#Like the subject comes up and Hail explains what he did when he went around talking to all those different cats.

[bonefall]

if rainflower was given a dishonor title, what would it be?

also is mapleshade still killed by crookedstar in the BOTTE?

Definitely something related to animals they disrespect. I don't see him going as far as to hit her with "Cuckoo" but he'd want to center her cruelty and lack of compassion. "Lamprey" makes a fine choice, and there's also a disrespectful word in Clanmew for egg-laying animals that don't care for their young.

But, he would certainly not do it because Rainflower is popular. Hailstar is a smart cat, in spite of how long he spent denying the problem and justifying it (sometimes intellect just makes you better at making excuses). He knows full well that something like that could backfire politically.

There's a portion of the Clan who thinks he was wrong to punish her at all, and more who are in that nebulous state of not being totally sure if his response was justified or not. He took her child and stripped her of all status. If he went further than that, it would look like retribution... which it would be, and in another, more furious Clan, would have appeased the angry mob.

But this Clan isn't furious. The reception is mixed. Hailstar's goal isn't to make a big point, it's to protect Stormkit the way he should have done a long time ago.

The best plan of action is the action that makes this transition go smoothly. Rainflower does not need to wear a name like Lampreypool right now, to draw attention to her, to have the whole Clan be looking at her while she plays the poor, besieged victim of a cruel and unusual leader. She needs to be kept out of power, and away from Shellheart's son as the poor child recovers.

(Also Mapleshade didn't die in the Battle of the True Eclipse! Not in BB and not in canon's The Great Battle either, lmao. She's still around, chilling in the Dark Forest, haunting Applekin.)

[lipstickstainz]

mismatched socks - s. r.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Request: Spencer's girlfriend (reader, FBI agent too) always wears mismatched socks and when they have their first night together at his apartment he notices, and his brain goes to mush, and falls in love with her even more

Warnings: fluff, some talk about Spencer being insecure Word Count: 2.2k A/N: thanks for the request, love! I really enjoyed writing it! requests are open guys! hope you enjoy. gif not mine.

Spencer had always known he was different. He had always been the smartest in school, which could be attributed to his eidetic memory. He wasn't invited to birthday parties because he liked to tell facts that were funny to him, but that no one else found funny. And he had been rather an oddball in other ways, too.

All his life this fact had made him insecure. He thought of himself as too skinny, too unathletic-especially when he compared himself to Derek, which was pretty stupid, of course-and his hair always lay funny, no matter how hard he tried to tame it. He wore cardigans over shirts-the watch over the cardigan, of course-which was pretty weird, but he wore Converse with them and two different socks every day. He loved magic and physics jokes. Spencer couldn't talk about the latest episode of Greys Anatomy, and he wasn't sure what Team Stefan and Team Damon were. Spencer didn't fit in perfectly anywhere and it had taken him time to accept that. He also never imagined anyone would find in attractive, or even want to be with him.

Until you came along.

On your first day at BAU, he immediately noticed three things about you. First, you walked incredibly fast, actually too fast to just walk from one office to the next. It seemed to her as if you were flying. Second, you tucked your hair behind your ears every few minutes, even when it wasn't falling in your face. He wondered why you didn't use a pin or a scrunchie. But it was a habit that didn't bother him in the least. From the moment he first saw you, he found you irresistibly pretty, and he was glad your hair didn't cover your face. And third, you could write ambidextrously. As the team sat in the conference room and you scribbled something in your case file - also something he noticed, you seemed to prefer paper as much as he did - you reached for your coffee cup with your right hand and continued to write undisturbed with your left, until the entire team looked at you as if you were from another star. It was a look Spencer knew all too well.

He had never met anyone like you.

Spencer liked you from the first moment he saw you. He liked that you took your backpack on both shoulders and that you preferred cocoa to coffee. He liked the way you smiled at him when he brought you one from the office kitchen and set it on your desk. And he liked the way your skin felt on his when you reached under the desk for his hand when you noticed a change in his demeanor. You then squeezed his hand twice. Once for "It's all right" and once for "I'm here, with you."

In your presence, everything seemed as easy as breathing. You listened to him when he blathered on about a subject you didn't understand, because you liked his intelligence and the way he explained things without looking down on others. You even asked when he had to explain something to you, which had surprised him so much the first few times that he had completely forgotten what your conversation was about. He had stared at you and the blush had come to his face. One feature that didn't escape you, but made him even more attractive to you.

When you went to his table one morning and told him that you had seen Star Trek for the first time the previous night, and now wondered how realistic the physics in the movie were, he could hardly stand it. You were beautiful and intelligent and interested in Star Trek? And when you asked him if he could explain something from the movie to you, he was sure his dream girl was standing right in front of him.

"I need your help", he told Derek that very day as they stood together in the kitchen. "How do I ask a girl out?"

Derek nearly choked on his coffee before turning to Spencer. "Since when do you want to date?" He noticed Spencer's gaze, which wasn't on him, but slid past him and lingered on you.You sat at your desk and tucked your hair behind your ears before looking up and over at Spencer's desk.  Derek could see your gaze wander around the office and then linger on Spencer before you smiled and got back to work. With a grin, Derek looked at Spencer. "You're going to ask Y/N out on a date? Oh boy, it's about time you finally do. I already said to Penelope that -"

"Please, Morgan. I just want to know how to ask her out”, Spencer interrupted him, looking at his friend.

Derek's grin gave way to an honest, friendly smile. "Don't make a big deal out of it. Just ask her directly."

"And if she says no?", asked Spencer uncertainly, his mouth twisting into a thin line. He couldn't imagine you going on a date with him, but he couldn't stay in the dark any longer either. He had to at least try.

"She won't”, Derek assured him. The whole team felt that Spencer and you would be perfect for each other, but he didn't tell him that. Spencer should learn to walk before he starts running. "I can see the way she looks at you. And if she does say no, she's not as smart as I thought."

Spencer trusted Derek's words and took it upon himself to ask you out on a date that very day. He had phrased the question countless times in his head, even encouraging himself in the mirror in the men's room, but every time he stood in front of you and looked at your beautiful face, he couldn't get a single word out. They got stuck in his throat and he was so embarrassed that he fled from you several times. By the third time, he had red marks on his neck, which you noticed immediately, and you wondered how you had made him so uncomfortable without having really done anything. When he said nothing again, you put your hand on his forearm.

"Are you okay, Spencer?", you asked, and he just nodded. It's now or never.

"Wouldyougooutwithme?" He almost mumbled, but you had understood him perfectly. "If you don't want to, that's fine, and we'll pretend I never asked. We'll just keep being friends and -"

"Spencer," you interrupted, smiling up at him, "I'd love to go out with you," you replied, and he was able to breathe deeply again. The marks on his neck faded as you tucked your hair behind your ear.

He had done it. Spencer had asked you and you had agreed, but where was he going to take you? Nothing seemed good enough for him. Going out to eat was nice, but you didn't seem like someone who needed to talk the whole time. He thought movie theaters were dumb because you couldn't talk there at all. After two days he had thought of something and he wouldn't have minded if you thought the idea was stupid, but when he presented his idea to you, you smiled at him excitedly.

"I can't wait."

You spent your first date in Spencer's favorite library, surrounded by knowledge and stories. You walked the aisles together, telling stories of books you had read and found to be good, and books you had abandoned because they were so bad you couldn't finish them. As you walked through each aisle, which had actually taken an entire afternoon, Spencer didn't want the date to end. He was going to suggest something else, but you beat him to it.

"There's a couch over there. Shall we sit there? Then you can read me something from your favorite book."

You would be the death of him.

A few weeks later, you had arranged to go for a walk. The weather was nice, not too hot and not too cool, so you strolled hand in hand along the paths. He liked the fact that you worked together but couldn't just talk about the job. You were explaining to him why a certain Matt Donavan from a vampire series was incredibly annoying when someone stopped in front of you.

"Y/N! How nice to see you!", the young woman said, unceremoniously wrapping her arms around you. When she broke away from you, you looked at Spencer.

"Spencer, this is Lisa, my college roommate. Lisa, this is Spencer, my boyfriend”, you explained before you could think about what you had just said. You chatted briefly before going your separate ways again. You noticed a change in Spencer's behavior and feared you had misinterpreted everything. When you couldn't take it anymore, you stopped.

"Look, I'm sorry I called you my boyfriend”, you said, looking down at the ground in shame. "We've never talked about what exactly we are, but it feels like you're my boyfriend and I wish you were, so I -"

"Y/N”, he interrupted you and tenderly reached for your hand. A smile spread across his face. He couldn't believe himself that he would ask you that. "Would you like to be my girlfriend?"

The bar was crowded and the later it got, the more crowded you felt. The team had been in the mood to celebrate after a difficult case, so everyone had gathered in the regular bar. Penelope was putting on some dance moves on the dance floor while Emily and JJ were bawling out the song, which neither Spencer nor you knew. He had his arm around your waist and pulled you tightly to his side, which you enjoyed very much. He didn't fit in here with his shirt and cardigan, but he fit you, you were one hundred percent sure of that.

As you stifled a yawn, he looked down at you. "Shall we go? You seem tired and I'm getting ready to go to bed too”, he suggested and you nodded. Outside, he hailed you a cab and as you got in, you gave the driver Spencer's address.

"We're going to my place?", asked Spencer, looking at you in confusion as you nestled into his side.

"Yeah, I hope that's okay”, you replied, "If it's too soon for you for us to sleep together, then you just have to say so. I won't be mad at you."

How could he be mad at you? You wanted to spend the night with him. You wanted to fall asleep next to him and wake up next to him. He had hit the jackpot.

"Would you like to drink something?", he asked as you sat down on the couch and kicked off your shoes. It wasn't the first time you'd been in his apartment, but you'd never entered his bedroom before and you didn't want to take the step without him. It was still his apartment and his privacy and you respected that.

"Just water, please”, you replied, pulling your legs up so he could sit next to you. He handed you the glass and you took a big gulp.

In your presence, Spencer had never felt like an oddball. You never made him feel like he was different or weird. You didn't laugh at him, you laughed with him, and you had assured him many times how incredibly attractive he was to you, even if he couldn't see it. He wasn't too skinny or too unathletic for you. He dressed askew, but it suited him like a glove and you had imagined more than once what he would look like without clothes. It didn't bother you in the least that he wasn't interested in the technology of today. For you, he was just right. For you, he was perfect.

Even though you often assured him how much you liked him and how happy you were with him, he was still insecure from time to time. But as you sat there together on the couch and you put your legs on his thighs, he was one hundred percent sure that he didn't need to be insecure. On your left foot was a green sock, while on your right dangled an orange sock.

You wore the socks like he did. Two different ones. Had you seen this on him and copied it or had you always worn socks like this? A question that could be answered later. His heart stopped for a second, his brain turned to mush, which is why he couldn't control his following words either. "I think I love you."

Surprised, you looked to him and noticed that his gaze lingered on your socks. "You see my socks and then say you love me? Maybe something isn't going right in that clever head of yours”, you grinned and leaned towards him. Blushes shot up his face. "I love you too, Spencer."

Gently, you placed your lips on his. The kiss was tender, hesitant, but Spencer saw his chance and gently pulled you onto his lap before wrapping his arms around you and holding you close. His heart threatened to overflow with love. As he placed his hands on your butt, you moaned softly into his mouth. He smiled.

In your presence, he didn't feel like he was different.

[zephycluster]

Precolonial HWS SEA Rant Post, feel free to ignore

If you're still reading, then you're probably looking for evidence or some juicy tidbits to throw back at me or to try and find dirt to cancel me, like typical Tumblr/Twitter. Go ahead, I don't really care.

First off, let me just say that If you like Precolonial South-East Asia AUs, feel free to keep enjoying them. I will respectfully support your passions from afar. This post is just to explain why I don't like it, especially the way they keep insisting/portraying PH in it.

Still here? Then let me begin.

Since the recent confirmation that the ASEAN Six Majors (Can't really say ASEAN 10 atm since it's still missing some people) Were completed and the Ma-Phil-Indo Trio was included, there has been a large surge in 'Precolonial' fanarts and portrayals of South East Asians, those three especially.

Even long, long before, circa 2010's ish, a rather well-known fan universe known as 'Maaf' dealt with their story and how their Author thought their intertwined histories went. Written by (my best guesstimate) an Indonesian writer who wants to explore the old, SEA bond.

When I first stumbled across Maaf (I was in Highschool at the time, around age 16-ish), I took a casual interest in it and tried to read it through. But, I will wholeheartedly admit that at the time, Pre-Colonial cultures of South-East Asia in general, let alone Philippine, did not really interest me that much. The focus (I think) was mostly on Indonesia, a country I didn't really know back then, and the liberal use of 'ancient' names and artwork just made it feel like an entirely Original Work (that needed a degree in History to really appreciate) and not something from Hetalia. I also completely disagreed with what I could gather was the story's portrayal of PH but I'm getting ahead of myself.

Do I hate 'Maaf'? No, I don't hate it. Do I wish I never came across it or that it didn't exist? Of course not. Just because I didn't enjoy it or appreciate it that well doesn't mean I wish any ill toward it, its fans, or its creator.

Fast forward to April 2021, the long awaited inclusion of South East Asia to the canon Hetalia verse. I was happy, the other fans were happy, all was good.

Then started the questionable fanarts, fan theories and fan pairings.

Especially the expansion of Precolonial! PH.

Let's go back to Maaf for one moment. From what I understood of Maaf, PH there was a character who once was like all the other South East Asian cultures, trading with them, all around being a nice family.

But all that changed when the Spaniards attacked, so cry the precolonial buffs. They destroyed everything, ransacked and marginalized the tribes, erased everything that PH was!

Did that happen? ABSOLUTELY. The Spaniards had this vision in mind that they must spread Christianity to all of the 'savage, unchristian heathens' of their realm. :V /s

But back up a second, back to PH's portrayal in Maaf. The way she (yeah, she) was portrayed there was that she was slowly losing her memories of being a 'true' South East Asian and grew more and more westernized in the process, like some sort of Culture-specific Alzheimer's or something.

Firstly, that is seriously depressing, and secondly, I just really don't see that happening.

Here's why.

Point 1: Even before Colonial Masters, Filipinos as a people cannot agree on anything.

I'll just begin this segment with a Philippine proverb that outlines what Filipinos call 'Crab Mentality' or 'Crab Bucket Mentality'.

"You don't need a lid for a container when you're keeping multiple crabs. If you keep at least two crabs together, they will just pull each other down instead of helping each other up."

I don't know how it goes with Indonesian or Malaysian history class, but what I know of my homeland, both pre- and post-colonial history, we were never really 'united' or 'together' in the sense that Indonesia and Malaysia were (from what I assume).

Let me pull up a somewhat related question on r/AskHistorians.

The reason I brought this up as it shows the reasons why, in my opinion, a single entity that is 'Precolonial Philippines-tan' is an impossibility.

The answers are long and would extend this already long post to stupid proportions, so I'll just quote relevant sentences. The link is here for those that wanna deep-dive into the answer.

"All this to say that there wasn't a name used for the entire Philippine islands before the Philippines that people now would agree to. An interesting comparison would be the Holy Roman Empire, which might also be characterized as disparate politico-geographic groups of relatively small size that had a history of relations between each other, but one thing they had that the Philippines did not was a common language, or at least a family of mostly mutually intelligible languages, so that the name Deutschland or Germany isn't terribly offensive to anyone. If you called the Philippines the 'Lupang-Tagalog' or even 'Lupang-Tao' the other ethnic groups would protest."

For those in need of translation, 'Lupang Tagalog' means 'Land of the Tagalogs' and 'Lupang Tao' means 'Land of People', specifically. The first one is already exclusive and offensive, as the Tagalog peoples are but one of many ethnicities here.

And for the 'Lupang Tagalog' suggestion specifically, it's even more offensive as they are the majority ethnicity (not by much, just around 28%) From this chart from Geography Now! It would basically be alienating everyone else in the 72% remainder that isn't 'Tagalog'.

And even 'Lupang Tao', the most generic name in a local language you can think of, would be met with contempt because the name itself is in the Tagalog language.

Just travelling between two individual island groups today would sometimes require a translator because the words can change very rapidly and very drastically. Here's a sample of some differences coming from a friend living in Visayas (in Red) vs. the words I know living in Luzon (In blue).

Ate vs. Manang = Older Sister

Ibon vs. Pispis = Bird

Tumawa vs. Kadlaw = To laugh

Takot vs. Hadlok = Fear

Kain vs. Kaon = To eat

Ngayon vs. Subong = Now, at this point in time

Iyak vs. Hibi/Gibi = to cry

Talampakan vs. Tiil = Foot (in Tagalog, the word retains its 'body part AND unit of measurement' meaning)

Tulog vs. Tuyo = to sleep (Tuyo in Tagalog is either a dried salted fish or 'to dry')

The kicker is that just like Tagalog is just one of many languages here, so too is the language my friend speaks. Ask an entirely new person, like someone from Mindanao, they'll probably have an entirely new set of words.

It's not just Luzon vs. Visayas vs. Mindanao, either. Here's a map listing some of the ethnic groups here.

Even the way they're written differs from location to location.

While we're on the subject of Island divisions, a casual skim across Twitter and Tumblr has shown that their Precolonial PH has been one of the following ancient civilizations: Tondo, Butuan, Sugbu, Namayan. There may have been others but that was what I have found.

Notice how even today, the posters of Precolonial PH can't seem to agree on what he's supposed to be? With Indonesia it's either Majapahit or Srivijaya and Malaysia it's usually Malacca iirc.

What is the big deal? Well, let's go back to the Ask Historians post. "Why didn't the Philippines ever change its name to remove the colonial mark that being named after a Spanish King has?" The answer: "If you suggested something dating to precolonial times, the other ethnic groups would protest."

Since we're on a roll with maps, let me bring this up.

As you can see, the precolonial PH posts have a reason to not be able to agree on one thing, as there is a LOT of options. Do you also see how THAT list is also split up?

It's split up into those aligned with China (Sinified), aligned with India (Indianized), aligned with the Middle East (Islamicized), and no alignment (Animist). Now, let's go back to the main suggestions for which Kingdom/Polity/Civilization/whatever Modern Philippines used to be.

If the Filipino peoples' couldn't agree on something as simple as WHAT TO CALL THE LAND THEY'RE LIVING ON, what more a living, breathing, walking, talking entity that is supposed to be a beacon of all of their 'unified' culture? ESPECIALLY if that entity used to be a currently existing Kingdom/Polity/Rajahnate/Sultanate/whatever.

Tondo? "Of course, always the damn Tagalogs. Tagalog this, Tagalog that. First the capital city, then the language,* THE REST OF US EXIST, YOU KNOW! What about us in Visayas? Mindanao?"

*The national language known as 'Filipino' is just standardized Tagalog*

Butuan? "Wait, you want Butuan to represent us? They're they only Indian-aligned city in the Islam-majority Mindanao! They're not even that many of them! I'm not gonna change my religion!"

Sugbu, the other name for the Rajahnate of Cebu on the map? Lemme bring back my Visayan friend again. According to her, she hails from the Hiligaynon part of Visayas.

"Sure :v and the other islands are what?

Chopped liver?

Not to mention the language and writing barrier helloooo"

And Namayan? Well. I'll let this pic speak for itself.

To summarize, no matter who you pick as Modern PH's previous identity, it will not end well nor be accepted by the other Kingdoms at the time.

"So where does that leave Modern PH, he had to have been ONE of them, right?"

Well, not really. He doesn't HAVE to be one of the Ancient Kingdoms that lasted till the modern day. I mean, predecessor representatives exist in Hetalia canon, after all. Like Modern Greece is a different character from Ancient Greece, Ancient Egypt and Modern Egypt, heck even England and his brothers have a canon mother that was the rep before them.

Or you could even use the same logic that Germany does, in that each specific region has/had its own representative and that Modern!PH is just the 'mediator' between them (cause gawd does PH need one). There could be a Tondo, a Namayan, a Butuan, and a Sugbu, all arguing and this Proto-PH is just trying to make headway in making them all satisfied.

But, even after all this, there is another reason why I personally don't subscribe to the 'Precolonial PH' idea, and by tangential extension, the Indo x Phil pairing.

Point 2: Even without intending to, Precolonial Indo x Phil just comes off as patronizing

This second point is just ENTIRELY personal preference and barely has any facts to back it up.

Again, if you like the pairing and disagree with me, You do you. I will respectfully support you and your passions from a distance.

But for me, Indo being Phil's seme/bae/boyfriend and consistently bringing up precolonial times just comes off as patronizing.

Just one more time, I'd like to point out that I am NOT bashing Indonesia, its people or the subscribers of Indo x Phil. This is just how the pairing feels to ME specifically.

The way I see it, Indo x Phil as a pairing, especially if it extends back into precolonial times, reads the same way as a long-since married couple where the husband/wife CONSTANTLY brings up that ONE outing you had together, or that ONE prom night where you kissed while dancing, even it happened like 30 some-odd years ago and so much more happened since then.

Even in a platonic sense, It reads like two besties where one ALWAYS mentions stuff like 'Yeah but you looked so much cooler back in High School' or 'Back in Grade School you would've known that', or 'Remember back in Pre-school we did X? How could you forget that?'

How does one respond to the notion that no matter what you do now, it will never compare to a past you've already forgotten or barely remember? That the best version of 'you' is already long gone?

"That's because the westerners made you forget your culture! You gotta take it back!"

While it is true, yes, as a collective we barely remember the Kingdom that commissioned the Laguna Copperplate, or created the Banaue Rice Terraces, or created the millennia old bonds that we still share with Indonesia and Malaysia.

