

- Really?

- Really, - his eyes twinkled.

You beamed at him.

- It was the happiest one, and then, just after New Year… they locked me up, - he finished in a flat tone.

- I remember. They took you, and shortly after my family moved, and I couldn’t come back until now. And that is MY worst memory…

You exchanged a long look that was speaking more than words. Suddenly, something grabbed his attention.

- Hey, is that me?!

He picked up your sketchbook from the counter. Your blush went deeper.

- I used to draw you quite a lot…

He thumbed through the pages, a look of wonder clear on his face. There were dozens of sketches of him: smoking on the balcony, sitting on the park bench, dancing in his old clown costume… They were not only precise, but very emotional too, exactly the way he felt like back then. They were like photographs of his inner self.

- They are really nice, - he commented.

He turned another page and couldn’t take his eyes from it. On the last page there was another drawing of him, in his hew attire. You made it this morning. And this was the only one made in full color. It captured his dance on the police car. He looked so graceful, so liberated, so – handsome? He looked at you with that question clear in his eyes. You looked at him fondly for a long moment and said:

- This is the way I see you.

- All my life I wanted someone to SEE me, and you’ve always been –

- I’m right here.

With that, he cupped your face and gave you a kiss, that took you breath away and made you grab onto him for support. He held you close, and your fingers tangled in his locks. He pulled back a little with a coy smile.

- You know, that Christmas I had a dream about you. Do you wanna see it?

[effortlessly-bored]

The Bucket List - Michael Gray

"Have you ever done this before?"

"Bartending? Yes sir, worked at the pub in my old town for a year. This is a letter of recommendation from them," I say, handing over the tattered piece of paper. 

"And if I call this number I will be able to talk to the owner of this real and respectable pub?" 

"Of course, Mr Shelby. Well; real pub, yes; respectable, less so." 

"Good. Do you drink yourself?"

"Yes sir, but not in excess and not on the job." 

"What about drugs?" 

"No sir. Not even for headaches."

He makes a grunt of acknowledgement. "I know that these are different questions that are fairly..."

"Odd?" I offer.

"Thorough." He corrects. "We've had some issues in the past with the reliability of our barmaids; so you'll have to excuse me. However, you should note that, with the other businesses I'm involved in, I need people I can trust in my life. Does that make sense?"

"Yes, absolutely sir. And I assure that, if awarded the job, I would be an exemplary employee." 

"I believe you. What is it brought you to Birmingham, Emma?"

"School, Mr Shelby."

"The nursing school or the secretarial school?" 

"Neither, Sir. The law school across town opened 5 spots for women this year and I was accepted."

"Really? You must be smart, eh? How would you feel about handling the Garrisons books as well; Harry is a great barkeep but not the greatest with numbers."

"I can absolutely take that on, Mr Shelby!" He chuckles slightly to himself. "Is something wrong?"

"No, no, you just remind me of our old barmaid. Very similar. Anyways, the job is yours if you'd like it!" 

"Yes! Thank you very much Mr Shelby, I promise you won't regret it." I exclaim reaching to shake his hand. 

“Good. Well, I’ll walk you to the Garrison, give you the lay of the land.” It’s only when Mr. Shelby stood up, that Emma realized how intimidating he really was. Tall and lean, with eyes that looked through your soul, it made Emma nervous for a second before she realized how kind he had been thus far. Mr Shelby walk her through the Shelby Company Ltd offices, explaining how finances for the Garrison were handled by a man named Michael Gray. All receipts, books and paychecks were to be signed off by him at the end of the month. 

Thomas explained that his company had many different types of business other than just pubs. The Shelby Company was a large and growing corporation according to him. Emma could see the pride in his eyes as well as the ambition. 

Mr Shelby shrugged on his overcoat and helped Emma put hers on as they left his offices. A burst of wind surprised Emma as she opened the door to leave the building, making her realize how cold it was. Thomas chuckled a little before putting on his cap, razor blades stitched into the peak. 

The streets of Birmingham were very different than her old town, dirtier and darker. It didn’t bother Emma, she was just happy she made it there. She was feeling self-conscious of her outfit though. She had worn her nicest dress for the interview and it was embarrassingly bright and fancy; light green stitching heavily contrasting the bleak surroundings. Her shoes were also decimated, covered with mud, coal, and other things she dared not think about. She made a mental note to save up for a new pair of shoes that could withstand all that Birmingham threw at them. 

After turning a few corners, Emma saw a sign that read "The Garrison" above a fairly nice looking pub. Mr Shelby led her there through a street that sat next to some sort of factory. Emma couldn't help but think of her luscious home when she saw the men covered in soot and smoke. Thomas opened the door for her and Emma took a step inside her new office.  