But to keep pushing the precolonial identity would be to neglect and cast aside the one REAL binding belief and culture that spans the entirety of these islands we call the Philippines.

We take on all the bad stuff that happens to us, conquer it, and make it our own. Be it natural disasters, foreign powers, or negative stereotypical mentalities.

Yes, we've forgotten the ancient kingdoms of old and are just now digging through the closet for those remnants of the past. Yes, the colonizers imposed that on us, and made us forget. But in the process we've also taken everything that they left behind, everything that they threw at us, and created something that can only come from us.

The lanterns that the Spaniards used to light the way to the morning masses they made us attend became our globally known symbol of Christmas. The junked vehicles that the Americans left behind in World War 2 are now rolling works of art that announce themselves loud and proud on the streets (for better or for worse). The iced dessert recipe that the Japanese forced us to learn while they were occupying the country is now so distinct and famous it is synonymous with us, and is so delicious even Italy has taken notice.

Even after all this? Even after all the 425-ish years total we have been under a foreign power, with all the progress we've made as a country, a people, and a nation, you would still imply our fragmented, jigsaw puzzle state of being in the past was better just because it was pure 'South East Asian' like everyone else?

We might not be as well put-together as Indonesia or Malaysia, but we made this melting pot of angry, leg-pulling, dogpiling, Native, Mestizo, Chinoy, and Fil-Am crabs OURS, damnit!

It's now 4:30 AM and I have work in 5 or so hours. I'll be going to sleep now.

[9layerdevilfoodcake]

Some Of A Kind

Chapter 1: Virgin in the Chapel

(Michael Langdon x reader)

Summary: When you accompany your friend to a black mass at the Church of Satan. You pick the wrong time and place to let him in on the fact that you’re a virgin, garnering the attention of the ‘chosen one’ himself.

Warnings: murder, mentions of drug use, poorly represented Satanism

Word count: 3,666 (that’s right)

//

It was a typical Wednesday night when you got a text from your friend Tyler.

‘So what do you say? Is tonight the night?’

He had been bugging you for weeks to come see a sacrifice at the satanic church. And since the first time he asked, the conversation always went the same way.

/

“I’m telling you, just one slice and then you can have whatever you want”

“You mean I can have powers beyond compare?”

“Yes” he answered back, in a hopeful tone. Clearly he hadn’t picked up on the sarcasm in your voice.

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the excitement in his voice.

“I’m sorry, you do whatever you want over there with your edgelords but I’m perfectly happy in my boring powerless existence”

“First of all we aren’t edgelords, we're satanists. We just see the world for what it is. A dreadful place full of selfish people.”

“Well I can’t say I argue with that”

“Exactly, so give in to being selfish, and start doing what you want. You work so hard, and for what a one bedroom apartment you can barely afford and bags under your eyes that are only getting bigger by the day?”

“Hey” you interrupt, slightly offended. Which only earns a laugh on his end.

“I’m just saying, you put in so much effort for no pay off, when you could do this one thing and have everything you deserve”

“What a cable package and a ‘skip the line’ pass at Disneyland?”

“I also get unlimited snacks!”

“Oh sorry how could I forget, well if one soul is all it takes to get a free waffle cone then what are we still doing here?!” You ask back, your tone full of mockery.

“Have you ever wondered why I can snort as much coke as I want and have never OD’d? Or why every girl I bring home is a certified 10?”

Actually you had, the two of you had met the year prior in a religious studies class when you were partnered to write a paper on whether morality was dependent on a god. He could barely get through a sentence without tripping over his words or looking away in embarrassment. It was sweet really, and by the end of the class you two had basically become best friends.

But about 2 months ago things started to change. There was almost always a girl leaving his house when you would come over.

You swore at least two of them you recognized from Victoria Secret runways.

One night you even saw a man leaving whose resemblance to Ryan Reynolds was suspiciously uncanny.

He got a new car without any explanation as to where he got the money, and he had so much coke in his living room you assumed he started dealing, before he told you it was just his stash for the weekend.

At first he was vague about everything, but eventually he told you the truth, or at least what you assumed was a version of it.

For his final project he wrote a research paper on the church of Satan.

You went with him to a couple of services when he was writing it, him being too nervous to go alone.

You both thought they seemed a little kooky, but relatively harmless.

Yet what you didn’t know was that he kept going back after the class ended and had gotten himself sworn in, and eventually given the honor of participating in a black mass.

Where he had sacrificed a school teacher in order to get these new “gifts”.

Now you weren’t naive enough to think he actually killed someone!

You were sure his new lifestyle was a part of some religious Ponzi scheme, and one day the debt collector would come calling.

You’ve watched enough documentaries to know better than to get involved with this.

But he is still your friend so you take it upon yourself to be supportive and let him have his moment, while simultaneously letting him know you’ll be here for him if the day comes that he gets excommunicated.

“I love you and I am so happy for all you’ve gotten, especially when you share it with me, but I’m good, really. I’ll let you know if I ever change my mind”

That dropped the subject for a while.

 

That is until a few days ago when you lost your job.

Well actually when your job was stolen from underneath you by your boss's son.

All it took was one night of bitching to your best friend for the talks of satanism to start up again.

//

So here you were bored on a Wednesday night actually considering his offer to watch a black mass.

‘Well…’

He texted back after a few minutes of no response on your part

‘Fine’

It’s not like he’s ever going to let up, you might as well go see what all the hubbub was about.

After he picked you up, you made your way to the church.

More precisely the back alley with a hidden door. Not at all unsettling.

And the rain pelting down on the robe he gave you just adds a nice ominese touch to what you're sure is going to be a long night.

Now inside you sit in a pew in the back. While the choir above you sings as the others file in.

They actually sound pretty good if you’re being honest. Maybe on your way out you’ll pick up the album you saw for sale in the lobby (for $6.66 no less).

You haven’t been sitting more than 10 minutes before the mass begins.

And in that time Tyler roughly explained what you were about to see.

You weren’t paying too much attention though. More enamored with the atmosphere.

It was a sea of red cloaks and black pentagrams. And the thunder outside appeared to clap along in sync with the crescendo or the choir.

This place seems vastly different from the shabby collection of misfits you encountered when you visited the first time. Who spent most of the service complaining and handed you a stale donut on your way out the door.

“...Y/n are your listening?!”

“Hmm Yea”

“Really?”

“Yea the guy’s gonna sacrifice some ‘innocent soul’ say a few hail satans and voilà he gets his hair back and starts getting laid again” you answer back, waving him off. You’re more interested in watching two Satanists in the front of the room give each other the “sign of the cross” gesture in reverse order.

“This is serious, the things you see might shock you but you can not react! If they think you’re some sort of threat to our secrets or even just afraid of them, it won’t end well. I’m kind of taking a risk by bringing you here”

That brings your attention back to your friend.

“So you hound me for weeks to come with you, but I’m not even allowed to be here?” You ask back, starting to wonder why you actually said yes to this.

“Well yea, I just really want you to see what I’ve seen, I want what’s best for you”

That was actually really sweet of him.

Now you felt a little bad for making fun of this so much.

That is until you see a man in the next row pull out a flask with “unholy water” written on it and rub it on his chest like Vick’s.

But before you get the chance to ask Tyler where he keeps his flask(which you're certain he has). The choir stops singing and the Priestess has the room's attention.

Everything goes as Tyler explains at first.

The “sacrifices” are brought in in their underwear. (They couldn’t even keep their clothes on, what does the devil give them a level up if the victims are humiliated before they die?) and tonight's chosen one, Phil, is about to take his position, before you hear a voice behind you.

“Wait!”

You turn your head to see an older woman rushing in, but it’s not her that steals your focus it’s who walks in behind her.

He is quite possibly the most attractive person you have ever seen. With cheekbones that could slice butter and soft blonde hair falling around icy blue eyes.

She says his name is Michael and this honor belongs to him.

You look over to Tyler to see what’s going on. He didn’t explain what part of the performance this was, was this some sort of second act surprise?

You were expecting this night to follow like a church service, watching Phil take his vows and minimal audience participation. Now you wonder if this is all rehearsed, or if the Satanist’s are partial to improv?

But Tyler pays you no mind, he can’t take his eyes off the blonde either.

It’s not until the Priestess mentions the “mark of the beast” and that he is the chosen one, that you get why Tyler is looking at him like he’s some sort of god.

Because to him he is, this guy is supposed to be the Antichrist.

Tyler says nothing only glances in your direction when he sees you’re the only one still standing, before he pulls you down to your knee like everyone else.

The rest of the performance is really top notch.

The flickering of the lights was a nice touch, but you can’t help but feel a little uneasy wondering how they keep getting the thunder to time up with everything they do.

Plus the bodies of the sacrifices fell to the ground almost too well.

How did they manage to get their bodies to look that lifeless, and why did those cuts look so deep?

But you try not to focus too much on it as you walk to the ceremonial Wednesday night potluck.

/

After the Antichrist has dismissed his followers from fawning all over him, you sit with Tyler at the end of the table and dig into your lasagna.

“So does the antichrist part happen at every sacrifice or is this one special? Is it some Satanic holiday I wasn’t aware of?” You ask, breaking Tyler out of whatever trance he appears to be stuck in.

“What?”

“I gotta say the dramatics were very entertaining, but if you really wanted to get me here all you had to do was tell me the guy who plays the Antichrist is really hot” you snicker under your breath.

“Play? Y/n your don’t understand he IS the Antichrist” he explains in a hushed voice before continuing

“That doesn’t happen every time, he really has come. This is the moment we’ve all been waiting for! Don’t you see?! I think it was fate you came here on this night!”

“Ha, why do you need a virgin to sacrifice or something?” You laugh and take another bite before you look over and see Tyler staring at you with wide eyes.

“What?”

“You’re not serious are you?”

“Well yea, what’s the big deal, I didn’t realize you were so caught up on a social construct”

“I’m not, but you can’t say things like that around here” he looks around the room nervously and you follow his path of vision until your eyes land on Michael, who’s own gaze is locked on you.

There’s no way he heard you, you were across the room and you were whispering.

Still he continues to stare with eyes that speak only of intensity. No smile, no nod, no hint emotion whatsoever.

It’s only after you raise your brows and mouth a “What?” That he looks back down at his plate with a hint of a smile on his lips.

“Oh Satan, I think he heard you. You should go” Tyler’s tone becoming more erratic by the second.

“What?” You’re sure he's joking, but when he looks at you there is nothing but worry in his eyes.

Now you’re starting to get nervous, this is too far.

He actually thinks these people are going to do something?

He’s practically shaking with fear, and because of the man in the turtleneck? Who barely knows how to hold a spoon?

Okay you’ll play along for tonight, but tomorrow you are having a serious talk, he might need professional help.

“Alright let's go then” you huff out as you start to grab your belongings.

“I can’t just leave, especially since our savior is here, but I’ll make sure everything is good and you’re not followed or anything”

“Okay, is there some sort of satanic shuttle bus that can take me home? Or should I call an Uber? Does this place have an address or should I just send them an inverted cross?”

Still unamused by your inability to grasp the gravity of the situation, he just shakes his head and hands you his keys.

“Here just take my car, I’ll get a ride later, in fact stay at my house incase you’re followed”

He’s basically pushing you out of your seat and nodding to the door.

“Okay...bye I guess”

And with that you take off down the hall.

You know you’re supposed to go straight to the car. You’ve never seen Tyler look so serious in his life.

But when you walk past the chapel you can’t help but stop. You can still see the bodies up at the altar.

Why are they still there? Was there a trap door you missed and these were just doubles?

Or were these people so committed to the role and as crazy as your friend that they had to stay in the character of “dead sacrifice” all night?

Curiosity got the better of you, the car could wait, you had to see for yourself.

Closer inspection did nothing to stifle your suspicions.

It looked so real.

They weren’t breathing, so there was no way they were still the two actors, but you had never seen fake bodies look so real.

You're reminded of an anatomy class you took last semester.

Those cadavers looked suspiciously close to these.

Just colder and with less life left in their faces.

And there was so much blood, the iron was thick in the air.

But that couldn’t be true. Your friend wouldn’t kill someone would he?

He didn’t actually think they would kill you?

If you got a closer look, if you just swiped some of the “blood” with your pointer finger it would surely taste like corn syrup and not like…

“Are you afraid?”

You whip your head around, blood still staining your finger and beginning to drip onto the linoleum. To see Michael walking in the same way he had an hour earlier. Only this time without the cloak, but with some newly added confidence.

“They’re really dead aren’t they?” You know it’s true, but you still wait for his confirmation.

“Yes, that tends to happen when you slice someone’s throat” He acts as if this shouldn’t be a shock to you. It didn’t shock any of the other members of the congregation. Yet you know without him saying it, that he’s well aware you’re not like the others. That you don’t belong here.

“So you really sacrifice people, just to get stuff” you blurt out. Still trying to wrap your head around the fact that everything you witnessed tonight was real. Perhaps you shouldn’t have taken that last crescent roll you’d seen another satanist eyeing at dinner, you definitely have a curse coming your way. That is if you live through the night.

“Well not me” Michael says, pulling you out of your thoughts and back to the present.

“Oh of course, you’re the one they do it for”

“Well my father more specifically”

“Does that upset you?” You know you should be more careful about how you proceed with this conversation, but the words leave your mouth before your mind can stop them.

The question seems to catch him by surprise as he ruffles his brow, you’re not sure if it’s in anger or just shock at your brazenness. But he doesn’t answer. Just goes on to question you.

“Have you ever witnessed a murder before?”

“No”

“How did you feel watching it before your eyes?”

“Well I didn’t feel much, considering I thought it was all fake” That earns you a smile from him.

“And how do you feel now?”

“Curious”

“Really? Not scared?”

“No. Why should I be?” You’re really digging your own grave here. But your mouth seems to have a mind of its own.

“It seems your friend would say otherwise”

“Ah so you did hear.” You say, seeing his smile grow wider. “These aren't the days of the Old Testament, virginity doesn’t equally purity. Just ask sacrifice number one over there, with a body like that I doubt she was a virgin” you laugh, partially at your joke and partially out of sheer uncomfortableness. Michael doesn’t even spare the bodies a glance, eyes latched onto you, you go on to add

“I’m no saint. Despite my sexual history, or lack thereof”

“No, I’m sure you’re not” he emphasizes by swiping some of the liquid from your finger with his own, before taking it into his mouth. Making a show of it by closing his eyes as he releases it from his lips, slow as molasses. Smiling when he opens his eyes and sees you’re practically drooling.

Before his little show can go any further, you continue with your own questions.

“Have you killed people before?”

“Yes”

“How many?”

“You don’t have the time”

He’s looking at you waiting for your response. Waiting for the shock to subside and the shrieks of terror to take over.

Instead you just pause thinking everything over.

You should be scared, you know you should.

In one night you have watched two people die, found out your friend is a murderer, and that the Antichrist is not only NOT a myth, but is standing in front of you, conversing with you like he’s nothing more than your new neighbor.

Yet you search and search in your mind for any hint of fear and come up empty. All you feel is curiosity. You must be losing it too, you feel bad for judging Tyler so harshly. Maybe it’s his youthful face and the little outburst in the dining hall earlier, but Michael seems like more than simply the ‘incarnation of evil’. He seems so...human.

And more than anything he just seems confused and dare you say, lost.

“Do you like killing people? Or do you do it because it’s expected?”

“It depends”

“Would you like to kill me?”

Now it’s his turn to take pause, looking like he’s trying to decide if he’s “in the mood” to take your life.

“Not right now”

You can’t help but laugh at that (yea you’re definitely in shock). Soon enough he joins in too, and the mood feels lighter than it has all night. You might even say you feel comfortable.

That is until the laughter subsides and you meet his eyes. He’s now staring at you with the same intensity you’d met earlier at dinner.

It’s like he’s looking right through you, into your soul. You feel on display and more than anything afraid of what he might find.

“Stop that”

“Stop what?” He says with a playful tone and a tilt of his head.

“You’re..well..I don’t know what you’re doing but I don’t like it. You’re trying to get a read on me or something.”

He just smiles at that, because of course he does.

You know there is no avoiding playing into his hand. He wants to get a rise out of you, in one way or another.

“And what do yo-”

“Y/N!”

At the mention of your name you both turn to see Tyler standing in the doorway.

Antichrist or not, the look Michael gives him is enough to send a wave of fear up your spine.

He appears as though he’s about to snap his neck through just a look(and you're afraid to find out if he could).

Noticing his anger, Tyler stops and bows before Michael, apologizing incessantly for interrupting him.

You don’t miss the twitch of Michael’s lips. He’s clearly loving the effects he has on his followers.

You just roll your eyes at your friend.

“Calm down Tyler, get up”

He just let’s your words pass over him as if you hadn’t even spoken. If he hadn’t been the one to call your name a moment ago, you wouldn’t be sure he even knew you were in the room.

Every sense he had was aimed at Michael, and it was only when his precious dark lord gave him a nod that he got up and looked your way again.

“What are you doing? I thought you were going home?” He says through clenched teeth.

If he weren’t so worried about keeping you alive he would be pissed at you for not listening.

“I was. I am” you reassure him turning to Michael.

“It was a pleasure to meet you Michael, I’ll see myself out”

You are scurrying out of the room, grabbing a frozen Tyler and tugging him along with you, when Michael calls after you.

“No y/n, the pleasure was all mine.”

You’re at the end of the hall, and in the middle of Tyler’s scolding session, when you realize there is still blood on your finger.

It feels like it’s vibrating where Michael touched you, begging you to take notice.

Just wipe it on your jeans, you tell yourself.

Wait until you get to the car and find a napkin.

Do anything rational other than what you're thinking.

As you pass through the exit door, you cave and take a taste of the crimson on your finger.

Although you can’t see him, you know Michael is smiling. You can feel his smugness in the air around you and you're sure he knows what you just did.

This started out just as me wanting to make some jokes about Michael and the Satanists and has somehow turned into a multi-chapter fic. I still don’t really know where it’s going I’m just letting it take on a mind of it’s own. If it looks familiar it’s cuz it’s been on ao3 for a little bit now, so sorry it’s not a “new” new story! If you liked it that makes me very happy, and if not I hope it was at least entertaining! Either way thank you for reading!

(I wasn’t sure who wanted to be tagged just in my Xavier fic and who did in general so I didn’t add a tag list to this one)

[missscarletta7]

The Broken Crown- Chapter 4

Enjoy chapter 4!

Summary: All Margaret Shelby ever wanted, was the opportunity to write her own story. Only now is she beginning to realize that her brother may have already written it for her...

OoOoOo

"When your dreams all fail,

And the ones we hail, Are the worst of all,

And the blood runs stale"

~Demons~

OoOoOo

1919

Maggie was so excited. She dragged Cara toward the pub the moment their school day was finished.

"Why are we going into the Garrison?" The blonde asked curiously.

"You have to meet the barmaid who works here," Maggie explained.

"I've seen her," Cara informed her. "What's so special about her?"

"We've become good friends." It was true, after such a long period of time had passed without seeing her older sister, Grace inevitably filled the gaping space that Ada had left behind.

"Should I be jealous?" The blonde teased.

Maggie flashed a loving smile, "No one could ever replace you."

When the dark-haired girl opened the pub door, the first thing they heard was Grace's melodic voice singing. "-As I've never loved before..."

Maggie spotted Grace serving drinks to the regular customers. Unfortunately, one of those customers was Ross, who was sitting with a group of men who would hang around the betting shop. Cara was quick to notice him too, her body immediately tensed.

"Since first I saw you on the village green..."

"Sorry Mags, I forgot my mum wanted me to fix stitching on some dresses," This was one of the few times Maggie had ever seen Cara looking embarrassed, "Maybe next time, yeah?"

"Come to me ere my dream of love is o'er..."

The dark-haired girl nodded, not wanting to refute the her friends claim, and watched Cara hurriedly exit through the doors.

"I love you as I loved you when you were sweet..." Maggie moved herself over to the row of empty barstools and took a seat as Grace was finishing her song. "When you were sweet sixteen."

Grace then walked behind the bar while Maggie applauded at the performance. "Hello Maggie," Grace greeted happily, grabbing a dirty pint glass off the bar. "Don't look behind you,but a handsome young man is staring at you."

Maggie felt her stomach turn, responding, "Let's change the subject."

Grace smirked, "How was school?"

"Dull," The girl said truthfully, "Harry out again?"

Grace nodded, "It's been slow."

"What have you been doing today?"

"I had a meeting with the gentleman who will be installing the pub's brand new phone."

"Neat." Maggie beamed at the thought of the new technology.

"Your brother is trying to go legitimate." Grace informed her, "He wants to make this place seem a bit more respectable."

"Which one?" The dark-haired girl asked.

"Arthur." She answered back unenthusiastically, "Though he doesn't seem too interested in fixing anything. I mean, look at the state of these." The barmaid picked up a carton of cigarettes that was ripping apart. "Where do these even come from?" She asked, hoping this question would lead to where the guns may be hidden.

Maggie just shrugged at her question. "How should I know? I think they have a few warehouses in town."

Grace nodded, taking in the information, before noticing a customer beckon her over, "I'll be back." She told the girl.

Maggie sat by herself for a few moments before she felt a presence inch closer to stand beside her. She knew there would be a confrontation at some point, she had done so well in avoiding him. She didn't have a chance to say anything before Ross spoke first, "I had instructions to give this to you."

Reaching into the pocket inside of his coat he pulled out a folded piece of parchment, placing it on the bar he slid it towards her. She was surprised but nevertheless relieved when he said nothing else and walked back to his table. Taking the note, she unfolded it to read the message that was scribbled out. As she read a smile crept onto her face. The message was from Ada.

OoOoOo

In the parlor, Maggie had been writing in her journal when Polly descended the down the stairs. "Put your shoes on," The older woman ordered, "Johns called a family meeting."

Watching Polly walk across the room, Maggie raised her eyebrow, "Thought I wasn't allowed at family meetings."

"John says it's not that kind of a meeting," Polly said, exiting into the tiny kitchen. Maggie happily closed her book and slipped on her black boots which were resting right underneath the old coffee table, before following her aunt into the kitchen.

"Pol?" Maggie asked worriedly when she noticed the woman standing rigidly by the table. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing." Polly said after a moment, "C'mon, we don't want to be late." Polly moved to enter the betting shop with her niece in tow.

"Where's John?" Tommy asked his aunt, agitated his brother was not at his post.

"John's in the Garrison, says he wants a meeting about a family matter," Polly informed him, placing her hat on her head. "After he's said his piece he'll come back and take his place with Scudboat."

Maggie tried to follow her aunt, but was stopped by Tommy's outstretched arm, "Where are you going?"

"To the meeting. John told Polly I could come," Maggie explained to him.

Though Tommy didn't look completely persuaded, Polly called on the large man taking bets. "John will be here in ten minutes"

"Five," Tommy corrected before the family walked out of the shop onto the cobblestone pavement.

"What does John want to talk about?" Tommy asked his aunt.

"Your guess is as good as mine. Always been one for dramatics, our John" Polly replied jokingly causing Maggie to chuckle out.

"You're in a good mood," Tommy noted to the smiling girl as he pulled out a cigarette to smoke.

"I like going to the Garrison," Maggie responded.

"She likes talking to that barmaid." Polly translated her nieces' words.

"You and Grace seem to chat a lot," Tommy spoke, exhaling a breath of smoke.

The girl shrugged. "I like Grace, she likes my writing," quickly adding, "We're friends."

"You trust her enough to share your work," Tommy said, impressed by the sudden growth of his sister. "I'm thinking of asking her to be my secretary," Tommy suddenly informed the ladies.

"Only a secretary?" Maggie asked, raising her eyebrows cheekily.

He flashed her a ghost of a smile, "Never you mind."

"Secretary, eh?" Polly finally spoke up as the Garrison came into their view.

"We're going, legitimate Pol." Tommy reasoned, "What's more legitimate than a secretary? Or maybe I’ll make her a bookkeeper. Arthur mentioned she’s good with numbers and helped him fix the books." Polly said nothing and this seemed to spark something in the gangster, "Got something to say?"

"Just don't let your cock do your thinking for you Thomas," Polly warned. He remained silent, but a small smirk was fixed on his face causing the aunt to roll her eyes.

When they entered the pub, it was empty, except for Harry, who stood behind the bar drying some glasses with a white rag. They saw Finn leaning against the outer wall of the private room, which Maggie assumed John and Arthur were already in.

"Stay out here Finn," Polly ordered the eleven-year-old who tried to enter with them.

"But Mags gets to go in!" The boy protested, yet his words went unheard. This made him look jealousy at his sister, who had stuck her tongue out at her little brother as she walked into the snug with the rest of the family. Both John and Arthur were already seated, and she took a place right next to Polly.

"All right John, there's only one man-," Tommy spoke, before declining the drink Arthur poured for him continuing, "There's only one man guarding the house. What's troubling you?"

"Aunt Polly, Maggie, you two know what it's been like since Martha died." John began.

Maggie gave her brother a sad smile as Polly took his hand and said, "God takes the best first."

John looked to his sister, "Mags, you've been a big help with them, but the truth is my kids have been running bloody rings around me." With hopelessness in his voice, he continued, "Running barefoot with the dogs until all hours."

Maggie's heart ached for him, but Tommy was not having it, "Pol, give him ten bob for some new shoes. Is that it, John?" He asked his brother impatiently.

"Tommy it would be better to do this without you," Polly scolded before turning her attention back to John. "Now what's your point?"

"What the kids need is a mother." John spoke again slowly, "So that's why I'm getting married."

Everyone in the room exchanged glances of surprise. Polly was the first to speak, "Does this poor girl know you're going to marry her? Or are you just going to spring it on her all of a sudden?"

John replied matter-of-factly, "I've already proposed, and she said 'yes'."

"I think that's great John," a smiling Maggie announced. Finally! She was officially off babysitting duty.

"I think there's a shell about to land and go bang," Tommy stated mockingly, before lighting the cigarette hanging in his mouth.

Hesitantly John spoke again, "It's um- its Lizzie Stark."

"Oh, eww," Maggie breathed out, crossing her arms as her family cackled at her expression.

Polly managed to compose herself, "John, Lizzie Stark is a strong woman and I am sure she provides a fine service for her customers-"

"I won't hear the word! Understand? Do not use that word." He told them angrily.

Tommy sighed out, "What word is that, John?"

"You know what word that is," John growled out.

"Everybody bloody knows" Arthur finally spoke out and pointed at his sister, "Shit, even Mags here knows."

John gritted out, "Everybody can go to Hell."

"Whore. That word?" Tommy finally supplied. "Or prostitute? How about that one?"

Fury flashed in Johns' eyes, "Right I want it known, if anyone calls her a whore again, I will push the barrel of my revolver down their throats and blow the word back down into their hearts."

"Well, that's not dramatic at all," Maggie mumbled out her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Men and their cocks never cease to amaze me." Polly berated, "John, Lizzie Stark never did a day's work vertical- "

"She's changed!" John insisted, "All right?! People change! Like- Like with religion-"

"Lizzie Stark has got religion, eh?" Tommy interrupted.

"No! No, she doesn't have religion, but- well she loves me." John asserted, "Now listen Tommy, I won't do it without your blessing. But of all the people in the world- I want you to see it as brave."

"Oh, it's brave all right," Arthur muttered before taking a swig of his drink.

"Brave is going where no man has gone before. And with Lizzie Stark, John, that really is not what you'll be doing" She told him, unable to hold back the laughter.

But he ignored her, looking back at his older brother, "Listen, Tommy, welcome her to the family, as someone whose had a hard life. All right because I need someone. The kids need someone."

Tommy looked as if he was about to give his reply before Finn pushed open the door forcefully panting out, "Tommy, we've been done over!"

"What?" Arthur asked in disbelief.

Quickly Maggie followed her siblings and Polly, who all practically ran out of the Garrison. Not stopping until they all were back in front of number seventeen, Watery Lane. "You and Finn stay outside," Polly ordered once they were outside the entrance of the betting shop.

Maggie was about to object until Tommy echoed their aunts' instructions and followed the rest of his family inside. The pair of Shelby's eventually moved from the noisy street to the alley where the car was parked. Finn carefully crawled onto the hood and contorted his way over the front window. Maggie followed her brother, stepping up to sit on top of the hood, letting her feet lightly kick the metal of the vehicle that protected the thin wheels.

"Look, Maggie," Finn giggled and the girl twisted her upper body to see her brother playing with the steering wheel, "I'm Tommy!"

The girl smiled, "If you're trying to be Tommy, you should work more on your scowl." She told him jokingly. Overdramatically Finn made a scowl but immediately broke character by breaking out in even more giggles, triggering Maggie to laugh as well.

Suddenly Tommy was at the entrance of the alleyway in front of them, he looked instantly distressed. "Maggie, Finn." He began slowly, "Both of you stay exactly where you are."

"What's wrong?" she asked him worriedly. Did something happen inside?

Raising his arm out to her spoke out cautiously, "Mags, as careful as ya can, I need you to slowly slide off the hood."

She did as she was told, while Finn kept snickering, "I was pretending I was you." The child told his brother, but Tommy ignored him instead he directed Maggie to move against the dingy brick wall.

Once he felt like his sister was out of danger he went back to the child in the car, "Which door did you open to come in Finn?"

"I didn't," He told his big brother proudly. "I climbed in."

"I want you to climb out exactly the same way you climbed in, okay?" Tommy instructed, but Finn disobeyed and opened the driver's door.

Maggie watched as Tommy ran to grab an object that had been on the side of the door, yelling out, "Clear!" before flinging it to hit the brick wall on the opposite side of the street. Maggie yelped out at the sound of the explosion, which caused working men to drop to the ground. "That's why you should never pretend to be me, okay?" Tommy told Finn, visibly shaken by this incident. Tommy then took a deep breath and pulled both of his younger siblings close to him.

OoOoOo

Polly and Maggie had just entered the washhouse Ada had informed them she would be visiting. It was a large space, but luckily there were not very many people who decided to do their laundry at the establishment that afternoon. Alone in the corner of the washroom, sitting on a stool, was a woman with a long brown coat, wide black hat, folding trousers onto the small table beside her.

"Need help?" Polly asked the woman eagerly.

The woman looked up to see her family members and smiled, "You got my letter." Ada grinned and stood up with a bit of difficulty, Polly was the first one to embrace her.

Once the aunt and niece pulled apart it was Maggie's turn. Though the hug was more on the awkward side, due to the sizable stomach that was in the way. She muttered into her sisters' ear, "Fuck, you're huge!"

"Oh, shut up." Ada happily retorted, smacking her sister's arm lightly.

"What's with the glasses?" Maggie laughed and pointed at the large spectacles on her sister's face.

"Freddie wants me in disguise when I go out now." She spoke with a bored tone and pointed to the strange-looking eyeglasses. "Can't bloody see anything with these."

Maggie grabbed a pair of socks, which she assumed was Freddie's, from Ada's hand, "Here let me help you." She told her sister and began to fold the newly laundered clothing.

"Has Freddie got you hiding somewhere near?" Polly asked hostilely.

"It's fucking rat hole," Ada spit out, "the entire flat is about the size of your room, Mags."

Maggie felt sad for her sister. Sure, the Shelby family didn't have much to their name, but they were better off compared to most of the population in Small Heath. "Is that Copper still looking for Freddie?" Ada inquired to which Polly nodded.

Ada cursed and placed a hand on her large stomach, "I just want to live in peace with my family. But instead of thinking of me or the baby, all he cares about is the bloody cause. Freddie even gave someone two hundred bloody pounds."

Polly leaned in closer to the pregnant girl, and with a hushed tone asked, "Who?"

OoOoOo

Maggie walked down the hall from her room to Tommy's, she was hoping she could borrow a pen since hers ran out of ink. Before she opened the closed door, she could have sworn she heard noises. Had her brother come home early?

"Tom?" She asked, opening the door, but that wasn't who was in the room, "John?"

Being caught, the third oldest Shelby stopped his rifling through their brothers' things, though seemed relieved it was only her, "Mags-"

"What are you doing here?" She asked before she noticed that his eyes were watery, "Has something happened?"

"The weddings off," He informed her with an irritated tone and moved to the dresser drawers.

"Oh." Was all she could manage to say awkwardly, "I'm sorry."

"Don't," he told her bitterly, shaking his head then went back to rifling through the dresser flipping over Tommy's clothes. "It ain't your fault I'm a fucking idiot!"

"You're no idiot, John," she assured him yet he just scoffed at her words.

"Never fall in love Maggie, leads to nothing but fucking agony."

“What does falling in love even feel like anyway?” She surprised herself when she asked.

John stopped and turned his red eyes to her for a moment before continuing his search, “You know it… it's like this feeling in your gut.” He told her somewhat uncomfortably, “Your heart beats a little faster, your mind always wanders back to thinking about them, no matter what you're doing; when you eat, when you sleep, when you work… Why the fuck are you asking me this?”

“No reason”, Maggie said quickly. "What are you even looking for, anyway?"

He didn't respond to her question, causing her to become frustrated. "Fine, don't tell me." Maggie walked over to the nightstand, picked up the first writing device she saw and left the room.

OoOoOo

The next evening Maggie had fallen asleep on the sofa in the tiny parlor of their home, at least until she was shaken awake by her aunt. "What's the matter?" she muttered out, quickly sitting herself up. Was something wrong? Had the Lees come back?

"Nothing, love" Polly reassured her, "I left a new dress on your bed, go put it on."

"We're going out?" The girl asked, confused, no one had told her they had prior arrangements.

"Yes," Polly nodded, "Now c'mon, we don't have that much time."

Maggie rose from her spot, "Where are we going, Pol?"

"To a wedding," The older woman huffed impatiently and made her way up the stairs to the bedrooms.

This confused Maggie even more, "Whose?"

Not two hours later Maggie had gotten her answer. She and Polly met Ada near the Lees campground and walked into their enemy's territory with no trouble at all. They approach the crowd of witnesses just as Johnny Dogs begins the ceremony. Ada stopped to stand beside Tommy.

"Let's stand over here, love," Polly said, guiding Maggie past her siblings to get a better view of the union. She watched on as Johnny officiated, taking notice that her brother actually looked happy to be up there. Her attention was taken off the bride and groom when she spotted Ross standing about ten feet away with the rest of the Peaky Blinders. Smiling softly at his familiar face, she waved, her stress alleviated when he did the same.

"I now pronounce you man and wife," Johnny said happily as all the witnesses cheered at the new couple's first kiss.

As the night went on the partygoers were all in a festive mood. Sitting on a wooden barrel, Maggie watched as everyone mingled and danced. Tommy was sitting and chatting with the matriarch of the Lee family, Arthur was in the middle of what looked like a drinking contest, and John danced to the music with his beautiful new wife, Esme. Even she had started to sway to the music as the firecrackers sounded off over the happy noises.

"Mags," Ross greeted her, walking up next to stand next to her seating place.

"Hello," she replied, followed by an awkward pause, "I'm sorry I've been avoiding you." She told him after a few moments.

"Understandable." He responded instantly, "I've been a wanker and not just to you." Taking another puff of his cigarette, he exhaled, "I'll talk to Cara."

Maggie was surprised by this proclamation, "Really?"

"I'll sort it out." He nodded looking at the others dancing, and with a smile continued, "I miss walking with you two."

Maggie returned the smile, "We miss you too."

Ross stuck his hand out, "Care to dance?"

Maggie felt her face flush, and waved her hands in protest, "Oh, no I couldn't."

"C'mon, it's a party." He urged, with his hand still outstretched. Smiling, the girl cautiously took it and was led to the crowd.

Feeling like an idiot, she tried to keep up with the fast-paced music, but it seemed like her feet couldn't move fast enough. She felt someone clumsily bump into her backside nearly knocking her over. "Oi! Watch- Oh sorry love." Ada slurred out.

"It's alright," Maggie assured her sister, regaining her balance.

Ada then awkwardly cupped her little sister's face with both hands, and with a very stern tone warned, "Don't you ever let a man call you a 'Fucking Shelby' you hear me." She then rounded on the man next to her and jabbed a finger close to Ross’s face. "You hear me."

"Don't you worry, Ada," Ross guaranteed her, which seemed to be good enough for the older Shelby girl whose demeanor quickly changed back to her delighted drunkenness, dancing away from them.

As Ross spun her around, she caught a glimpse of John and Esme, sitting together and happily getting to know one another, "Seems like love at first sight." She heard Ross say.

"Seems so," Maggie replied happily. Very soon her attention was drawn to Tommy and Arthur trying to get a drunken Ada under control, "Oh no." She breathed out, walking closer to her feuding family members.

"Come and look, Esme!" Ada shouted, "Come and look at the family you joined!" The music ceased and now everyone's attention was on the intoxicated woman. "Come and look at the man who runs it! He chooses his brother's wives for them!" Ada shouted out for everyone to hear. She wasn't finished though, the woman then pointed at her younger sister, "Have you got some old perverted man lined up for Maggie?!"

Maggie felt her stomach drop at the thought, she felt everyone's gaze turn to her as she remained frozen in place. The only comfort that she felt was when Ross put her arm around her waist, as if to protect her. Tommy just stood in front of Ada looking at her stoically, but the mother-to-be wasn't done yet. "He hunts his own sister down like a rat, and he tries to kill his own brother-in-law!"

"Ada, that's enough!" Arthur tried to intervene.

"And now he won't even let me have a fucking dance! Not even at a fucking wedding!"

"Sit her down!" John barked out.

"Calm down Ada," Polly kept repeating, trying to soothe her. "Holy Shit. Water, right."

"Not now Ada," Arthur whined, obviously devastated the party was now unavoidably cut short. "Bloody hell, you do pick your times."

Tommy rushed over to Ada placing his coat over her and assisted Pol with leading her out of the vicinity and into the family car.

Maggie turned to her friend, "I have to-"

"Go." Ross finished for her.

Maggie rushed towards her family, who all made their way to the car. "It's too early!" she heard Ada cry out as she was ushered into the vehicle. Maggie too jumped into the front seat next to her brother.

"It'll be ok, love." Polly soothed sliding in next to her, before turning to the driver, "Step on it, Tommy."

OoOoOo

"Freddie," Ada kept repeating as she laid down on the sofa in the small parlor. "I want Freddie!"

"I know," Maggie sighed out uncomfortably, moving a sweaty piece of hair out of her sister's face.

"I can't do it, Mags. I can't do it on my own." Ada whimpered.

The younger girl's heart ached, "Hey, look at me, you can do this," She assured her, "You are so strong, if anyone can do this it'll be you."

Luckily for them, Esme had finally arrived moments later.

"Ada!" They heard Polly scream before she re-entered the home. "They're getting the word out to Freddie. He'll be here, love." She assured her niece, who grunted out as yet another contraction commenced.

"I think it might be the wrong way 'round," Esme told them, "I attended three sisters."

"Yeah, I think you're right," Polly agreed.

Maggie squirmed in place nervously, "What does that mean?"

"We should lean her forward," Esme suggested and Polly nodded, helping Ada up.

"C'mon, it's not that long to go, darling," The aunt encouraged the screaming woman. "Push, two, three!"

"Holy shit," Maggie muttered out, as she watched a new life was making its way out of her sister.

"Keep going, that's it!" Polly cheered before pulling out the baby completely. "It's a boy, Ada," Polly told the exhausted woman over the newborn's cries as Esme cut the cord connecting the mother and son with some old scissors.

Polly cleaned the new baby boy off tenderly with a small rag before returning him to Ada, who was beaming at the small life in her arms. Maggie heard banging from the front entrance and if she had not gotten out of the way fast enough Freddie may have run over her. Maggie smiled at the sight of the little family. The feeling didn't last long though, because the front door opened once again, and she felt herself being pushed aside the wall by a copper. Esme could be heard yelling, the baby boy began to shriek, and Ada sobbed, clinging to her newborn to her chest.

"Freddie!" Ada cried out as the group of officers dragged the new father out of the home.

"Tommy," Polly said darkly before letting out a string of curses in Romany before storming out of the house.

[itsjustmyfantasyroom]

Caught out

I wrote this cheeky little one AGES ago for @detective-giggles​

Warnings: fluff, usual SVU, drity talk and not my gif.

Enjoy x

Rafael-8.45am: My bed sheets smell like you Detective.

Y/N- 8.50am: Are you complaining about that Consoler? Didn’t seem to worry you last night.

Rafael- 8.55am: Don’t be a tease Y/N. Just walking into court. Have a good day. I’ am looking forward to tonight.

Y/N- 8.57am: Have a good day Rafi, Can’t wait for tonight x

“Who are you talking to, to be smiling like that?” Amanda said to you as you walked into the bull pen.

“No one” you smiled over at her.

“Yeah right” Nick shot at you “Who’s the lucky guy?” he said with a smirk.

“I don’t need to tell you guys everything and remember I need to leave on time today” you looked between Nick and Amanda.

You just done the finishing touches of your make up when the buzzer went off. You walked to your hall way and pressed the camera button to see Rafael and buzzed him in.

You and Rafael had been seeing each other for about two months. Only Nick knew because he walked in on you and Rafael kissing in his office. You guys had gone to pick up a warrant. Nick said he would wait in the car. After a while you still weren’t back, so he took it upon himself to find out what was taking so long, walking in with you sitting on Rafael’s desk, him between your legs kissing deeply, hands all over each other. He promised to keep it to himself, after all, you had covered for him more than he could count while he ran around with Amanda behind everyone’s back.

You swung your apartment door open to Rafael in a black tux and black bow tie, hair in place perfectly and smelling divine. Just looking amazingly handsome. You felt your panties dampen just at the sight of him. He very much had the same reaction when he set eyes on you. Trying to ignore the slight twitch behind his zipper when he saw you in your maroon lace off the shoulders short skater dress that sat just above mid-thigh.  

A theatre show had come to town and to your surprise it was something Rafael wanted to see as well. So you guys decided to buy tickets. Rafael was lucky enough to get some good seats on opening night.

You and Rafael were standing in the lobby of the theatre waiting for the doors to open. Rafael had his arm around your waist and you were looking at your program you had both gotten. He was whispering in your ear what he wanted to do to you when you got back to your apartment,

“I can’t wait to make you come with my tongue, make you scream my name. Then I’ am going to rip this dress off and fuck you so hard you can’t walk tomorrow.”

You didn’t get a chance to answer back before his phone started to ring. You both looked at his phone screen when he pulled it out of his pocket, it was Sonny,

“I better take this” he kissed you on the cheek and stepped away slightly. You loved how Rafael could switch from dirty Rafi to ADA Barba just like that. Just as he stepped away, your phone started to ring, it was Nick

“Hey Nicky what’s up?”

“Y/N, You need to come in, a case came in. Sorry you’re going to miss your show. Make sure you and Barba come separate” and he hung up.

You were putting your phone back in your clutch when Rafael walked back over to you.

“Did you get a call to Y/N?”

“Yeah I did. I’ll get a taxi first, you wait 5 minutes and get one” he nodded at you and grabbed your hand to led you outside.