It was lovely and posh inside, much nicer than she expected. There was a private room to her right, but the rest of the bar was open with a place for dancing my and a band. Leather booths lined the walls except for one where the actual bar was. It was almost impossibly high, with a mirror behind the shelves of alcohol. It was all nice stuff too, nothing like the things they passed off for 'top shelf' at her old pub. There were a few men already in the bar despite it being midday. One man behind the counter and a few others who looked like dawn to dusk drunks. Like most things in Birmingham so far, The Garrison was intimidating. 

Many of the men inside had straightened up a bit since they came in; sitting up straighter, talking quieter. The bartender had already poured Mr Shelby a glass of whisky and bowed his head slightly. Thomas put a shilling on the counter before explaining to Harry that Emma was the new barmaid. 

Harry had kind eyes and calloused hands, quickly moving to shake Emma's. "Welcome to the team, I'm sure you'll do great!" 

"Thank you, I'm just here to learn to ropes and work hard." She smiled back. 

Tommy was satisfied with the number of pleasantries, going on to explain that Emma would help handle the books. "Alright, well, I think you two can figure it out from here. Emma, you can help Harry tonight; Saturday night rush and that. And you two can also figure out a schedule for the next month if you have time. Best of luck to both of you, I'll see you tonight." Then with a gulp of his whiskey and tip of his hat, Mr Shelby was gone. 

"First lesson, oh young one, anyone with the last name Shelby drinks for free. Understand?" Emma nods vigorously. "Good. There are some aprons in the back, grab one then we can get started." 

"Aye aye, sir." Emma salutes before rolling up her sleeves. 

It was almost six o’clock on the dot when men started pouring into The Garrison. Harry explained that most men from the factory went home at five, cleaned up and ate with their families before spending the night drinking. Emma poured beer after beer, introduced herself as the “new barmaid” what felt like hundreds of times and it was barely half-past nine. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mr Shelby and a few other men make their way into the private room and close the door. 

“You best get in there and take their orders; remember the first rule?” Harry says.

“Shelby’s drink free.” Emma replies, walking out from behind the bar. She carefully avoided the drunk and dancing men as she made her way to the door.

Inside, Mr Shelby was sitting with four other men, three in the booth and one on a chair with his back facing Emma. The room smelled like tobacco with a thick cloud of cigarette smoke in the middle. All six were dressed impeccably in lavish, expensive suits. 

“Emma! How’s your first night going?” Thomas asks.

“Good, sir, thank you for asking.”

"Glad to hear it. This is my older brother, Arthur,” Tommy points to a skinny man on his left with a large moustache who quickly nods. “My younger brother, John.” John is slightly larger than Arthur. He stands up to quickly shake Emma’s hand. “Our youngest sibling, Finn.” Finn has a bit of a boyish look to him, young and happier than his brothers. He’s obviously nervous at Emma's presence only waving quickly before ducking his head. "Last but not least, Isaiah." Tommy introduces. 

"Another brother?" Emma jokes due to the obvious fact that none of the Shelby boys could be related to their Isaiah, who was black contrasting the Shelby's pale pigments. Emma joke earned her a chuckle from the men and a kiss on the hand from Isaiah, who she could already tell was a huge flirt. 

“Don’t mind Isaiah, he’s a bit of a whore.” Arthur quips.

“It's no problem. So, four top-shelf Irish whiskeys coming up!" Emma says, trying to leave as soon as she could. 

"Make it five," Isaiah says. 

"Our cousin Michael will be joining us soon," John explains. 

"Five whiskeys coming right up!" Emma spun around and was reaching for the handle when the door swung open and a large man bumped into her. She quickly mumbled a few apologies, as did the main, before looking up to see someone Emma believed would never return to her life.

It was Henry.

He was taller now, slightly more muscular, but his boyish looks had lasted the three years since they had last seen each other. His eyes were slightly more tired with larger bags under them. He had traded his tweed for a sleek, dark suit. Henry had a few cuts on his face, as well as some new scars. Despite the differences, Emma instantly knew that this man was Henry. 

Henry knew it was Emma, even from the quickest of glances. It startled him, to see her again. She had the same perfume on that she had worn since he gave it to her for her sixteenth birthday. Her hair was longer and lighter than since the last time they’d seen each other. She looked exactly like he had expected her to, after all the times he’d thought of her. 

“Henry!” Emma nearly shouted at the same time he said “Emma!” They both chuckled nervously at their outburst; both keenly aware of the prying eyes in the room.

“Henry? Do you two know each other?” Tommy quickly interjects. 

It’s the first time they break eye contact for the first time since their encounter; Emma breaking it to reply to Mr Shelby. “Henry and I grew up together. It’s nice to see you,” She nods at him. “Excuse me, I’ll be right back with your drinks.”