“I’ am sorry, I know you were looking forward to the show” he squeezed your hand “I’ll will get us more tickets, it should be showing for a while” and he hailed down a cab.  “I’ll meet you back at yours when we’re done?” you nodded with small smile on your face and stepped closer to him, Rafael wrapping his arms around your waist, yours around his neck.

“We can’t have all the plans cancelled in one night. I’ am sure you want to see what’s under this dress when you rip it off” You winked at him kissing him lightly on the lips before you got into the cab.

You walked into the bull pen to Nick, who got up off his chair walking over to you as soon as he saw you,

“Where’s Barba?” he asked just over a whisper as you walked to your desk placing down your clutch and the show program next to it.

“He should be here soon. I told him to wait 5 minutes and get a cab” Nick nodded at you.

“Go and make a coffee, it’s going to be a long night” he frowned at you.

You walked over to the coffee station and made a coffee. As you spun back around to walk back to your desk and you seen Sonny looking at your program,

“Sorry we made you miss the show Y/N.” he said with a slight smile.

“That’s ok Sonny, I’ll get there another night to see it” You smiled at him.

Nick and Sonny had gone into the integration room while you looked up the perp to see if he had any previous history. When you came across his file you gasped and picked up your phone calling Rafael straight away,

“Hermosa, I’ am 5 minutes away traffic is a nightmare, what’s wrong?”

“The perp is Jerome Jones, Sonny and Nick are questioning him now”

“Get them out of there now, I’ll call Liv. I’ll be there soon” and he hung up.

You jumped up off your chair and rushed into Fin with the printed copy of Jones’s file. You walked to Fin and handed it to him, then knocked on the door of the interrogation room and walked in to Sonny and Nick both turning to look at you frowning,

“Sorry to interrupt Detectives, but may I see you both outside for a minute” You said looking between them both

“Not right now” Sonny shot back at you.

“That wasn’t a request” You snapped, frowning back at them both as they walked towards the door.

“What the hell Y/N?” Nick all but yelled at you as he closed the door, putting his hands on his hips.

“Don’t take that tone with me Nick. Barba told me to get you guys out of there” you glared at him.

“Why?” Sonny had a confused look on his face.

Fin was filling them in with all the details when Rafael came walking around the corner and joined you guys, telling you all that he had spoken to Liv and that Jones was to be sent home. As Rafael was talking, you noticed Sonny looking at the program in Rafael’s hand and then looked over at you and it was like a light bulb switched on. Sonny cut Rafael off mid-sentence,

“Y/N were you at the show with Barba?” You went bright red and Rafael frowned at him.

“Carisi, doesn’t Fordham teach that it’s rude to interrupt?” Rafael shot back at him.

“Don’t change the subject Counselor” Sonny smirked at him.

“It’s none of your business” You snapped at him.  

“Come on Y/N, if you didn’t want anyone to find out, you should have told Barba to hide the program”

“Enough Carisi” Nick said firmly.

“Of course you knew. Was I the only one that didn’t?” Sonny looked between everyone.

You rolled your eyes and walked into the interrogation room.

“Mr Jones, you’re free to go. I’ am so sorry about the confusion” You smiled as the man stood up giving you a small smile and walked out to leave.

As you made your way back out to the bull pen you noticed Rafael was gone, Sonny, Nick and Fin sitting at their desks.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Sonny questioned you.

“She doesn’t need to tell you everything Carisi. I’ am just glad it’s not one of you two. That’s too much paper work” Fin winked at you.

“I only found out by accident” Nick lent back in his chair.

“That’s enough. Yes I’am with Rafael and no I didn’t tell you guys because of this. Nick only found out because he walked into Rafael’s office seeing us kissing. Yes I was with him tonight at a show that I really wanted to see, but because you two didn’t do a quick background check before calling us we had to leave and now I’ am here explaining myself to the biggest pains in asses in my life. You’re lucky I love you guys. Now if you don’t mind I’ am going home to my boyfriend to continue the plans we had for the rest of the night”  

As you spun on your heels to walk out, you faced Liv, Amanda and Rafael. Liv and Amanda were smiling at you and Rafael didn’t know where to look and went bright red again.

“See I told you something was going on” Amanda looked at Liv smiling wider.

“You didn’t need to tell me Rollins, I knew” Liv smirked back at Amanda.

��What? How?” Rafael looked at Liv.

“I was putting paper work on Y/N desk when she was in the break room last week, and you messaged her with dinner plans” Liv winked at you.

“Lucky it was dinner plans and not a dick pic or something” Sonny made everyone laugh, including Rafael, you tried your hardest to keep a straight face.

“Ok great, now you all know” you rolled your eyes with a slight smile walking over to Rafael grabbing his hand “Do you mind if I take my boyfriend home now?”

Tags: @beccabarba​ @thatesqcrush​ @the-baby-bookworm​ @dianilaws​ @scarletsoldierrr​ @lv7867​ @permanentlydizzy​ @averyhotchner​

[thiswasinevitableid]

29 for indruck nsfw? i am already amused thinking about what sport either of them would play

Here you go!

29. I’m a professional athlete and I just fired my personal assistant and my manager sent you over but you don’t even know what sport I play or who my team is

When you’re in an aggressive profession it’s best, in Duck’s experience, to be as calm and friendly as you can the rest of the time.

But this whole shit-show is testing his fucking limits.

It’s been two days since he found out his perfectly fine P.A was working for the Wallstreet Journal, hoping to learn that Duck was somehow using his T or his identity to gain an unfair edge in matched. Ned fired him on the spot, thank god, but it took less than twelve hours for the guy to publish some fabricated piece on his attitude and for Duck to remember why he needed an assistant in the first place. He’s gotten so used to having one that he keeps forgetting stuff or dropping the ball on appointments, and the last thing he needs right now is to look like some stupid hick.

When Ned texts him to let him know his new P.A is en route, Duck groans “thank fuck” loud enough to startle the cat from her tree.

He goes to the door when someone knocks, but doesn’t open it.

“Who is it?”

“Indrid Cold? I, ah, Mr. Chicane said this was Duck Newton’s address and I’m supposed to start as his assistant tomorrow.”

Duck opens the door, “Fuck tomorrow, you’re startin today. I gotta focus on strategy with Minerva the next two days if I don’t wanna show my ass Friday night and it’s real fuckin hard to do that with people callin me left and right.” He guides the startled young man inside, then stops to take a deep breath, “sorry, lemme try that again” he holds out his hand, “Nice to meet you, Indrid.”

“Likewise, Mr. Newton.”

“Duck is fine. It’s a nickname. You bring your stuff with you?”

“Yes, it’s all in my car.”

“Good. Here, lemme give you the, uh, the grand tour, so to speak, on the way to your part of the place.”

Indrid smiles and nods, hanging back slightly as Duck leads him through the house. They cover the living room, kitchen, Duck’s bedroom, then come what was once the garage door.

“This here’s the gym; you can’t find me in the rest of the house, I’m probably here.”

“Goodness” The other man’s eyes widen behind his red glasses, “that’s an impressive array. I mean, I know professional athletes need to train but I, ah, I assumed you did it on site with the rest of your team.”

“Team?” Duck closes the door, spots Indrid’s fingers diving into his pockets to hide their twitching.

“Yes.”

“Which team?”

“Your...sports team?”

“....you got no fuckin clue who I am, do you?”

“No.” Narrow shoulders sag in his sweater.

Duck chuckles, “Figures.”

The silver haired head snaps back up, “Mr. Chicane didn’t say it was a prerequisite for hiring me.”

“Guess he didn’t. And I guess it ain’t. Just hoped they’d hire someone who knew what the fuck he was gettin into.”

Indrid crosses his arms, “They gave me a very thorough job description. I assure you I can do every part of it. Laying out your pre-workout and scheduling appearances isn’t rocket science, and it doesn’t matter if the dry cleaning I pick up is for a, a baseball after party or some sort of charity basketball fundraiser.” It dawns on the taller man that he’s just snapped at his boss. He contracts in on himself, staring down at his black converse.

Duck takes the chance for a more careful look; all of his clothes are second hand, chosen as if he’s cosplaying a jock who went into white collar work. There are piercing holes in his ears, flecks of silver polish on his nails. This job application was a hail mary and Ned Chicane went ahead and caught.

“No harm done, slim.” He rests a friendly hand on Indrid’s arm, “think it’s time I enlightened you.”

His office doesn’t get used much, so a sprinkling of dust greets them as he flips on the lights and reveals posters, magazine covers, and newspaper clips bearing Duck’s face. The gloves he used to win his first fight hang in a place of honor, right above the photo of him and the other fighters from Amnesty Boxing. It’s an older photo, taken the first time they sent a team out of state, sun-faded to the point the writing on it is disappearing. It makes him smile all the same.

“This does explain the set of instructions for helping you cut weight if needed.” Indrid takes in the posters, then turns his attention to the corner dedicated to Duck’s model ship collection. He cocks his head, says more to himself than Duck, “boxer. Interesting.”

“Were you just gonna bluff about knowin who I was until I said somethin?”

“That and look for clues in the rest of the house.”

He smiles, “Like a man with a plan b. C’mon, lemme show you your room.”

-----------------------------------------

Alright, so Indrid should have researched Duck Newton before turning up at his house so he didn’t come across as ignorant and unprepared. But he was busy running every Taskrabbit and UberEat he could get just to scrape up enough to keep his landlord off his back. Sue him for not wanting to sleep in his car again.

He never expected to get this job; live-in P.A who doesn’t have to pay for groceries (buy them, yes, since that’s one of his jobs) is not the kind of luck he’s familiar with. He keeps waiting for the catch, so nervous that when Duck pops in on him unpacking he assumes he’ll scold him for his wardrobe.

“I, should I buy some more professional clothes?”

Duck takes in the two duffle bags and backpack, “Up to you. I don’t mind you lookin like the little art punk you are, but a dress shirt or two might help if we gotta go somewhere real upscale. Don't worry about buyin it yourself; just use the same card we do for groceries.”

Indrid is still hung up on why the fact a man three inches shorter than him calling him “little” makes his chest burn. Luckily, the phone rings and distracts him. Then it rings again. And again. And again. All while the inbox doubles every time he looks at it.

This turns out to be the catch; the work is actually hard. Everyone and their uncle wants to interview Duck, get him to sponsor something, or proposition him. Four hours in, he’s overwhelmed, overstimulated, and ready to hide under the desk. His fidget necklace isn’t helping, so he pulls out his chewable one; it often helps him think in high pressure moments.

The phone rings again and he growls at it.

“You’re allowed to let things go to voicemail, y’know.”

He spins in his chair, black rubber moth still in his mouth. Duck leans in the doorway, tank top soaked in sweat and towel around his shoulders

“I, I’m sorry. I just don’t want to drop anything important.”

“Ned handles the fights and the money, and anyone I care about has my private number for emergencies.”

“Right. I knew that.” Indrid can’t have his boss thinking he’s a total space-case.

Duck smiles, “What I’m sayin is; ain’t the end of the world if you don’t get back to everyone right away. Besides, right now you need a lunch break, slim. Lemme go rinse off and I’ll join you.”

By the time Duck enters the kitchen in an old “NIN” shirt and jeans, Indrid has his protein bowl laid out for him and is finishing microwaving a hot pocket for himself. Before he can scurry away, Duck pats the seat beside him and Indrid sits down, preparin to politely listen to Duck talk about himself or his sport.

He talks for ten minutes about the trees he saw on his run that morning before asking Indrid what he did before coming to the house. Indrid explains about his art and his side hustles in tarot and palm reading, about the run of bad luck that saw him without roommates and lost him his steady gig at a coffee shop. Duck makes genuinely sympathetic noises, lets Indrid change the subject when the fact he was on the edge of disaster makes Indrid’s chest tighten. They’re still talking about music as Indrid returns to his desk and Duck goes to meet Minerva in the gym.

By the time Duck’s fight rolls around that weekend, Indrid is feeling much better. He has a system of sorting emails that works for him, some mothman stickers to help him organize the paper calendar on his desk, and more confidence in his ability to spot callers with ulterior motives. He’s shut down two separate ones looking to trap Duck into interviews where he’d be forced to defend his very identity. Duck overheard his responses to the second one and brought him back a fancy creme brulee latte from his breakfast as a thank you.

He doesn’t go to the fight; it’s a small one for charity and Duck has Ned to manage him, Minerva to train him, and Leo to coach him ringside. He doesn’t need his P.A. Instead, Indrid finishes up his correspondence for the day, makes sure Duck’s breakfast is all set in the fridge, and confirms the masseuse is coming in the morning.

Once in bed, Indrid gets sucked into the commission he’s doing and is lost to the world until a tired, satisfied face pokes through his door.

“Oh! Hello Duck. Did it go well? Do, ah, is there something you need from me?”

“Yep, I won like I thought I would. And nope; was just poppin in to say goodnight.”

No one’s said that to him in a long time. The bitterness of that realization is sweetened by Duck’s smile.

“Goodnight to you too, Duck.”

------------------------------------------

Minerva is sick, which wouldn’t be a problem except for one part of his workout. He could skip it, but he needs to keep everything sharp for when they go to L.A.

“‘Drid? You got a few minutes?”

His assistant appears in the doorway, black jeans and white “Cramps” tank-top fitting him in a way that makes Duck want to hold him face down on the floor and find out how to take his breath away.

“What do you need?”

Duck points to the heavy bag, “You up for bracin this while I hit it?”

“I...I am not as strong as Minerva.”

“You don’t gotta be; this is just to keep the damn thing from swinging while I’m doin this speed drill.”

“Alright.” Indrid takes off his glasses and sets them on the folding chair, joining Duck, “how do I hold it?”

Duck shows him, does a few test punches to make sure he won’t send the poor guy flying. The round clock dings green, and he’s off. The bag wobbles for the first few seconds, then Indrid seems to find his footing and holds it stable enough for the drill to work. When the round ends, Duck steps baack, “okay, you can let go until the next round.”

“Goodness.” Indrid stretches his hands, “I feel for your opponents. I’m jarred just from that.”

“You need to stop? I got two more rounds at least, but if it’s hurtin you I caan skip ‘em.”

Indrid shakes his head, smiling, “nono, I like helping you with this. It’s exhilarating.”

The bell dings.

“Glad to hear it. Now brace it again.”

By the end of round three, Indrid is panting loud enough for Duck to hear him over the fan. He looks up, glove still on the bag, and finds them face to face.

“Minerva said three to five rounds for this. You wanna keep goin?”

Indrid, breathless and grinning, nods, “Can’t have you slacking off, now can we?”

Duck wants to bite his lip, just to see what happens. Blames the thought on the adrenaline. Then discovers the exact same thought waiting for him when Indrid, cleaned and in his most respectable clothes, joins him in the car to go to an interview.

Ned gave the P.A a list of likely questions, so they practice those as they creep across the Bay Bridge. But Duck notices that on both the trip there and back, whenever there’s a lull in conversation Indrid is on his phone reading about boxing. Duck knows the other man fixates on topics that interest him; knowing one of Duck’s passions has earned that distinction makes him smile.

After that, he starts inviting Indrid to watch him train, or shares his thoughts about matches with him. That’s all it takes for Indrid to start drawing him into long, animated conversations about his sport. When Indrid asks why there’s such debate over the proper way to wrap hands and also how does Duck do his, Duck demonstrates.

“Here, ‘Drid, now you try it on me.”

The P.A moves the wraps slowly, deliberately, moving Duck’s hand like it’s a priceless treasure he’s readying for transport. Every time he bites his lip in concentration or brushes hair from his forehead, Duck has to remind himself to breathe.

“Done.” Indrid is still holding his left hand, “Did I do well?”

The boxer tests the wraps, wiggles his fingers and clenches his fists. Then he squeezes Indrid’s hand, “you did perfect, slim.”

Duck can wrap his hands in his sleep. But whenever he’s home, he finds Indrid and asks him to do the honors. Indrid does them every time. Perfectly.

---------------------------------------------

Indrid stands in the green room with Ned and a cluster of arena employees. The roaring crowd a few walls away echoes through the screen. He’s never seen Duck fight, but this event required all hands on deck to handle P.R, scheduling, and making sure Duck had what he needed to win.

Duck and his opponent enter the ring. Touch gloves.

Indrid’s pulse climbs.

Then the bell sounds and no useful noises come through the T.V. Just the announcers shouting and being drowned out by the crowd. Indrid gives up on parsing the cacophony, focus only on Duck. He’s seen him practice, but in a true match he’s a different beast. His opponent is faster, that much is clear, but Duck is patient, steady, blocks and weaves until he can land blows that make Indrid hurt just watching them.

Duck is magnificent like this. Indrid has to draw him like this, has to capture this and keep it forever, he has to, he has…

He has a hard-on in the middle of the green room.

He sticks it out long enough to see Duck win and then bolts to the bathroom so it can be taken care of by the time the boxer is done with the post-fight interviews.

They go out to celebrate, and Duck never nudges Indrid aside to let someone more important sit next to him. And as the drive to the hotel, he nods off with his head on Indrid’s shoulder.

It only gets worse after that.

Duck will coax him into joining him for a run with the promise of a fancy breakfast. On cheat days, Duck orders food to the house or takes Indrid out to lunch, and somehow the thing he wants when not focused on macros is always the thing Indrid mentioned he’d been craving. He invites Indrid on hikes with him, starts taking him to all his events even though he seldom needs help or herding at them (“yeah, but it’s nice to have someone to crack jokes with”). And on days when Indrid needs to be alone, or wants to see other friends, Duck simply smiles and closes the door.

The most dangerous days are the ones without anything on the schedule. Then it’s all too easy for Indrid to pretend that they’re something they’re not while he draws at the table across from where Duck is building his model ship. Too easy to imagine that the water-wise garden Duck tends is something he put into their house, not his house that Indrid happens to live in. Too easy to admit that Indrid wants to look after him for no payment except being looked after in return.

Duck reciprocating his feelings is within the realm of possibility. Indrid’s caught him staring when he walks in on the P.A doing yoga, and the casual touches long ago made the leap from accidental to deliberate. He also knows that Duck can’t fire him--only Ned can--and hopes that might lead to the boxer slinging him over his shoulder and tossing him on the bed one of these days.

There’s also the tabloid site circulating a photo of them with a caption claiming he’s Duck’s “boytoy” in spite of them only being two years apart. They’re not even sitting that close in the picture; Duck’s just smiling at him like he’s the only thing in the world, that’s all.

Currently, he’s having an easier time keeping his feelings buried because--ever since they landed in Vegas-- Duck has been a dick the rest of the day. Well, as much as a dick as he can be; his offenses are mainly snapping at people and lacking his usual patience.

When he scolds Indrid over something silly in the hotel that night, Indrid turns and stares at him over his glasses.

“Duck, what’s wrong?”

“Wh-uh, fuck, nothing, why do you, uh, fuck, I’m fine.”

“You just snapped at me in a way that was completely uncalled for.” He crosses his arms, “is it the fight? I know it’s a big one but that’s no reason to be rude.”

Duck scratches the back of his neck, “You’re gonna laugh at me.”

“I swear I won’t. Or, if I do, it will be after you leave.”

That gets a smile, “I’m uh, well, I’m what you’d call ‘horny as all fuckin get out.’”

Indrid’s immediate thoughts would solve the problem at hand while creating a new and far worse set, so he keeps them to himself and replies, “If need privacy, I can come back later and hold all your calls.”

“Nah.” Duck sits on the bed, “You’re not supposed to get off before a fight. Makes you too relaxed.”

“That strikes me as an old wives tale. Old boxers tale?”

“Either way, it’s one Minerva still believes. If I lose, she will ask about every possible cause, includin that one. Better if I just cat nap before I start all my pre-match stuff. Come get me in fort minutes?”

“Of course.” Indrid waves and closes the door before he offers to lay down in the hopes of Duck having a wet dream while holding him.

--------------------------------------------------------

Duck wins, though it’s a tough battle to get there. He fucking hates these Pay-Per-View fights, they try to make it sound like he’s got beef with the other guy. In reality, once he’s down from a knockout, Duck is the one who helps him to the other side of the ring.

There’s a flurry of press afterwards, of questions and congratulations while all he wants to do is shower. He gets clean, promises Ned they can all go out to celebrate later. As he and Indrid finally escape to his suite he’s forced to admit that--if the thoughts of hitting the “fire” button and fucking Indrid against the wall are any indication--his problem from earlier hasn’t gone away.

“Do you need me to see if I can get a masseuse up here? You look very stiff.”

“Just uh, just tense.” Why did he tell Indrid he liked those jeans on him? He’s worn them as often as he can since.

Indrid cocks an eyebrow, “Still pent up even though the fighting is done?”

“Yep.”

The P.A shakes his head, hiding a smirk, “Do you need me to find something for you to watch?”

“No.”

“I mean it, this place has all the good channels.” He’s so earnest, picking up the channel guide like it, rather than those fucking jeans and shirt with Duck’s name on it, has what Duck needs.

“No.” He growls.

Indrid sighs, sets the book back down, “This mood is annoying us both, so just tell me what kind of porn you want and I can go out and buy it.”

“Unless they got somethin called ‘boxer jackhammers skinny artist until he cries’ we’re gonna be shit out of luck!”

The P.A blinks, “Duck, this is Vegas, I can probably find that. Or look for it on your laptop…” he trails off when their eyes meet. Duck knows he must look like he’s ready to jump him. Indrid licks his lips, “Duck? What, ah, what exactly lead to this situation?”

“You really wanna know, slim?” Duck steps across the carpet, notices Indrid padding over the black and blue patterns to meet him.

“Yes.”

Duck removes Indrid’s glasses, “Had a dream about you while I was on the plane. Woke up havin just finished fuckin you open. First thing I thought was “no big deal, ‘Drid’s right here. We can do the real thing once we get to the hotel.’ Then I fuckin remembered that we couldn’t, and I know for damn sure that if I jerk off I won’t feel satisfied because you’re be over there” he jabs his thumb at the door connecting their rooms, “so close and completely outta my reach.”

“So keep me right here instead.” Indrid purrs, fingers tentatively finding Duck’s hips. The light contact splinters his self-control and he practically tackles Indrid onto the bed, kissing him as the taller man moans and paws at his clothes.

The kiss takes the heat off enough to clear the steam fogging up his head and sits up, “This really okay?”

“I would have said if it wasn’t now for goodness sake please get back down here.” Indrid yanks him forward by the front of his shirt, smashing their lips together. He’s humming and sighing every time Duck touches him, rolling his hips to display a quickly forming hard-on.

“Aw, sugar, you gettin excited just from kissin’?” Duck grinds down just to see him gasp.

“Y-yes. I, Duck, I’ve wanted this for months.”

The implication of those words slam his desire into overdrive, “You sneaky little thing, that why you kept runnin around in tight clothes?”

“Most of my clothes h-hang off me.” Indrid holds tight to Duck’s thighs as the boxer strips his shirt off, “but yes I, I did start wearing what you liked more often.”

“Ain’t that thoughtful. And what were you hoping would happen, slim?” Duck yanks his sweats off and kicks them to the floor.

“This.” Indrid’s eyes keep slipping down to stare at Duck’s dick.

The boxer strokes himself lazily, “like what you see?”

“So much.”

“Then how about a closer look, sugar?” He crawls up Indrid’s body to straddle his face. It looks even better than normal framed by his thighs.

“Do I get to touch too?”

Duck guides his hands onto his ass, “As much as you want. You gonna be sweet and let me fuck your face, or am I gonna have to hold your mouth open?”

Indrid opens his mouth instantly, a whimper creeping out of it as Duck strokes his hair. The sound morphs into a louder, but muffled, moan when Duck sinks down. He teases his dick against Indrid’s lips, drags slick across his chin, feels his jaw tremble with wanting to close. Duck shifts so his dick touches Indrid’s tongue, “get to it. Oh fuck” he braces a hand on the wall, “heh, didn’t know Ned screened for cocksuckin skills.”

Indrid shakes his head, brown eyes wide as Duck roughly rides his face.

“No? He didn’t make you demonstrate on some of the other fighters? Didn’t make sure you could make a whole gym cum to prove your mouth was good enough for me?”

“‘O” Indrid shakes his head again, silver strands sticking to the pillow as he kneads Duck’s ass in a way that makes him groan.

“Too bad for them. Because now they ain’t ever gonna get a chance.”

A whimper and write of the torso; Duck glances over his shoulder to watch Indrid buck his hips in the air, pre-cum clear on his crotch. His feet, still in their shoes, point and flex as he moans around Duck’s dick.

“You like that, don’t you sugar?” He threads both hands into Indrid’s hair, pinning his head down or pulling it closer as it suits him, all the while gently rubbing his scalp “like knowin’ that you’re doin well.”

A harder suck in reply.

“Then be a good little cocksucker and make me cum.” He holds his head down and let’s loose, grinding and grunting in pursuit of the heat that starts at Indrid’s tongue and is steadily curling up into Duck’s belly. The other man holds him tight, moaning and licknig and sucking until Duck cums on his mouth, the lasts bursts of it happening against a slackening jaw.

As soon as his legs cooperate, he climbs off and guides Indrid to sit up in his arms. His attempt to check on the other man is interrupted by a frantic kiss.

“I was gonna ask if you wanna keep goin’, but I think I got my answer.”

“Yes, I mean no, I mean please don’t stop yet. Please I, we can do whatever you like, we can do just this, you can drag me out on the balcony and fuck me in full view of the city-”

“Easy, slim, easy.” Duck cups his cheek, “let’s start with somethin simple. Get naked and get comfy on your back for me. I gotta go grab somethin from down the hall.”

His memory turns out to be spot on; the vending machine on this floor has toiletries, including condoms and a travel bottle of lube. He buys ten of one and three of the other, drops them in the pockets of his robe and hurries back to Indrid. Sprawled on the bed, he looks painfully vulnerable, like someone who got used to life kicking him and telling him to stay down.

It’ll be different when they’re together, Duck can promise that much.

“Seem to recall you wanting me to keep you here.” He grabs a handwrap, holds it where Indrid can see, “how do you feel about me usin this?”

“Extremely good. Oh, oh hello.” He laughs when Duck rolls down beside him to pepper his face with kisses. The process of trapping his hands to the headboard is prolonged thanks to their mutual need to keep kissing every five seconds.

“Now” Duck kisses his shoulder, “I didn’t bring any toys to fuck you with, so it’s just gonna be my hand.”

“You say that as if it’s a disappointment to me and not incredibly sexy.”

“Some folks don’t think you’re fuckin ‘em unless you use somethin dick-shaped.” Duck shrugs with a flicker of sadness from the last time he had that conversation.

“Tell me who insulted your body or your skills in bed and I shall stand outside their window with a megaphone informing them of how terrible their manners are and how they missed out on the finest man in the world.”

“That’d be funny” Duck leisurely kisses his belly and hips before sitting up, “but you’d have to get outta bed.”

“True. Ah well, a sternly worded email will have do OOOh, oohhhyes.” He wiggles his hips as Duck presses in the first finger, relaxing under his touch.

“Get the feelin you’ve done this before”

“Yes.” Indrid’s chest is flushed and Duck reaches up his free hand to play with his nipples.

“What’s the most you’ve taken?”

“Th-three, I believe. I, ah, I’m usually facing away so I sometimes lose track.”

“You're takin four tonight. Can’t believe anyone would wanna miss out on how you look when you’re getting fucked.” He teases the second finger to prove his point and Indrid’s mouth curves with bliss.

“My ass is many people’s type; my face not so much.”

“Fuck that.” Duck pushes the second finger in. Indrid arches, then sighs as Duck keeps working him open.

“I find it difficult to care what they thought right now. I, ahhhn, it’s much more fun to think about you.”

“About me…?”

“About right you’re doing right now and, AH, what we can do next. I do so want to sit in your lap in the hot tub back home.”

“Can manage that. What else?”

“I’d very much l-like to fuck you, however you’ll let me and, and I want us to do it right after you train some day, you look so good like thatAHgod.” The third finger is in and Indrid is now steadily pushing down on them, “and one of the times you get me to run with you I expect a blow job in reward oh, ohfuck” his eyes are wild and eager, “please do the last one, I’m ready, I want it so badly, please.”

Duck begins teasing the fourth finger, “Think all those wants of yours sound real good. You wanna know mine?”

“Absolutely. AHaahnnnahgod” The wrap tightens as Indrid clings to it, trying to stabilize himself as Duck fucks his hand into him hard.

“Soon as we get home, I’m gettin the strap-on and fuckin you for a solid hour at least. Gonna leave you so fuckin raw and relaxed you won’t wanna do anything but lay there, and you’ll goddamn get to because you’re mine and I’m gonna take care of you.”

“Duck” it’s a happy sob, Indrid’s cock bobbing in the air.

“Gonna take a trip somewhere private, just the two of us, and you’re gonna spend the whole fuckin time tied up, to the bed, a chair, whatever the fuck else I feel like so I can ride your dick whenever I want.”

“Yes.” Indrid is barely getting out words between his cries.

“And the next time you have the fuckin nerve to wear tight jeans the day I gotta fight, I’m gonna shove a vibration plug up that cute little ass and lock your cock in a cage so we can both be horny without bein able to get off.”

“Duck please, I’m close, please touch-”

He wraps his fingers around Indrid’s dick and works him over hard and fast, “Soon as I’m done with that fight, you’re gonna blow me in the locker room so I can focus on nailin your ass into next week when we get--ohfuck!” Cum hits his chin as Indrid gasps and squeaks, scratching at the wraps and the headboard.

If Duck ever loses his memory, he hopes this is the last moment to go; Indrid Cold, happy, safe, and satisfied while he moans Duck’s name.

Indrid is boneless as Duck undoes the bonds, though he rallies enough to pull the boxer into a hug so he can cuddle him like a teddy bear. He kisses his throat, feels his pulse even out beneath his lips.

“Duck? Does, ah, does this mean what I think it does?”

The phone rings right as he’s about to answer. It’s probably Ned, so he holds up a finger and grabs the receiver.

“Go for Duck. Yeah, yeah that’ll be fine” he nods as Ned explains the plan for their exclusive, late night dinner, “yeah, tell ‘em five; you, Minerva, Leo, me and” he winks at a beaming Indrid, “my boyfriend.”

[some-dr-writings]

Kokichi, Hajime and Akane x Prince like Male S/O

Kokichi Oma:

·       You took your sweet time closing up shop that night. As much as you cared for your employees, at times it was nice to just be alone with nothing but the pitter-patter of rain to keep you company. After wiping off that last glass you sighed, placing it back on the shelf. It was time to go. Still you did one last walk around, making sure the ovens, grills, burners were turned off, the wines, sprites, juices and other drinks were in their places on the shelf behind the bar or in the refrigerator below, that every last table and chair was dusted off, and last but not least that beloved piano still tuned before taking your long coat and umbrella from the rack by the door and taking your leave.

·       It was a cold night to be sure as the rain came pouring down and the wind ran about. If you didn’t know any better, you would have sworn it was hailing by the sound of how hard those droplets crashed onto the ground. You shivered and chattered, huddling into your coat. One could likely get sick simply standing out here you thought to yourself picking up your pace. You hoped your employees were able to get to their homes quickly and safely in this downpour, perhaps you should have sent them away even earlier than you had. Though it seemed you were not the only one having similar thoughts, a figure just up ahead on the path sprinting along. A-and they tripped!?

·       You cradled the person close having caught them from their fall, wanting to give them some semblance of balance. “Goodness you’re soaked to the bone! You’ll catch your death of cold! Here, my pub is just up this street. Please come and dry yourself off. I don’t care how close your destination may be, you need to dry off now.” And so, still holding them close you dragged them to your bar. Upon entering the establishment, you immediately took them to the kitchen placing them before an oven, opening it and turning it on. “Wait here a moment while I get you a towel and some extra clothes.”

·       You rushed back as quickly as you could fearing the person being cold and wet for even a moment longer. “I apologize if these don’t fit. I currently only have one extra set of clothes due to the others getting spilled on, but hopefully we can me these wor-” So preoccupied with trying to be of assistance only now as you approached did you get a good look at your charge. “Kokichi!?” Aghast the man placed a hand over his heart, just starting at you in exaggerated shock. “What!? My own boyfriend only recognized me now!? How could you! I guess you had forgotten all about me!” Dramatically he began walking for the door that led back to the dining area, making exaggerated poses as he did so. “Ko-” “No, don’t say anything! I know when I’m not wanted! I’ll just be on my way!” “NO!” A ‘Nishishi’ escaped Kokichi as you lunged at him, wrapping your arms around him, clutching him closely. “I didn’t think to see who you were. I just knew you were in trouble and needed help. Please don’t leave! Not at least till you’re dried off. After you can stay mad as long as you want.” He so brightly smiled, hugging you back, getting you wet. “Ok! But only because I know you mean well!” You gently pushed him away back to the warming oven, and went about picking up the towel, white button-up shirt, and black pants off the ground, placing them on the counter. “Please dry yourself and change out of those clothes. As for the wet ones… turn off and close the oven and drape them over the oven handle for now. We can talk after.”

·       Leaving the kitchen, you shook your head wondering why your partner was out so late, well, very early morning now, but still. You knew pranks were the man’s lifeblood but doing so in such weather was simply ridiculous. As much as you loved him, it seemed to be it was not often you heart could be at ease. You were always fretting over him or being so excited with him. Though… you couldn’t say it wasn’t worth it, there were just times where you wished for more peace with him. These thoughts drifted though your head as you milled around behind the bar, taking bottles off the shelves, and going about making your concoctions.

·       “Aww~ Thank you.” Kokichi stood on a seat before the bar, leaning over it giving you a kiss on the cheek before eagerly taking the hot steaming mug of hot cocoa. “No need for thanks. Your smile is enough for me.” With that said you took a sip of your amoretto sour minus the amaretto before going to cleaning the puddles and… flower petals and bouquet from the floor? You kneeled down, picking up one. “What are these doing here?” “Well…” Kokichi trotted to it, tenderly holding it close for a moment before presenting the wilting, drowning flowers to you. “Happy anniversary?” “Oh, Kokichi… I have nothing to gift you! Well, I do, but it’s back at my place, and NO, we are not going out to get it right now!” Kokichi scoffed at your words, already telling him to not bolt out the door before he could even entertain you with the idea. You so gently took the flowers, examining each and every last bloom. “Thank you so much, Kokichi.” “… But they’re destroyed!” “Maybe so, but you still took the time to even think to do this, let alone picking these out, getting them, and coming to give them to me at midnight, as early as you could, even braving the storm for me. Even just the thought means so much to me. You took the time to think of me, which means the world, especially for someone as loving as you.” Kokichi just stared at you for a moment, as if unsure how to take in your words. “Wow… you need to raise your standards, Love! Demand more from me, not just this!” “Oh? This coming from the man who’d do anything to get his crush to simply think of him and find that to be enough?” A light blush dusted Kokichi’s cheeks and he quietly giggled, recalling those early days where he’d threaten you, or pull pranks on you, or just do anything to garner your attention for even a moment. This was just one of the many things he loved about you, even back then you told him how you appreciated all the time he placed into pulling pranks on you, because of all the time and effort he had placed onto solely you. You always so appreciated the efforts of others, and never let even the smallest thing go unnoticed and make everyone feel special. “Besides if my standards weren’t so low as you’d put it, I’d never have chosen to be with you.” “… Wait, what?” That chuckled bubbled up from you, simply unable to contain it. “I jest, I jest, but I could not resist taking that shot, you practically walked into that one. Have you caught a cold already? It’s unlike you to get played so easily.” You were confused, Kokichi having placed his hands on your cheeks. “I love you.” “I love you too.”

·       You lifted up Kokichi bridal style, humming and swaying as you strolled over to the piano. “Come, let us get lost till the rain lightens up.” As you played Kokichi sang, making up lyrics no matter how nonsensical or off key. Perhaps it was nice to have more company than just the sound of rain, after all, you could imagine no sound lovelier than the joy in your boyfriend’s voice.

    Hajime Hinata:

·       “Uh, excuse me, sorry to be a bother but I need your help again.” “No need to apologize, I’d be more than glad to be of assistance.” Though true, your shift had technically ended half an hour ago so you just wanted to take your leave, yet this customer seemed to not be able to go a few minuets without assistance… and you already knew they wouldn’t accept help from anyone else. “What might you need help with?” You kept your posture straight, hands holding one another as you listened. “I can’t reach the clothes up there.” They pointed towards the T-shirts that were hung towards the ceiling.” “I see, allow me a moment to find the hook.” You immediately made your way for where the long hook should have been laying against the wall, and yet… “Hmm, not here.” “Is something wrong?” “I apologize, it seems the hook is missing, I’ll have to look at a different section for one. I will be but a moment.” “Oh, that’s alright. Just take your time.”

·       And it started again. “You’re like, really cute though. You could be a model.” “Ah, thank you. I do try to stay fit, but the credit must go to my parents. They’re such lovely, beautiful people.” “Oh, you work out?” They hugged your arm, pulling themselves much too close for comfort, pressing their body against it. “I’ve been meaning to get into shape. Maybe you could give me some pointers?” “I can give you some assistance, but I’m sure the trainers at the gym would be better than I, after all, everything I know, I learned from them, and I’m sure their knowledge on the subject far surpasses mine. Truthfully, not being an expert, I’d be scared of explaining something wrong and accidentally getting you hurt.” “Aww~ You’re such a sweetie!”

·       If you weren’t at work, you would have asked this person to let you go by now. You loved being kind and respecting others, but that didn’t mean you didn’t know how to stand up for yourself, but this was work, you can’t upset the customers, and though you shouldn’t be, you were technically still working.

·       “Even in this uniform you accessorize well, I’m sure you’d look so handsome all dolled up for a date. I’d just LOVE to see that.” Though they were tracing your watch they just kept staring at you with moony eyes. “My watch…” Their eyes sparkled seeing how you so tenderly smiled, before lifting up you hand. You softly sighed, running your fingers across the face for a moment. “Then you should compliment my boyfriend. He’s the one who gave it to me.” “… oh, boyfriend.” “Yeah! I can’t go anywhere without it. Well, I suppose I could, but I would never wish it. No matter how far or how long we are apart, I may keep this close to remind me of him. I can even count down the seconds till I reunite with him. He is truly an amazing man, so smart, so kind, he has this uncanny ability to be able to befriend just about anyone and he’s so emotionally intelligent, being able to tell when someone is hurting, no matter how much they try to mask it, and he helps them. When I first met him, I knew he was special! Or it was just love at first sight.” You sheepishly chuckled as a heat rose on your cheeks. “Ah, I was such a stammering mess when I tried asking him out, he didn’t even know what I was saying at first. It… took a few days before he figured out what I had been trying to ask him. It was rather comical how he came running for me, tripping over himself, telling me he liked me to! The blush on his cheeks and his flustered demeanor was just so adorable as he asked me for a date and apologized for no-”

·       “Y/N!” “Hajime!” There behind you but a few paces away your boyfriend stood. “Yes, he looked just like that when he asked me out.” Hajime took a deep breath trying to calm his nerves and wash away the embarrassment he felt causing his heart to race. “Uh, your shift ended half an hour ago, but you still hadn’t come out. Are you getting overtime?” “Oh no! No, I’m sorry. I was just going to be of assistance one last time before returning to you. I’ll be but a moment, Love. Feel free to wait at the café next door, aright? I don’t want you going hungry and as an apology I’ll pay when I get there. Get anything you like!” You merrily skipped along, not even noticing that the customer had let go of your arm, too preoccupied daydreaming about your café date with Hajime.

·       As soon as you got the items you excused yourself, and swiftly made your way for the doors of the little boutique. “Hajime? Why are you still here?” “You weren’t going to take long, so I… just didn’t go without you.” “… You’re so sweet. Thank you. So, let us be off!” You took his hand, intertwining your fingers together before leading the way. “… You know I just won that watch at the arcade, it’s not that special.” “I know, but you still gave it to me, and that is enough to make it one of the most precious items in the world.” “You’re a goof.” “Well, I’m your goof then.”

·       “Love, wait!” “Huh?” You held your arm out before him, stopping him in his tracks. You looked to your reflections in the deep puddle in the street. “Allow me.” Without a second thought you lifted up your boyfriend, carrying him across bridal style, only your shoes and socks getting soaked. “……… Thank you.” It was a cloudy day, the rainy season coming to an end. The world was of a mute pallet, the only true splash of color was the bright red smeared across Hajime’s cheeks. It may not seem special to others, but to you, it was. More special than anything else in the whole world

    Akane Owari:

·       “Hmm, Akane?” Though your shift at work had just ended, Akana was no where around to greet you. Did she have another competition and just forget to tell you about it again? Though she usually walked home with you to make sure you ate something on the way back, it was not uncommon for her to not show up, in fact she could have just forgotten, or lost track of tiem when battling with Coach Nekomaru. And so you left for home on your own. Though… You didn’t want Akane to worry for you, so you decided to stop at a fast-food place to pick up something. After sending a picture you ate your share of the meal, having ordered extra knowing she’d want some.

·       Once at your apartment you milled round, doing your bills, watering the plants, doing the laundry and other such chores you had yet to finish that morning before work. Before you knew it, it was already Two hours till midnight. And yet, you still had gotten no response, not even one for your ‘good morning’ text after you had woken up. No matter what she was doing, she must have been finished with it and texted you back by now, right? If she had gotten into trouble, she could easily run away so it must be disastrous if even she couldn’t escape. Or perhaps she was hurt? You slapped your cheeks trying to snap yourself from those ever-darkening thoughts… But even without thoughts the pit in your stomach still grew with each passing moment. “I’m just being needy, there nothing wrong………… Fine! I’ll indulge this just to prove myself wrong.” After re-heating the fast-food in the microwave, with it in hand you threw on your coat before marching out.

·       It was not a long walk to Akane’s apartment, but it felt like a journey around the world. “be still my heart, she is fine. She is strong. You know it just as well as my mind…” Still, something just felt off, and it was something you could not shake off.

·       Just in case you sent a text in advance saying you were coming over for a visit. Yet by the time you had arrived still no response. “Hey, my Love. Not to be a bother but I’m here.” You placed the spare keys to the apartment in a small dish before closing the door. Carefully stepping around the piles of canned food you delved into the apartment, hearing groaning, and a stifled cough. “Akane! You’re as white as a ghos-AH! Sheet! White as a sheet!” “I-it’s nothin’.” With heavy breaths she tried pushing herself off the wall, only to immediately lose her balance. You immediately took one of her hands, while you placed one of your hands atop her forehead for but a moment, immediately flinching back. “You’re burning! Akane get back to bed, you need rest!” “No! I-I don’t… just… ugh… just a stomach bug, I can walk it off.” “Oh no. You are not. Please, allow me to care for you, you are not well.” “I’m not weak!” You could see that spark, the roaring flame you always found in her eyes, that determination. “No, you are from weak, but even the strong can get hurt and injured. Please, you may make your own choices, and I will respect them, but I must insist that you allow me to care for you now.” “… Y-you’re not even strong enough to beat Coach Nekomaru in battle.” “Neither are you.” “Yeah, and you can’t beat me either!” “True, but that need not mean I’m not strong enough to protect you for a time.” Before she could respond, she clamped a hand over her mouth, trying to hide that cough. She looked to you with what seemed to be a glare before turning around, returning to her bedroom. “I n-never said you were weak either…” “Yes, you did not.”