Henry/Michael watches her leave, still confused as to what she was doing in Birmingham, in the Garrison of all places. Everyone else in the room were snickering at the dumbfounded look on his face. He hadn’t closed his mouth for two minutes. Eventually, Thomas broke the silence. “You two seem… close. Were you friends?”

“I was going to marry her,” Michael/Henry mumbled to himself, still dumbstruck. 

Arthur lets out a low whistle as if to say, “Fuck, man.”

“So you and Emma were close I take it.” John chuckles. The boys continued ribbing Michael until the handle on the door started to turn.

Emma walked into the eerily quiet room, with a tray full of drinks. She hadn’t been able to slow her heart rate since she left the men before. Emma's hands were slightly shaky, making her tray with the drinks wobble a bit. Michael/Henry quickly steadied the tray, helping her put it on the table. Emma mumbles a quick thank you before handing out the whiskeys. The tray has one whiskey still on it and a dark beer. 

"I, um, don't know what you drink now, so I just got you what you used to have, Henry." Emma gives a quick glance in his direction before handing him the glass. A few of the men chuckled quietly. 

"I'm Michael!" Michael almost shouts, his mouth working before his brain. He quickly clears his throat before continuing. "I just mean, I go by Michael now. Michael Gray." 

"Oh, well, that's a nice name. Here's your whiskey then." Emma doesn't know what to say next, there are too many questions and this was most definitely not the right audience for them. 

"Have a seat, Emma!" John says, scooting over, making room for her to sit. "Tell us what Michael was like when he was young."

"You don't have to do that," Michael says quickly, sending a glare at John.

"Maybe later, I think I need to help Harry outside." It was the most diplomatic answer she could think of. 

"Harry can handle himself," Thomas says,  clearly amused, pushing the extra beer in her direction. "Take a break."

Knowing there was no way out, Emma sat down and took a large gulp of the beer. "What do you want to know?"

"Were you two close?" Arthur asks, curious as to what Emma's answer would be.  

"Oh yeah, Henry and I were best friends since he came to town. Our mums were close and we were always in the same class at school." Emma didn't know if it was the beer or the fond memories but she couldn't help but smile. Michael was smiling too, he did miss the old town sometimes. Usually just her though. 

"So you two were just friends?" Isaiah asked. Michael glared as if to say "Subtle". 

"I mean I guessed we dated for a few years before he left. We never really called each  'boyfriend' or anything; it was just exactly what we did before but now we kissed while we did it." Emma said, staring at the ground. Usually, she wouldn't divulge this much to glorified strangers but she had snuck a few shots in when she went to get their drinks; and, along with the beer she was nursing, she felt her nervousness fade. 

“And what kind of hell did you two raise in that tiny town, eh?”

Emma couldn’t help but snort; they had never been anything but angels in town. "Study, mostly. Henry helped out a lot at home so we'd study there; or if it was nice enough. Then, of course, there was a church on Sundays." 

Emma and Michael shared the same fond look on their face, thinking about how good things were. 

"Michael, teacher's pet! I never would have guessed!" John teases. "Top of your class, I'm sure."

All their heads turned when Michael spoke for the first time in what felt like forever. "I was second... in class. Emma was always at the top of the class; boys and girls." He had always been proud of how smart Em was. They looked at each other intensely, neither knowing what to say. 

"You could have beaten me if you paid more attention, you never listened," Emma said, only looking at Henry. "All you'd do was pass me notes with cartoons on them."

Michael shrugged. "Ms Williams was a piss poor teacher and I knew you'd teach whatever we learned later."

There was a slight pause before Thomas cut in for the first time. "When I met Michael, he wouldn't stop talking about some well he was gonna blow up; he ever tell you about his plans?"

Michael looked slightly shocked that Tommy remembered that. Emma was shocked Henry had told someone else about his plan. 

"Um, yeah. The night our exams ended, we got drunk in the field in town and Henry started making all these promises, even wrote down this life plan of his." Emma and Michael shared the same remorseful look. "Number one, graduate and go to business school together. Number two, blow up the 'stupid white well in the ungodly small town'. Number three, get married. Number four, get rich and live happily ever after." It took a lot of effort for her voice not to crack. 

"What happened to the well?" Finn asked, failing to read the room. 

"It's still their, mostly. I, uh, took my dad's hammer to it after my mom died."

"Your mom died?" Michael gasps genuinely shocked. 

Emma nods before adding, "'Bout two months after you left and never came back."

"I'm so sorry, Em. I really loved Nellie, it's a damn shame." 

"She loved you too, she was almost angrier than me after you left." There was a long, pregnant pause. Michael and Emma just stared at the ground while the boys looked for a way out of the uncomfortable situation. Michael had never been more ashamed. 