·       Akane collapsed onto the bed looking so ragged, sending a pang through your heart. “Here, at least give yourself some energy.” Her eyes sparkled and drooled rolled down her lips seeing the bag. “I’ll be back soon.” After exiting the apartment, you immediately sprinted for the grocery store.

·       You came back as quickly as you could, immediately setting to work in the kitchen. Thankfully you had learned quite a bit about cooking under time constrains when working in a restaurant, so you were able to make a soup rather quickly. After pouring it into two bowls you returned to her room. “Here.” “Yes! Thanks babe!” You sat beside her on the bed, to which she immediately kicked you off. “You’re too scrawny. You’ll catch this too. Wash your hands!” “Okay, I will. And once I’m done eating, I’ll put on a mask as well, aright?” She didn’t even notice, happily enjoying her meal. That had to have been one of your favorite aspects of her, how she always cared for others. It was likely something she picked up having to care for her siblings.

·       You wondered if anyone ever cared for her when she was sick as a child. Her life was so rough growing up, you wouldn’t be surprised if no one ever did. With renewed conviction you were determined to make Akane better as soon as possible with all your power!

[musedblues]

A Taste Of Honey (Part 2)

summary: A 1920's Deacy au! In which the reader, who comes from a family heavily involved in the American temperance movement, meets John, a bootlegger from overseas.

a/n: Well here it is. I'm fully aware interest may be completely lost in this fic but I'm very proud to have finished it. Im not sure where my writing journey will go from here. All I know is that this has been a very long time comin'... enjoy if you dare!

part 1 - 2

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

"If anything happens, Deacy, I'll have your head!"

Ivan shook his fist from the front porch, illuminated by the light flooding from the opened front door. 

"I'll be fine!" You dismissed, skipping toward the car, still getting used to the sway of the heavy golden dress you borrowed from Alice. 

"I'm talking about my car!" Ivan shouted, correcting you. John let out a laugh at the remark, and gave your brother a nod, while he opened the passenger door, nudging you toward it.

Your brother and his wife had loaned the essentials to send you and John away for the party a man you never met was throwing. It was a small thrill, the prospect of such fun to be had, in comparison to the sickening exhilaration that coursed through you at the thought of spending any kind of evening at John's side. And the fact he'd asked you to. 

The ride was quiet and short, but dragged on with each new glance you dared to steal at the man driving. Both of John's hands relaxed on the wheel. A hint of that deadly smile on his lips. 

By the time you got to where you were going, you'd been so preoccupied with thoughts of the man by your side, that you'd nearly forgotten your plans for the evening.

If you had any expectations, they were blown clear away. Before you was an estate made up of too many windows to count, draped in vines and hanging lights. 

Even the crunch of the gravel that decorated the winding path you entered into sounded oddly elegant.

Inside was a fever dream of all the things you'd imagined on your short journey into the threshold. Across a giant winding staircase and below the shimmering chandelier were people from all walks of life, crammed together to have one grand time. Different music came from different corners and wild laughter filled the gaps, if there were any. 

And before you, John led the way. You couldn't recall the moment your hand found the bend of his arm, or if he cared that you'd reached out to him as he weaved through the crowd. But the grin on his face when he turned back to catch your eye had to be a good sign; despite the way your heart nearly burst at his look. 

John led you past hoards of people and trays of half full glasses. There was only one way to go, further inside the home, but John seemed to move as if he had an idea of where he was headed. Sure enough when the pair of you met the landing of the staircase, the host of the party was there to greet you. 

The host's initial booming hello was focused mostly on John. And without more than a glance your way, the party thrower shuffled John away from your side, insistent on sharing a chat with him on the top landing of the stairs.

You were left to linger, stalling at the base of the stairs and studying the crowd around you. Girls in beaded skirts and men with slicked back hair passed you by flashing well meaning but entirely distracted smiles. 

You'd felt mesmerized enough by the scene to slowly start to drift into it yourself. Reaching to brush your finger across meticulously carved bookcases and daring to take a glass from the extended hand of the first person to smile directly at you. 

You reached for the stem of the blue stained flute, and managed to make your talk small enough for the interested lad to wander far off. But offers kept coming. Glasses of this and that shoved in your face. You accepted the offers more out of respectful politeness than any eagerness to lose your wits. 

By the time you lost track of everyone's kind gestures, and a man was leading you closer to a table decorated with cards and chips, another hand intervened.

John was back, letting his fingers curl around your shoulder and nudging you in another direction of his choosing. Thrilling as it was for you, to have been handled just so by him, you were a little taken aback. 

Funny how after the sips of this and that, you felt steady as ever. But one look from John and your knees threatened to give out and all your cares too.

In the middle of the packed house, with John looking at you that way, you felt like the only person alive. And somehow this all added up to equal your new found courage to speak a little bolder than usual.

"Are you on strict orders from Ivan to steer me clear of any strange attention or do you maybe fancy me a little, John?" You dared wonder. You almost didn't care of the answer. So long as he kept guiding you through this evening with a strong steady hand.

"Both." John seemed to decide, continuing to guide you along. The pair of you had reached the patio doors by now, and the cool night breeze rushed through in perfect time to ease the heat that had rushed to your cheeks at John's response. 

"Let's go see the gardens!" You decided at first glance of the sprawling greenery that surrounded the estate. 

John let you tug him along, darting between couples and groups who'd come to ruin the fresh air with all their smoke.

He followed along, a very good sport, smiling as you pointed out flowers and trees you didn't realize could bloom in this part of the country. As you turned from marveling over a certain rose's colour, John seemed almost enraptured. Maybe not by your subject but certainly by some part of you. His gaze was fixed, and he seemed to bite back a wider grin. And your already lightened spirits seemed all the more weightless as your eye's met his. 

"If you keep looking at me like that, John, I'm going to have to kiss you." You let a small laugh escape, as the foreigners' expressions remained steadfast. 

He'd kissed you only the night before, on your brother's staircase. It was the only reason you felt free of regret enough to lean in and brush your lips against his again. John reciprocated fondly, letting one of his hands creep around the bend of your waist. You never realized it was possible to feel so happy. 

"Did you do that because you've been drinking? Or do you perhaps fancy me a little?"  John mocked your earlier statement, when the kiss died and your eyes locked. 

"Both." You smiled, charmed enough to try it a second time. But this kiss was broken much sooner than you reckoned any kiss ought to be.

"You know I'll be leaving soon. Just a week's more time." John killed the mood with a few words. You glanced to your feet and muttered understanding, noticing his hand still clutched your waist. 

"I just don't want to see you disappointed." John spoke up after a beat of heavy silence, and the words seemed hard for him to piece together, but he spoke them all the while. 

"Then don't disappoint me." You shrugged, glancing back up to the perfectly handsome man, who's smile seemed sad now.

"Come on, then." John said, moving his hand to find your own. "Not even I get to enjoy parties like this too often."

And you let him guide you back inside. You let the sun set on all the pretty flowers. And you let yourself feel grateful for the rest of the evening at John's side. 

///

He rode the train home with you the next day, sitting across the bench from you, and not saying very much. 

You felt the need to chatter at the pass of every few minutes. You got John to ramble a little about the other places he was due to visit in the states. The guy only one more stop at some.fancy hotel after your town, in the big city, next week. Then he'd head home. 

After explaining as much, the man went quiet again. But you couldn't let the silence last. It was as if you didn't work to hold his attention, it would be lost the next time you looked up. Maybe that wasn't true. But you couldn't risk letting John slip away so easily. Not when your heart practically lept from your chest each time his eyes met yours. If it wasn't meant to be, then so be it. But you were going to fight for the chance that you had, while it was still within reach. 

So when the train pulled into your neighborhood, and John stepped onto the platform, you stopped him waving goodbye. 

"Will you be back? To our shop, I mean?" 

John took a step closer toward you with a very serious expression that softened just before he spoke. 

"I wouldn't dare leave before telling you goodbye." He promised, in a low, sweet manner. 

John pressed his lips to your temple for one brief heavenly moment. And then he turned away to hail a cab. 

At least now, in your terrible mix of emotions, something very bright and warm burned within you. And you got to believe, for a moment, that the same reigned true for John.

///

But all was not well at home. How could it ever be? 

Your mother was horrified that you'd up and left for the night without so much as a word about it to her, and to your brother's home no less. 

Her disdain for her first born left you sick to your stomach more and more each day. 

But this was nothing new. You knew to give the woman a showy apology and to stay silent as she confined you to the kitchen table as she lectured about morality. Tomorrow things would be back to her regular sort of unhappiness. 

What really stopped you cold in your tracks that night, though, was the sight of your father stood in the doorway of your room with his arms crossed.

To bring a frown to his face was your greatest fear. For he'd loved you and shown it. And you dreamed of doing good by him every chance you got. As you stalled in the hall and waited for him to speak his mind, you hoped this would only be a reprimand for causing your mother unnecessary grief, for her madness made you all ten fold more miserable. 

"I know you've been with your brother..." Your father nodded with understanding, not looking right at you as he spoke calmly. "But that also means you've been with John. And I don't like that."

Oh. Ivan had warned you this might be your fathers mood. But you'd ignored his warning in hopes it wouldn't have been true. 

"You know John!" You countered, "You work with him! You're telling me you get to work with a man you don't like but I can't see him?"

"He's a fine man. But all wrong for you." 

"You're supposed to be the one who lets me find these things out on my own." You reminded. Your mother did plenty of directing you from day to day. Your father knew of what you spoke and nodded reluctantly, uncrossing his arms and looking you square in the eye. 

"Well not this time. Stay away from John, you hear me? He'll be gone before you know it anyhow." 

Your father rested a hand on your shoulder, giving you a reassuring squeeze as if to ease the blow of his demands. But as he walked back down the hall, the uncertainty that had stormed within you since John left you at the train station, raged wilder than before. 

What a jam... 

///

There was nothing stopping you from returning back to the depths of the coffee shop, the next time Ivan started up his business. 

Your mother was sound asleep, and your father was already there, serving the last of the coffee up top. Once you arrived you knew he'd be cross but unable to march you away. 

So you slipped on your finest dress and twirled down the rickety staircase that led to the party your brother charged for. 

There were already a good deal of friends jam packed into the small basement; dancing to swells coming from the gramophone and lining up to grab a glass from Ivan's makeshift bar. Your brother flashed a grin when he saw you sauntering in, but his smile turned somewhat more into a worried grimace when he saw you march up the man near the end of those overturned book shelves.

So was everyone concerned over your connection with John? Even the man who'd held your interest sort of frowned at the sight of you demanding his attention. 

John had his fingers curled around a glass. You took it from his grasp and the action made the bootlegger grin oh so slightly. But his frown returned after you slammed back the swallow of liquor in his glass- unsure yourself by what had come over you.

"Hey, come on, don't be that girl." Ivan called to you from behind the bar. You couldn't be sure if he was commenting on the way you'd claimed Deacy's drink for your own, or on the way you seemed too eager to get the stuff in your system. 

Before you could snap back at your brother's comment, though, John spoke up.

"Don't worry about it," He insisted in the charming draw of his. "Just pour me another." And as the man who you adored stepped past you to hold your brothers attention, John sort of let his hand brush across your waist. And he left his fingers to linger along your sides as Ivan, disgruntled, poured another for John. 

"Is that all you cut in line for?" Ivan sighed, nodding toward the few people, impatiently waiting to fill their glasses, stood in a row behind John. 

And you hadn't really considered this before your brothers prompting. But at his asking, you were moved to pull out a twenty dollar bill from your coin purse, and demand he give you your money's worth.

Ivan was reluctant, going on for a bit how once your father spotted you here, like this, that he'd surely be disappointed. And you didn't want that, did you? But little did Ivan know, you'd already disappointed your father. And you were determined to get something you wanted tonight, one way or another.

So with a sigh, Ivan poured you a tall drink and informed you were good to come back for a few more, to match your payment. 

So began your evening of ignoring John's worried remarks about slowing down. And as you kept the drinks coming you weren't even sure why. Perhaps it was to test your very own limits. To somehow prove you were more in control of your path than all the others who seemed to have something to say about the direction of your life. 

And damn John, for the way he kept his eyes locked on yours between the distance he silently kept insisting upon. And damn him for helping you find your balance, despite the steps he kept taking away from you. For letting his hands stay secure around your waist, long after you'd straightened up from stumbling.

And damn your father. He had to have been behind John's change in attitude. From the moment you'd met, John had been a flirt. And steadily, his quips kept getting bolder, until the last party you attended. Ivan's rambling about your fathers dislike of your fondness of John had to be what caused him to step back.

And damn your father, for finding you all dizzy in John's well meaning clutch, now. Your dad pointed to the door and demanded you find your way out of this scene. 

"I know you're not taking her back to your hole in the wall you've been staying at, in the state she's in." You father grumbled in a low curse, his eyes searing into John's. You tightened your hold on the fellow, shooting your father a glare all the same. He couldn't tell you where to go or with who. 

"Take her upstairs if ya like. But don't step foot past the alley. I'll be up in a minute."

After a shared look, John moved, pulling you alongside him. You moved,  happily leaning into him, disgruntled by the course of the evening all the while. Even Ivan seemed to shoot you a sorry grin when he noticed you being marched away, from across the room.

The alley was a little cold. But John's figure was warm. And as you followed his lead pausing just beyond the backdoor, you could feel this chance waiting to slip away. 

"You like me, don't you?" You wondered, turning to face the man you'd been so taken with since the moment he showed up at your door.

"Of course." John nodded, and answered so softly and with such care truly felt as though it were melting. 

"Then kiss me, John." 

"You're drunk."

"But we may never get the chance again. One or both of us are about to be beheaded. Either way, that'll make kissing hard to do from now on." You implored, letting your head fall to rest precariously on his shoulder as you finished your plea. You heard John let out a somber little chuckle as he dared to tighten his arm around you. 

And then you heard a shuffle beyond the backdoor, and let out a sigh at the timing of your father coming to ruin everything. 

But instead, the door bursts open to reveal Rita in a fluster. Her usually perfect makeup streaking down her cheeks. At the sight of the girl you'd always admired, a pang shot through your chest. But not immediately for her upset, whatever it was, but because you realized you'd failed to see your friend here all night, until now.

Before you could apologize, or ask what the matter was, Rita sucked in a breath and let out a string of words for you. 

"He was a snitch. He-he told my parents everything." She stammered, wild eye'd. 

"Who?" You begged to know, having turned away from John, but not having totally turned your attention away from his hand still rested on the small of your back. 

"The pastor's son. Cole. He- he said he was alright with this whole thing. But he... He told your mother. She's on her way here, she's-" 

Sound of a car roared closer, and the engine died away, drowning out the last of Rita's warning. For a second, you thought of making a break for it. But then the click of heels on the pavement seemed to count down your fate.

And then she stood there before you. Your mother, dressed to the nines, complete with her usual scowl.

You couldn't let go of John. Your nails seemed to dig into his side on their own accord. The pair of you stared ahead to the woman who gave you life, and kept you from living it all the same. She stood and stared too, almost like she was giving you a chance. And that was the scariest bit of it all. 

As time seemed to pause, John let your name escape him in a nervous breath, like a warning. Trying to alert you that your hanging off him wouldn't help. But there was no way you were gonna let him go now. 

It was then your mother decidedly sauntered up to the two of you, letting her eyes search your from the top of your head to the tips of your toes and back up again. 

When she let out a scof, you realized you'd been holding your own breath. And when you opened your mouth, willing oxygen in, or words of mitigation out, your mother decided what was next. 

Before you could blink, one of her strong hands was digging into your arm, and she was tearing you away from John's gentle hold.

And despite his caution earlier, you could feel John's hand still trying to keep hold of you, as you were yanked away. The sensation of being taken from the man's clutch was horrid, but what was more painful was the feeling of his fingers trying and failing to keep hold.

So when your mother tossed you aside, toward the brick of the coffee house wall, you were hardly affected; not like you'd only just been.

And when you looked up, after steadying yourself and dusting your stone imprinted hands of dust, John was stepping closer toward your mother. He shouted something at her, about how she didn't have the right to treat you just so. But before he could finish defending you, he was shut down.

Your mothers hand flew across his cheek, and the sound of the slap and John's shocked hiss echoed through the alley and caused something vile to rise in your gut. 

You pushed yourself from the wall then, indifferent to the dizziness you felt, desperate to reach out to the man you'd been so fond of; calling his name.

But your mother was there, more sober and more angry. And she halted your mission to make it to your man, digging her nails into your sides and forcing you in the other direction. 

"John I'm sorry, John..." You called past the lump in your throat. That was when Ivan came upon the scene. He darted from the doorway and did his damnedest to block your mothers storming off. 

"You're a monster. Let her go!" Your brother fummed, as your mother managed to storm around her first born, pushing you along. 

"I'm her mother. And I'll do as I see fit to keep my child out of harm's way." Your mother stated, almost calmly.

"You're no mother. You're a walking nightmare. She's not your plaything-"

"Word's won't fix this, Ivan." You said, reminding him that his defying of the woman only ever made her ten times more evil.

"I'll pray for your children, son." Your mother nodded, opening the passenger door of her car, and flinging you toward the bench. "They're going to need it."

You didn't look to Ivan, as your mother drove off. You didn't dare look to John. You only hung your head and cried silent tears while your mother peeled down the road. And the whole way home, she spat vile things about you and Ivan. Her own children. About your father, her beloved husband. And aout John, a man who, since his arrival, had only tried to help out.

You let your tears dry when the car pulled up to the house you'd never really felt at home in. And went willingly from the ride to the door, knowing you would get very far in the countryside if you dashed away now. You'd need a wiser plan. Still, your mother dug her claws into your arm and marched you up the staircase to your room, like you were a girl no oler to know better. 

"Stay here." She demanded after pushing your further into your bedroom, her fist around the doorknob, establishing total control. 

You expected to be banished here. What you didn't expect, however, was the return of your mother with boards to nail against your windows. You might've laughed if you weren't the one being all locked up. Wasn't this sort of thing only supposed to happen in twisted fairy tales? You're life was twisted enough, you supposed.

She left you there, trapped in the space that was meant to be your own, meant to be safe. As you sulked in silence, the memory of your mothers assault on John haunted you. The horrid sound her action resulted in. His gut wrenching reaction, the small hiss, his stalling in the place she put him in. 

And the way he watched you being dragged off, helpless and sorry for you. It was pathetic, the situation you found yourself in. So you let your tears bubble up again and you cried and cried; until exhaustion set in. Tomorrow was a new day....

///

There was a pounding at your door, loud enough to jolt you from slumber.

"Open up!" The sound of your father calling from beyond the hall stirred you fully conscious. In one swift dash you were stood before your door, jiggling the handle, feeling silly for hoping that would work. 

"She's locked it." You groaned. "Do you have a key?" Your wonder was nearly frantic, and so were you- trying still to twist the knob. At the sound of your fathers grumbled cursing, you began to bustle about for some hair pins, but quickly realized you wouldn'tve had a clue to how to finess the tools into working like another. 

Then you heard your mother. She  shouted down the hall, telling your father to get out of her sight, to leave you be. Shouting that you were better off confined. That you'd be locked away until she found the right reformatory to ship you off to. You knew she meant it. You knew she'd send you away without a care of your consent. 

"She's not a child anymore. You can't just treat her like a bad pet who needs training."

"I'm her mother. And I'll be damned if I don't do what's best for my child. I failed the first time. God knows you never cared about either of them like I care." Your mother spat, breaking your heart and your fathers too no doubt. 

Their bickering lasted a while longer, and you spun away from listening in to force yourself to think. There had to be a way out of here, out of this life. There had to be a way to a better world. 

And the best you could do was wait.  Until dinner. Wait until your mother brought you a tray of soup and bread, trading a few put downs before she twirled from your room. And then you checked the time, and counted down the hours to her always predictable nightly routine.

And you waited still, until your bedside clock ticked well passed after midnight.

And then you used a lamp to pry the nails away from windows. You could tell her bedroom light was out by leaning against the sill.

With no time to spare, you tossed a change of clothes in your purse, and the envelope stashed with tips you'd been saving for over a year. 

It wasn't a very long way down. With the help of a lattice panel and the dark of night, you found grassy freedom in no time. Your heart beat heavy as you crept toward the road. It wouldn't be safe, not until the city lights were in view. But your shoes were flat and your hopes were high.

Miraculously, no one stopped you. Not the truck who zoomed by somewhere still deep along the dark country road. Not the school kids on the edge of town, tossing bottles off the bridge. And not the sleepy clerk at the desk of the hotel you raced into. 

"Be here, be here, be here..." You prayed under your breath, hurrying to the room you remembered John booking. And right as you rounded the hall, the door of the room you'd been in search of opened. 

But the squeak of wheels gave away the presence of a maid, pushing her cart of cleaning supplies out into the hall.

"He's gone?" You sighed, stopping at the end of the hall, your feet aching after moving so ceaselessly through the night. 

"Whoever was here left a while ago." The maid stopped for a moment, looking to you with a sorry expression. "Around dinner time."

"Right. Is there a phone at the desk?" 

The maid nodded and wished you luck, and you thanked her for it. You'd need as much as you could get. 

The clerk who was still kicked back, sleeping, startled at your ringing the bell on the desk. And though they didn't seem pleased at your begging to use the phone, they let you.

It only rang twice. 

"Hello?" Your fathers voice was a pleasant surprise. Of course he'd gone to stay with Ivan, in the midst of all this chaos. 

"Dad, Im-"

"Where are you? Does she know you've gone? I'll come fetch you."

"No." You implored, holding up a hand as if he could have seen your insistence.  "No I've phoned to let you know I'm taking the train to the city. I've got to find John before he leaves. And I'm sure of where he is. I've got to try." 

John had told you where he was headed next, on your last train ride together. And you'd felt silly for keeping the details at the front of your memory... until now.

The other line went quiet for a beat. And you'd fully prepared yourself for your fathers disapproval. But then he just said,

"Okay." Your father seemed to realize the weight of your feelings, you thought, by his tone of voice. "I knew you'd get out of there, eventually." And once more, you could tell by his tone he wasn't just referring to the room you'd been locked in for the last couple nights. "Phone us again, when you're safe and sound. I know you will be."

At his blessing, tears sprung in your eyes. You were going to go no matter what. But to have your father on your side made you even more determined to fly out of this hotel, and to the next one you knew John was meant to be staying at. 

///

Booking a train ticket was nearly impossible. And if you had spent much longer pleading with the station, you would have missed the bus pulling up down the block, offering rides in the right direction. 

The couple hour journey was maddening, and thrilling, and terrifying all at once. You were on your way to change your life. No matter what John said, or how he greeted you; no matter if he fell into your embrace or left you in the hotel lobby, you'd never go back the way you'd come from. 

And luckily, you managed to find the hotel John had briefly spoken of, without much trouble. It was the grandest of the business booming on this side of the city. Folks flooded in and out of the revolving doors, as you considered the past set of days that had led you to standing before here with such an erratic heartbeat.

But you only stayed paused for a moment. Your feet were darting inside before your mind caught up with how close you were to the mission at hand. 

The lobby was just as full of people as the revolving doors had been, lines forming near the desk, groups fighting to fit their luggage into golden elevators. 

And though you hated to be the person you'd decided to be, you dashed to the end of the front desk, hoping the clerk would spare you a minute at most. 

"I just need to know if someone's booked a room." You begged to know, shooting sorry looks to the people you'd cut in front of. The clerk seemed to have no patients for you, but miraculously, another set of hands swooped in to help. Some nice older woman flipped through the bookings to find John's name, after you gave it, and came up short.

"What about Deacy?" You hoped all of a sudden, quickly beginning to lose your ambition the longer she shook her head.

You'd done what you could, rudely so. And scurried away so your unwelcome presence would no longer be in the way of things.

And as you sauntered away, giving one last pathetic glance about the crowded lobby, you reminded yourself that it was all alright. You might not have found John. But you were finally free.

And then you pushed through the revolving door. And past your ghostly reflection, you spotted a familiar set of grey eyes. 

John seemed to wait until your gaze registered his own, before spinning around to make it indoors. You ignored the chilly night air and pushed on until you were right back where you'd just started to leave from. 

There he was, before you as real and sure as the sun and moon.

"You never gave me a proper goodbye." You reprimanded through a growing smile. He'd promised to give you a farewell, once. 

"How about a rain check? I've got lot's more important things to tell you, as a matter of fact." The man you'd come to adore smiled then, and offered his arm. You held on without hesitation and managed to follow his lead through the crowd, to the room he'd been staying in.

It was a humble little space, his suitcase opened on the coffee table and a yellow lamp left on by the window. John shut the door behind you with a soft click, loosening the pale blue tie round his neck, as you glanced about the room.

"I came by. Your place, I mean." John admitted, leaning against the closed door, as you turned from admiring the wall art to face him.

"You did?"

And then John said your father had dragged the Brit along, that night he'd knocked at your door. John was outside with high hopes. But your mother had caught your father before you'd even known there was a plan. 

"So you did try to come and tell me goodbye." You laughed a little, kind of glad he wasn't able to. This reality where you'd run to him was much more befitting to the situation, you thought. 

"Well, no." John pointed, not laughing along with you. "I never really wanted to say goodbye."

You stood there, taking in the sight of him. Watching John's brows oh so slightly furrow upward, hope pouring from his expression. You considered the gleam in his eye and the way he slowly seemed to shift his posture a little closer to you. 

"So we haven't got to part ways in a hurry then?" You wondered. Asking more than if you could linger a while longer in his rented room.

John seemed to know what you were asking. He seemed relieved, too. His shoulders loosened as the man crossed the space between you, in no big hurry. It seemed the two of you had all the time in the world at your disposal, now. John took his time, reaching out to tuck away some loose hairs near your ear. And his smile grew steadily too. By the time the guy pressed a kiss to your lips, you'd been wondering if the dawn would be breaking any time soon.

But the longer John went on kissing you, the less you thought of the sunrise. As John enclosed you in his arms, all your thoughts were of the man you'd come to adore. 

And as laid next to him and closed your eyes to the rising sun, you couldn't recall ever having experienced such a bright morning. 

"So you're not too eager to head back home, yeah?" John asked, once you'd both stirred from a restful slumber.

"I think I found a much more suitable place to be." You smiled, referring to the spot you'd settled under John's arm. 

And it didn't take much convincing on his end for you to agree on catching the next boat across the pond. 

///

The other line rang so long you'd almost decided to hang up. Then your brother answered. 

"Helllooooo!" He sang in a chipper timbre, making you wonder if he'd been expecting you at exactly this time, or if he answered everyone that way.

"Well I was going to ask how you were but it seems you're so well I don't have to wonder." You laughed into the receiver. 

The morning was early, and a breeze blew back a sheer curtain, obscuring your view of the grey English morning. 

Ivan spent the next few minutes yaking about how glad he was to hear from you. And you were glad to listen. On your rather spontaneous journey overseas, you were bogged down for a brief moment, at the thought of being so far from your dear brother. But as he rambled in your ear now, you'd never felt closer to him.

Ivan asked how things were. He asked after John, and that mattered so much more to you than his concerns for your well being. And when you had had your fill of the attention being on you, you begged your brother to give you all the details of what happened after you ditched home.

He said your mother was as furious as expected. Said she tried to blame your brother and her husband for your running off. Said she tried to get the police to shut down the coffee house for hosting such an undignified business after hours.

"You should'a seen her face when she found out officer Willard was our most loyal customer." Ivan chuckled. 

"We did have to pay a fine, in the end, so she'd quit her raving. It was almost everything we'd saved away for the baby." 

Your brother sighed. And you cooed his name in commiseration. 

"But my friend who owns that estate, the one who threw that party John took you to," Ivan explained. "He was good enough to loan us a bit of cash to stash away." Your brother said the man tried to give the money away outright, as a thank you to Ivan for helping start up his own speakeasy of sorts. But Ivan was dead set on paying him back, one day.

"Now we can't decide to name the babe after him, or John." Ivan chuckled. 

"And what if it's a girl?" You mused. 

"That'll just have to be a surprise." Ivan said, and just then the line went dead. You called your brother's name with a little hope he'd come back to tell you more. 

But you didn't worry when the line went on buzzing. You'd see him and his darling wife and his child to be, one day. You'd see your father too, if he was still hiding out at your brothers place. Hell, maybe they'd all come over here. 

Maybe you'd build a life with John, in his humble little English flat. You certain felt at home, watching the guy of your fancy stay dreaming as the sun rose. 

John had been kind to you. He'd been your friend when he didn't have to be. He'd let you lean into him, and he laughed at your jokes. He invited you into his world and smiled wide the closer your ship rolled toward London. 

And he'd treated your shoes as if they'd always been stored in the middle of the welcome mat. John opened his space up to you, and asked every night for the first few weeks, if you were happy, if you needed anything more. Your answers were always yes and no. 

And he didn't need to ask for honey in his coffee anymore. You just knew to add a little in the warm cup you'd have ready near the place he liked to sit in the morning. 

It was familiar and it was sweet, and so was John. Maybe he liked honey in his tea, too. And dear God, how you prayed every year from here on out; got to be spent guessing at life alongside the man who'd thrilled you by wondering all your answers all along.

[buckstaposition]

I cling to your lips like gloss (2)

a Javier Peña x OFC story

also on AO3

author: @youhavereachedtheendofpie (in case u wanna come say hello on main but no pressure)

rating/warnings: swearing, mentions of character death, some mentions of sexual situations but nothing explicit, spoilers for season 2 (should probably have tagged ch1 for this too oops)

words: 6607, no regrets

summary: it’s not a date if it’s for work

Author’s note: There is so much research that went into this I would just like to say thank you internet for letting me look up stuff from the comfort of my own home at unholy hours even though I did get very distracted while looking up late 80s wedding dress fashion. Also bless the s2 dvd extra which was a director’s commentary on s2 ep10 and very informative.

—

Tag list: @keeper0fthestars @opheliaelysia @dindjarindiaries @fromthedeskoftheraven @shikin83 

(message me if you want to be added to the list. or just message me in general)

and also I urge you to look at the beautiful moodboard that @huliabitch made for me! I love it so much!

Masterlist

Prologue

Chapter 1 - The Informant

Chapter 2 - A Wedding and Four Funerals

"All the best from Mr DEA." Diana said as she threw herself down in the seat across from her best friend. Gabriela looked effortlessly glamourous as usual, even though she was just in a blouse and jeans. She just had that air about her, like one of the vintage movie stars, something Diana had never quite been able to match. She was well aware she was downright frumpy in comparison, not one to catch eyes just by walking past. For the most part, that suited her. Gabi tried to seem nonchalant about the greeting.

"Oh?" She sipped gingerly from her drink and put her menu away. "You finally met, then? He's back?"

Diana nodded and stowed away her purse and cardigan. "Yeah, this afternoon and yesterday, in the morning. He seems... nice enough? I don't know. Not a talker, is he? He seems a bit on edge, to be honest. Though I suppose that's to be expected." But despite everything, he still has kindness in his eyes.

Gabi just grinned at her for a long moment, waiting to pounce.

"Yeah, he can be a bit of a grump. ...Handsome though, no?"

Diana sighed, swatting at the other woman with her own menu. "Did it ever occur to you that the newly divorced woman might have had her fill of men for the time being?"

"It has occcurred to me that five years of unchanging, uninspired missionary for half an hour exactly, twice a week, with that wet blanket you married might have left you with the need to really be filled by a man for once."

"Gabriela!" she gasped, choking on thin air and mortification, even though their conversations would often get way more explicit than this. Just never with her being the subject. Gabriela just smiles like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, hailing a waiter to give him their order.

"Speaking of newly divorced: has the dipshit finally signed the papers then?" Diana groaned, throwing her glasses down onto the table to massage her temples.

"No, he's dragging his feet. Which is ridiculous, it's not like I want anything from him. It's not like we're fighting tooth and nail over every other thing, like that American movie, the one we watched on your mom's old VHS player, you know? With Meryl Streep? In any case, now he decides to fight? If you can call that fighting."

"Kramer vs Kramer." Gabi remarked sagely. "Yeah... At least you don't have children together. That could really have gone ugly. I still don't know what you ever saw in that man."

"Oh shut it. I used to be fond of Juan Mateo; I don't know when that changed." Diana huffed, quickly snatching up her glasses when the waiter sailed over with their drinks and appetizer.

"Well that's the problem, you never loved him! And your parents set too good an example; what could ever live up to that?" She took a generous drag from her drink, then dug into the food with hungry abandon. "At least you're finally rid of his snoring. And his mother."

"God, she really hated me. Couldn't bear it that her precious boy brought some lowly scum from the comunas into her pristine middle class home. Marrying me might have just been the only demonstration of free will that man has ever managed." Diana allowed herself to seethe a bit at the memory, taking it out on her food as she stabbed at it roughly. "And I will definitely not miss the snoring."

"Mr DEA barely snores." Gabriela remarked lightly. "Just ...very softly. It's quite cute."

"Since when do you let clients stay to actually sleep?" Diana inquired around a mouthful, brows scrunched. Gabriela hummed thoughtfully, swiping some sauce off her plate with a piece of bread.

"Ah, but he was so tired, poor thing. It wouldn't have been safe to send him back out, he would have crashed his car and died in a ditch somewhere, which would have been a real shame. I just let him nap for an hour or so that one time. Besides, I wasn't in any state to do much myself after he blew my back out." She had a way of being so nonchalant about these things that Diana supposed came from a sort of professional equanimity. Diana possessed no such poise and gawked openly, the wheels turning in her head as she recalled previous conversations and connected dots.

"Oh." She breathed as realization hit. "Oh! No! That was him? You're kidding me. How am supposed to look him in the eye now?" Gabi was already cackling, barely able to hold her laughter as Diana sputtered, recalling the very detailed recounting she'd received after the night in question. "You said you felt that for days after!"

"I did, but it was worth it." Gabi was now subtly holding her sides, having pushed her empty plate away to be collected. "You see, you're my dearest and oldest friend and I only want the best for you."

"I'm sure Mr DEA would be delighted to know of your crude attempts to pimp him out." Diana snarked, pushing her own plate to the side just in time to be whisked away by the waiter. "You're incorrigible. This is serious. Besides, I think he really liked you, actually."

"He liked the illusion of intimacy, like most of my clients. Lonely but with committment issues to the moon and back. It's not like I'm telling you to marry him. I'm just trying to get you properly laid for once." Gabriela scoffed. She could be so detached sometimes. In fact, one could call it downright cynical. But Diana had known her since they were both in pigtails and could detect the care behind even the most jaded words.

"Oh whatever. I request a change of topic. How's your book coming along? Any progress on that chapter that's been giving you so much trouble?" Diana asked sweetly, making the other woman glare at her over the plates with their main courses as they were being set down. Because yes, Gabriela does indeed write more than letters, and she's good, too. Also, two can play this game of being just slightly mean.

--- --- ---

Javier hated team meetings. And now that he was the boss here he couldn't even get out of them. Worse, he had to lead them. He looked over the assembled agents, glad that he had most of their names down by now. Gladder still that this was a DEA-only event and he wouldn't have to deal with any of Stechner's CIA asswads for now.

"Duffy, where are we on the shipments?" He turned to the other man expectantly. Duffy was one of the few agents here that weren't younger than him; he actually had some experience under his belt, unlike all these fucking greenhorns the higher-ups had sent him. He forced himself to pay attention to Agent Duffy's answer, making notes of important dates as he listened. Operation Cornerstone had, at this point, not yet come to full fruition, but if they continued to put in their due dilligence it was almost certain to turn up something useful. When they'd gone through all the points on his agenda, and after clearing up a few uncertainties, he dismissed the roomful of agents.

"Duffy, got another moment?" Javier stopped the other agent as he turned to leave the conference room.

"Sir?" Duffy sat back down and pulled his writing pad back out.

"Have you come up with any ideas for my informant in Calí?" Javier had mentioned this before, seeing as Duffy was one of the agents permanently stationed at the Calí field office. Now that Escobar was gone it would look suspicious if the head of the DEA in the country trekked up to Medellín every other week, and they needed a better way for Miss Rivas to hand over her collected intel. Duffy cleared his throat and caught the eye of one of his colleagues and waved him over.

"Lopez here has had a few ideas, sir. Tony, tell the boss your ideas for drop-offs."

The other agent was younger, handsome in that pretty way that made girls sigh dreamily, going by his own, admittedly remote, memory of high school and college. Lopez hadn't said much during the meeting, but had that eager glint in his eyes that said he wanted to prove himself. Javier had had that same look when he first came down here; it hadn't survived the first year.

"Let's hear it."

"Okay, so I was thinking the public library might be worth a shot." Agent Lopez pulled a notepad from his own case, squinting down at the scrawled chickenscratch. Javier nodded along, encouraging more than praise. He'd have to run these ideas by Miss Rivas anyway, and if she had concerns they were back at square one. But that was a river he intended to cross when the time came and not a second earlier.

--- --- ---

The satphone was also a good instinct because after their preliminary meetings in April, it gets irritatingly difficult to arrange another one for over a month.

"The what now?"

"The 4th International Poetry Festival. It's on from June 2nd to 8th." she explained patiently. "Orietta Lozano, Gloria Gervitz, Blanca Varela!"

"I assume those are poets."

"Obviously."

"You want me to go to a poetry festival with you?"

"No, I'm taking the week off and I'm going to the festival, and I am also free to meet you. I'm just suggesting that maybe your work hours don't all have to be spent in dreariness and drudgery." Something sizzled on the other end of the line where she was making herself dinner while talking to him, and it made Javier's stomach grumble. "A bit of culture is good for the soul, Agent Peña. You'll burn yourself out with how much you work. When was the last time you ever did anything for fun? Read a book? Hell, listened to music?"

Whenever you call me. She always had music on at home. It drifted through the receiver, a soothing background hum that was too soft to truly make out most times. Add to that the fact that he was still sitting in his office at almost half past seven in the evening, and he didn't have a proper counter-argument.

"Alright, fine. 2nd to 8th, I'll see what I can do."

--- --- ---

She was wearing another belted shirt dress, this one pale yellow and sleeveless, the full skirt reaching to just below the knees. It reminded Javier of the style his mother used to wear when he was little. Saturday, June 4th, had him meet up with Miss Rivas at the Teatro Metropolitano in central Medellín. Her dress contrasted against the blocky red building in a way that tugged familiar, but Javier was trying to train himself to not see blood in every instance of red.

"This is quite a way from Envigado." He announced his approach as soon as he was close enough to not have to shout. She jumped a bit, clearly startled, but her lips pulled into a polite smile when she recognized him.

"Agent Peña." She greeted. "No, cultural grandeur doesn't usually make it out to the comunas." She sat back down on the bench and pulled a flyer from her (rather big) purse, thumbing it pensively. Javier sat beside her, not quite at arms' length. Trying to appear wordlessly inviting, if only to mask how at a loss for words she made him feel. He seemed to be no longer used to normal, civil human interaction.

"Right, there is one reading here at the Metropol that starts in about half an hour that I think you might like. It has a few of the international poets; a few of them will be reading in English. Then there's another one later at the Teatro Carlos Vieco that I'm keen on. It's about half an hour on foot between locations, but there's the open air exhibits that only require a small detour." She pointed it all out on the program as she spoke, Javier silently nodding along in acknowledgement. "I've planned it so there's more than enough time for a lunch break. I hate having to rush through things that are meant to be enjoyed. I brought arepas, but there are usually enough street vendors out and about to get something else, if you prefer." She really did talk a lot. That was surprisingly fine by Javier, since it meant he didn't have to. "Though of course if you'd rather just get your intel and go I understand, but I must insist on at least this first reading, Agent Peña. But otherwise I wouldn't want to impose. I'm sure you have other things to do."

His lips twitched involuntarily and he held his hand out for the program flyer, silently reading it over. None of the names rung any kind of bell. Not that he was much of a poetry aficionado. "Sounds good to me."

She blinked. "Which part?"

He handed her back the flyer, which she took automatically, still eyeing him with uncertainty.

"All of it." She blinked again, looking mildly shocked, the flyer still dangling uselessly from her fingers. "Miss Rivas, I came all the way here and you went through all this trouble planning. It would be a waste to part ways after so short a time."

Truth be told it sounded ...nice. The thought of spending a day just exploring, letting work be work for even just a day (or at least part of it). Despite being an only child, he'd never liked being on his own even when he was young, cherishing every day spent with school friends or any of his numerous cousins. And it wasn't like he'd had to do far less pleasant things for information.

Her expression morphed from uncertain gaping into a wide, pleased smile that he couldn't help but mirror. Maybe she was quite a nice lady after all.

---

"...I have to ask though: What's a ...smit- ...smee-dereen?"

"Smithereens." Javier corrected gently as they exited the venue after the reading. "It means... it's all the small pieces that are left over when something is destroyed. Like with a bomb."

"Hmm," she hummed, pensive as they strolled along with the leisurely flow of the crowd, "I'll have to think a bit more about this." She fished around in her purse, producing bottled water and offering him one. He took it gratefully, unscrewing the cap and taking a sip. "How did you like it, Agent Peña? Already regretting agreeing to this?"

"No." Javier found himself replying perhaps a smidgeon too quickly. "No, it's very uh... enriching." And not what he'd expected at all. Though the festival was now in its fourth year running, he'd never had the chance or the wish, really, to attend it before. He'd barely taken note of its existence, too preoccupied with chasing down leads.

"Hm, you don't have to mollify me, Agent Peña. You'll still get your intel, don't worry." Her expression slipped, from an almost serene smile back into that underlying heaviness that he could identify only now that it had been lifted for a short while.

"Miss Rivas," he said earnestly, "I wouldn't lie to you. I'm just not that good with words. That's why I'm a government agent and not a poet."

That at least made her chuckle a bit. And it was true, too. He felt lighter, in a way, like his mind had been craving a break from the frustrating work of trying to find an in to take down the cartel. Even his shoulders felt less tense here. And it was a beautiful day, too. Warm but not too hot, sunny with a mild breeze. People were out and about around them, festival goers and other citizens alike, mingling freely with a carelessness that would have been unthinkable only a year prior.

"Juan Mateo never wanted to come with me to this." She gestured vaguely at the city and its people around them. "My husband. Ex-husband. Technically still husband because he won't sign the divorce papers." Her features turned tense as she explained, a slight frown appearing between her brows. "Not that it matters now, of course. But goodness, that man had no sense for these things. He thought top shelf coffee was the height of culture. He'd act like going out to a bar one evening every few weeks was a chore beyond compare. Such a martyr!" She huffed and Javier laughed softly, offering to take her bag for a while as she adjusted it on her shoulder for the third time now.

"No, that's alright. It's not heavy. This way." Her hand naturally slipped into the crook of his elbow to steer him down the side of the road and Javier faltered for a moment, cursing himself for wearing a short-sleeved shirt even though it was comfortably warm. He just didn't want to get separated in the bustle of activity, he reasoned. This was a perfectly tame and non-offensive gesture and it would be rude to flinch away, he reasoned. She initiated it, after all. No harm no foul. This was still a professional alliance.