It was Isaiah who finally broke the silence. "What about church? I've only heard Mick call out for god when he's with broad." It was a nice attempt at making the conversation light-hearted again; however, it only embarrassed Michael and shocked Emma. 

She really didn't think about Henry dating anyone else, even though she had. He had always been so adamant about their future, saying she was the one. 

Emma realized she had to answer after snapping back to reality. "Henry and I had to go but never wanted to; so, we made a game where we had to make the other laugh as loud as possible. Even got kicked out a few times."

"Sounds like you two were a wild pair." Isaiah jokes. 

"Did you, uh, go with anyone after I left?" 

Emma had stayed so incredibly calm throughout their conversation so far, but this finally made her lose it a bit. "Was I supposed to just wait and hope that maybe you'd come back?! Should I have just waited for the life you promised me, huh? God, Henry, of course I moved on."

"Who? Who'd you go with?" Michael knew he had no right to ask but he needed to know. 

"Well, not that you have any fucking right to ask or that it's any of your fucking business but it was George Palmroy." Emma almost didn't tell him, but she knew how much Henry hated George and that it would make him angry. To be honest, that was the only reason she went on a few dates with George. 

"George fucking Palmroy," Michael spat at her, his getting redder with anger. "You wasted your time with that fucker; are you insane?!"

"You know what Henry, I've only gone with two boys in my life and only one of those relationships was a fucking waste of time! I'll give you a guess as to which one that was." 

It was a full-fledged fight now, both of them standing and shouting. Even when they dated, Michael and Emma didn't fight often; but, when they did, the fights would last days and make both their voices hoarse. 

"Em, come on," Michael sighed in defeat, reaching for her arm.  Emma violently jerked her arm out of his reach. 

"I'm glad you don't call yourself Henry anymore, as far as I'm concerned you don't deserve that name. As soon as you decided that that name wasn't good enough for you, that I wasn’t good enough, you turned to shit. I hope it was worth the fancy suit." Emma quickly turned to the other men and said, "Just holler if you need another." 

Emma scurried out quickly, leaving her beer behind and shutting the door. She could tell that most of the people in the bar were staring, having heard a lot of shouting between Henry and Emma through the walls. She carefully made it behind the bar without making eye contact with anyone. Harry gave her a kind look and told Emma to go work on the books in the back for a bit. 

Meanwhile, back in the private room, Michael was absolutely dumbstruck about everything that had just happened. His cousins had each offered the rest of their own drinks after he downed his in one gulp. Michael was not one to be dumbfounded but Emma always had that effect on him, ever since they were kids. Mickey loosened his tie and downed a few of the offered whiskeys before Tommy spoke up. 

"Do you want me to fire her?"

"What? No of course not! No, she needs this job, and at least when she's here I can make sure she's safe and taken care of; try and make it up to her."

"You're really gonna try to get her back?" Arthur questions, condescendingly.

"I should have never left her in the first place." Michael sat back in his chair brainstorming while Tommy excused himself and left the private room.

When he didn't see her behind the bar Tommy knew Emma would be in the office. Before opening the door, Thomas listened, trying to figure out if Emma was crying in the office. When he didn't hear sobbing Tommy decided it was safe to open the door. 

Emma was sitting in the old wooden chair with a very similar look as, both shocked. Emma had a slightly more angry look, eyebrows slightly creased and a small frown. There were two tear stains down her cheeks, which she quickly wiped away when she saw her boss. 

"Mr Shelby, I'm so sorry about that! I promise that will never happen again-"

"I'm gonna tell you a story about Michael. About two weeks after he first moved here, Michael showed up at my home, piss drunk and weeping about some girl. Cried to me about how he should never have left her; how she was the love of his life. No matter how many times I asked him, he wouldn't tell me her name. You see, sometimes the business we do can get, well, dangerous; and he didn't want this girl involved. So, when he woke up the next day we made a sort of plan as to how he could be with this girl again. He was going to make enough money and then leave the family business and find her. About two months later, someone shot my wife right in front of my whole family. And I couldn't do anything to save. Grace died because of the business, and I'll always blame myself for her death." Tommy could only look at the ground. "Anyways, Michael was there when it all happened and I think after that he figured out that the only way you'd really be safe is if you stayed away from it."

"He could have written or something," Emma said pathetically. She could already feel herself forgiving him, despite the years she'd been upset. 

"All I'm saying is that I truly believe he never stopped loving you. That list you talked about? He keeps it in his desk, in the only drawer that locks. I’ve walked in on him staring at it at least a dozen times. And I don't think you'd be that upset at him if you were truly indifferent." With that, Tommy went back to the private room, leaving Emma to consider everything.