"You think very loudly, Agent Peña." She remarked, lightly squeezing his elbow. "It better not be about work."

"Technically I am at work right now." He countered, covering her hand on his arm with his much larger one and giving it an awkward pat.

"Lucky you." She teased, lightly nudging his side with her elbow.

"Beats paperwork, that's for sure."

They ambled along, weaving through the crowds where they gathered in front of street performers and makeshift stages. Javier couldn't deny that it felt good to feel the sun on his skin, un-recycled air in his lungs; most of all being far away from Stechner and his legion of CIA goons was almost rejuvenating. They fell into a languid rhythm, walking leisurely and stopping every so often to linger a bit where music was being played or more poetry recited, in front of the stalls of local artisans or to look at the sculptures that had been put up as an open air exhibit throughout the city. Every so often, Miss Rivas would tell him some little anecdote, be it about any of the previous festivals or just the city itself. He barely felt the time pass.

By the time they'd made it across the river and to the park wherein the open-air theatre was situated, it was time for a late lunch and Javier felt his stomach start to protest, all that walking serving to work up an appetite.

"...and after school Gabi and I would trek across town to the library and hide by the shelves in the back, the ones with the old classics, and we'd read all the scandalous 19th-century novels about adulteresses and other fallen women. You know, Anna Karenina, Thérèse Raquin, Madame Bovary, Tess of the d'Urbervilles..." Miss Rivas set her bag down and produced a fairly big plastic container from within, setting it on the bench between them. "Perhaps not the most appropriate fare for a couple of fifteen-year-old girls, but it wasn't like we had a whole lot of supervision, you know? It definitely wasn't appropriate to read to a five-year-old, so I guess it's good that Maritza never really paid attention much- Stop my prattling any time, Agent Peña. I know I talk too much; Juan Mateo always used to say so."

Javier paused, an abundantly filled arepa inches from his mouth. "He what now?"

She flushed, looking down and picking at the wrapping paper she'd bundled the food up in. "It's fine, it's not a big deal, really."

"It's not fine." Javier insisted. Told her to shut up, told his own wife that she talked to much! What an ass. He started tearing into the arepa with a glower. They sat in silence for a while, chewing tensely in this little corner of the park at the foot of Cerro Nutibara, in a spot that was fairly hidden among the greenery while still affording a decent view of the city streets below. Javier didn't even know why it irked him so much. There were worse things out there than insensitive husbands. Ex-husbands at that. Still, he seethed quietly in his righteous wrath.

"Wanna see something funny?" She was already digging through her purse, so he didn't see much sense in replying. She pulled a photo from some deep compartment in her wallet, looking down at it thoughtfully for a moment before passing it to him. In his defence, Javier hadn't meant to laugh. It just came out, snorty and half-aborted.

"Hey, at least I managed to evade the poofy sleeves, okay? My mother was dead set on them. She wanted me to look like the English lady… uh, Princess Diana. I think she might have taken the name as a sign."

"That's a.. that's a lot of satin."  And tulle. Javier pressed out, still suppressing his laughter and barely succeeding. He could have pointed out that the mass of ruffles negated any absence of actual puff sleeves, but thought it better to refrain. And it wasn't like she hadn't looked beautiful as a bride, it was more that in that ruffled satin-and-tulle concoction she looked like an unwilling dress-up doll, despite the tasteful off-the-shoulder cut and flattering waistline. It was just... there were a lot of ruffles. There was a lot of dress, period. Paired with an expression that was better suited to a funeral, the effect was almost morbidly comedic.

"Wait till I show you the cake; we were basically identical." It was the dryness of her tone that set him off. There was no suppressing it now, Javier was bellowing, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. It didn't help that the dress fashion hadn't really strayed very far from the 'bigger and more style' in the years since. All things considered, this was a comparatively simple gown, lacking the mass of sparkly appliqués and abundance of bows and flowers that had been popular in the latter years of the previous decade. It just wasn't a style that suited her personality in any way, at all. Her slender figure was absolutely drowned in the sheer volume of the skirt alone. Hell, it completely overshadowed the already forgettable man standing by her side in the photo. Though 'by her side' was a generous descriptor. There was definitely enough space for the Holy Spirit and then some between the couple.

"My mother spent ages on that damn dress. Her hands looked like pincushions by the time she was done; that's why she wore gloves to the wedding."

"She's a seamstress, right? Your mother?" She'd mentioned it in an offhand comment during one of their previous phone calls.

"She was." Diana confirmed, tucking the picture away again. "Didn't think you'd remember that."

"Of course. I listen to everything you tell me."

Diana chuckled, flushing lightly. "It's not even relevant to the case!"

"I listen to everything you tell me." Javier insisted and started gathering up wrapping paper and such to throw away. A quick look at his watch told him they'd have to get moving soon if they wanted to make it to the theatre on time to get decent seats.

"Right." Diana collected her things to stuff them back into her bag. "So it's a no for ruffles, but what would you have me wear, Agent Peña? What do you think suits me?"

Javier couldn't have told even the most skilled interrogation expert what exactly compelled him to answer, and so readily at that, why he had an opinion at the ready in the first place, or at least that's what he preferred to tell himself.

"I think... something soft and flowy, not a whole lot of embellishments, if any. Clear lines and a light fabric, something you can dance in and be comfortable. Definitely no more satin."

She laughed now, as well, eyes twinkling with what he thought was approval. "You are full of surprises. Should I ever get married again, I'll most certainly engage your services as designer, Agent Peña."

"I'll keep a spot open for you. First consultation is free."

---

How her hand can feel so natural there in the crook of his elbow after hardly a day, he cannot tell. All he knows is that by the time the reading at the open air theatre is done the sun has started to dip in the sky and if this was what his work was like more often he'd perhaps be happier in his workaholic ways. Though they haven't broached the topic of work in hours now, instead ambling half-aimlessly northward towards Conquistadores where he's parked his rental car at the hotel he's staying at. Because it is a long way to Envigado and he insisted on driving her home. Because even though now that Escobar is gone Medellín is much safer, but he's never been one to easily trust a good thing.

It's only when they've crossed the big main street Avenida 33 that Miss Rivas gets quieter. She's obviously  tired following their prolonged outing, but he instantly misses the pleasant hum of her voice, her clever little observations- At the same time, it's a comfortable silence, not one weighed down by expectation. She'd even let down her hair from where it had been up in a ponytail for most of the day, most likely to keep the thick curtain of it away from her neck in the heat and sun.

They're just crossing a smaller square, the edge of it lined with shops, the hole-in-the-wall kind mostly, when she suddenly pulls away with a soft instruction to wait there for just a moment, and he's left to look after her flapping skirt with what is probably not the most dignified expression. Defeated, he sat down on the broad edge of a flowerbed nearby and watched her cross to a food vendor, order, and fish around for her wallet to pay, before turning around again with a plastic cup in each hand. Fresas con crema, he can make out upon her approach, and one corner of his mouth ticks up involuntarily.

"Hungry again?" He teased when she got within earshot, handing him one cup and setting the other down beside him along with her purse.

"There's always space for this in my stomach." She retorted primly. "If you don't want any, all the better."

"Thank you for the generous offer, but no. Thanks for this." He makes a show of cupping the treat protectively, fully knowing he'll have to set it down to unwrap the plastic spoon that came with it. It makes her laugh nonetheless, which imbues him with a strange, fluttery sense of accomplishment.

She's still standing, head thrown back and grinning wide, when her gaze catches on something at the far end of the plaza, and her expression morphs from glee to astonishment to rage so quickly it gives Javier whiplash.

"Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me!" Ripping off her glasses and thrusting them into his hands, she began stalking off.

Two things are fortuitous: one, she had to pass Javier to get to whatever she saw and two, his reflexes are still sharp enough for him to jump up and into her path, even having managed to safely deposit the cup of strawberries and cream.

"Whoa, what the hell is it?"

"I- ...she-" Her voice is strained, her whole body taut like a livewire as she attempts to round him and resume her warpath. On instinct, Javier took a few steps backwards, keeping himself between her and her target. It's only his hands on her shoulders that stall her enough for him to be able to whip his head around and follow her eyeline. That side of the square is empty save for an older lady shuffling along, huffing and puffing and blissfully unaware of the wrathful freight train about to rush her. To say Javier was puzzled would be an understatement.

"What, her? The old woman?"

"That's Hermilda Escobar!" She's shaking so much he has trouble keeping a grip on her. "Look at her! The nerve of that woman to show her face here-" She winds out from under his hands, rounding him with a quick sidestep, and he can only match her speed because his legs are longer.

"Hey!" Javier whisper-shouts to be met with flashing eyes, then repeats it more softly. "Hey. What exactly are you planning to do here, huh?"

"I'm gonna give that self-righteous bitch a piece of my mind is what I'm gonna do!" She retorted, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. It's cowing, the single-minded purpose rolling off of her. She's strumming with it, her seething damn near tangible. In her rage, she is ruthless. Javier had no doubt, in that moment, that once let go she might well maul the woman with more than words.

It's instinctive, the way his arm wraps around her. Like the few times he's had to restrain Steve and yet not like that at all. For one Javier doesn't have to go for a near chokehold, though energy-wise her wrath is at least as fierce. So, he wraps one long arm around her waist, hauling her much slighter body against his with a half-turn, her forearms colliding sharply with his chest.

"Easy." He rumbles, his other arm coming up to fold across her shoulders. "Easy. Calm down. Calm down!"

Palms smack against his pectorals and it stings. "Hey!" He tightens his hold around her trembling body, her angry, anguished squirming. Softens his voice. "Hey. Calm down, okay? What're you gonna do, beat up that old woman in the street? Come on, breathe."

The sound that comes out of her is something very closely related to a snarl, and he feels the bite of her nails even through his shirt, but holds fast, continuing to ramble empty phrases with the intent to soothe, or at least distract.

"If you tell me to calm down one more time I will get violent." She promised, hands pushing into his chest in an effort to break his hold. The old woman has almost passed by completely by now, seeming blissfully unaware of the savaging she's escaping. Javier held fast, as tight as he dared, the hand still pinching the pair of glasses between two fingers awkwardly patting at her shoulder while he sways them both, rocking from foot to foot.

By the time Diana has calmed down enough that he feels comfortable loosening his hold, the old woman is long gone from view. He feels her slump in his grip, reflexively tightening his arms again to hold her up.

"Hey," he gentles, lightly nudging the side of her head and thinking, distantly, that all but burying his nose into her soft hair is far too intimate a position for any of this. "Hey, it's alright, I've got you, okay? I've got you."

They're still swaying on the spot, a gentle see-saw motion, and then he felt the hands that had been clenching and unclenching on his chest lose all tension and drop down to the side. She's still shaking, her whole ribcage jumping with the hiccup of suppressed sobs. Somehow, he maneuvers them both around and back the few steps from where their snack and her purse still wait beside the flowerbed.

"Why'd you hand me these, anyway?" It's but a cheap distraction tactic, Javier handed her the glasses back as soon as she sat nevertheless.

"I'm not blind without them." Diana responded tersely, snatching the glasses and cleaning the lenses with the hem of her dress. When she doesn't deign to elaborate, he sighs and stretches from where he'd sat back on his haunches in front of her, resuming his earlier seat and finally unwrapping the spoon. It's a tense silence for a long moment, her aggravation like a pulse around them. Certainly it gives Javier a good bit to think on.

"You wanna tell me what that was all about?"

"Don't condescend to me. You may have been closer to the action, but I've lived here all my life." She ripped open her own packet with a vengeance, digging the spoon into her own portion with such force that the sliced strawberries bleed into the white cream. Javier sighed. Took a moment to order his words before they leave his tongue.

"I just need to know if this," he gestured between her and the edge of the square, "is going to be something that has to be taken into account. I need to know that you're not just in this for revenge. I need to know where you're at mentally. I need to be sure, both for your own safety and the integrity of this operation, that you're not just going to snap one day and try to claw Miguel Rodríguez' eyes out, okay?"

She chews angrily a moment, eyes flashing at him before she stares straight ahead again. The wrath is still rolling off of her in waves, perhaps dipping a bit in its intensity, but far from dulling just yet.

"You want to know my motivations, is that it? Well, let me lay it out for you, Agent Peña: of my entire class, a third never even made it to graduation, for one reason or another. I spent my youth plotting routes around gunfights in the street, with just enough success to still be alive, somehow. My mother was caught in the crossfire of a raid and was afraid to leave the house for years afterwards. My father was on that Avianca flight. My baby cousin Maritza is dead and her baby will grow up without her mother. And throughout it all, I took the coward's way out, moved cities, for university, for work, for marriage, for myself even, and everywhere I went they were, too. The narcos have spun their spider's web across the whole damn country and beyond and sooner or later everyone gets stuck in it. I got stuck in it despite my best efforts, and I'm tired of it. I'm tired of having to flee and turning up in dead ends. Somehow I have landed in this unique position, and I refuse to join them. Is that enough motivation for you, Agent Peña?"

She held his gaze, a challenge in fire, and he wondered how much longer that adrenaline surge would sustain her before she crashed. Wordlessly, he nodded his affirmation.

It's more tense silence after that, thick like stew or the humidity out in the jungle. She doesn't reach for him again as they resume the walk up to his hotel, doesn't casually link their arms like before, choosing instead to fidget with the handles of her bag. He hates it, misses the lightness the day had before. These narcos, they really do poison even the most mundane of things with their long, bloodied shadows. When they get to the hotel's underground garage, she's gone even more quiet, almost deflated. There are no more words exchanged, save for the clipped directions to her aunt's house. At one point, Javier was almost certain she'd dozed off.

---

"Do you ever think you should have been there? When they finally got him?" He'd just parked the car opposite of the house. It's almost completely dark outside by now.

"...Yes." Of course he did. He'd wanted, even needed to. The temporary suspension had not been near as effective a punishment as denying him that. The fruits of his labor, of years spent chasing after shadows and getting himself mired deeper and deeper, until he barely recognized himself when he looked in the mirror. He'd wanted it, sure, but perhaps he hadn't deserved it.

"Why did they send you home?" It's not that Javier is in a particularly obstinate mood, it's just that after the incident earlier, he's reluctant to bring up his own involvement with the cartels of Calí and Medellín, much less Los Pepes, so he gives a non-committal grunt in response. He should have known that wouldn't deter her. "When I first called, Agent Murphy said you had been recalled to the States. I only found out later that that was before they finally got Escobar. Why would a top agent on a case of this magnitude be pulled off and sent back before that?"

"You mean what did I do?" She nodded. There was no getting out of it now. He didn't want to lie to her either. Javier sighed, scratching his thumbnail across his brow. "You're going to look at me differently."

"Perhaps, yes." She took a deep breath, rummaging through her purse and producing a folded up paper. "These are the names of some American banks that I'm very certain help funnel and launder Calí's money. Sorry it's nothing more specific." She placed the paper in his hand, gently closing his fingers over it. "Whatever you tell me, we're in this together, right? We both want to bring them down. I trust you, alright?"

Javier gulped, his fingers tingling under her touch. He pockets the paper to buy time, if only to swallow through his suddenly-too-dry throat. And then he tells her. The dead ends and the crippling bureaucracy, Don Berna, the Castaño brothers and Judy Moncada and Pacho Herrera. His desperate grasping at straws to find a way, any way to throw a wrench in the escalating violence and catch Escobar, how that backfired so spectacurlarly. How he tried to get out, despite knowing that these people do not allow outs. How he'd been played by the fucking CIA because he'd been an idiot falsely believing that the two agencies were operating under even remotely the same objectives. How he'd gone down, almost taking his partner with him, definitely tanking his boss' career. He hasn't spoken to anybody about this in such depth, not even his father. By the end of it, he's exhausted.

"So you're the one Carlos Castaño wanted to feed to the crocodiles."

"What?" He'd expected judgement, even disgust. Certainly not this.

"I overheard Gilberto mentioning it on the phone. I think he must have just learned that you'd be the DEA's man in charge. 'Maybe I should have let you feed that damn DEA agent to the crocodiles after all, Carlos.'  The door wasn't all the way closed, that's how I heard it. I think that was the moment I realized I couldn't wind my way out of this. That either they were going down, or they were going to find out that I was already talking to Agent Murphy and have me... vanished."

"I won't let that happen." Javier promised instinctively, hands tightening on the steering wheel. "Crocodiles though? Really?" Not how he thought he'd end, that was for certain.

"Yeah, they're very uh... charming, huh?"

Javier grimaced. "If I never see any of them again, it'll be too soon."

"Knock on wood." Diana replied and unbuckled herself, pushing open the door.

"I'll walk you. It's dark."

"It's only across the street." She protested, and was that the ghost of a smile on her lips? Javier's hands stilled on his own seatbelt.

"You sure?"

"If my aunt catches me coming home with a man I'll never hear the end of it." Diana slipped out of the car, then bent to grab her purse. "Good night, Agent Peña. Until next time."

"Good night, Miss Rivas."

He waited until she was inside, the door securely locked behind her, before starting the drive back.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 3

-------------------------

Author’s note cont’d: if you wanna know what I had in mind, approximately, for the wedding gown see here

The International Poetry Festival of Medellín is a real thing, too. They have a youtube channel

[keepyourpantsongohan]

Ayesha Liveblogs Death Note

I’m watching this show specifically because of that text post that said, “Watch how quickly this one guy decides to be the worst person ever” and he has killed two people in the first ten minutes

Though 2 be fair he’s killing people to save people so it’s a trolley problem kind of thing for now

“In fact I’ve been waiting for you... Ryuk” ok weird flex Light but u do u

“You’re the first one to use to this extent in five days” WAIT DID HE MURDER ALL THOSE PEOPLE IN FIVE DAYS I THOUGHT HE WAS JUST LOOKING AT A LIST OH MY GOD??

“So there isn’t a price to using Death Note?” said Light, as if killing people is just a normal thing that we all do

Fhkjfhfkjb Ryuk really went ‘u used the book so we’re friends now’ 

I was wondering why the book was in English, and I guess that makes sense British and American imperialism really Did That

“I can write down the names of criminals, and slowly reduce the number of evil people” uhhhh doesn’t u being a Book Murderer also make you a criminal Light

“Human lives shouldn’t be taken so lightly” bah dum tss

Also I guess that revelation lasted about thirty seconds for you huh

Update from 15 seconds later: Even less than that

“I would create a world of earnest, kind humans” really because I don’t think places that allow the death penalty are generally nicer societies 

It’s interesting that they use English in the classes and the notebook but the conversation at Interpol takes place in Japanese (despite the implied internationality and Ryuk’s aforementioned claim about English being most common) 

Huh I won’t lie I do think it’s confusing that the main characters are L and Light, which also starts with L

“I am justice” I mean if anything this show just proves that no one should be allowed to use the death penalty on apprehended suspects in criminal justice cases ever 

OH SHIT PLOT TWIST HIS DAD’S A COP (IT WAS IN THE TEXT POST I THINK BUT I FORGOT)

Wow this show is full of mind games already I guess I can see why like, crime show fans would dig it

“But I’m going to say this as your roommate” OH MY GOD THEY WERE ROOMMATES KJHRGKJHKJHG

Interesting that someone is following Light specifically already

I mean not to poke too many holes in your plan Light but wouldn’t it clash with your plan to become God if you die at like 35 or smth 

“You’re already much more of a shinigami than they are” Ryuk said my friends are BORING I want to hang out with this MURDER TEEN

“I may not look it, but I’m pretty popular” Light is exactly the kind of guy who ends up in a true crime special where a bunch of people say he seemed like a nice, charismatic young man

Man this poor girl that Light brought on this date is going to be straight traumatized after this

I mean isn’t it MORE suspicious if someone dies around someone with direct ties to the police even if it’s not a heart attack

“You were indeed a brilliant FBI agent once, but now you’re my fiancée” kjhfkjhg WHAT FBI AGENTS CAN’T BE MARRIED 

“Once we have a family, you’ll be so busy that you’ll forget that you were an agent” I’m not a fan of Raye Penber 

What’s the point in killing Raye at all???? He told you he was part of a special investigation so clearly he’s not that suspicious of you

Light sure is bold to announce his Killing People Experiments in the middle of a busy sidewalk 

Incredible that consistently no one notices Light’s increasingly threatening declarations????

Fjkfkfhk these five cops finding out their Hail Mary is this strange little goblin man,,,, wow

This woman has really pushed Light to the brink just by giving a fake name, I admire her tenacity

Cops wearing fake IDs really did not age well oh boy

SERIOUSLY HOW DOES NO ONE EVER HEAR LIGHT SAYING SUSPICIOUS THINGS IN PUBLIC THOROUGHFARES HE LITERALLY JUST SAID “I AM KIRA” AS A DETECTIVE WALKED BY, WHILE HE WAS TALKING TO SOMEONE HE KILLED IMMEDIATELY AFTER

Wow it really took only eight episodes for L to track Light as close as one of two families

“You have a wife and daughter, right?” “I know!” I mean..... not 2 be that guy but... cops

 “To me, apples are like... Well, like cigarettes and liquor to humans” Vcvhcjhj every once in a while Ryuk says something that really tickles me

I know the word sociopath is kind of outdated but man does Light have actual interests outside of school or does he just do stuff to fill the void of his lack of interests (outside of murder)

JKHGKJHGKJHKJHG I cannot believe that this has turned into a fake classmate situation first of all 1) are you going to become friends and 2) How old are you Ryuzaki/L?

“Where is that rich kid from? And he’s even at the top of his class? What a jerk” honestly a mood

I DESPERATELY want Light’s mother or sister to overhear his evil cackling will someone finally eavesdrop on this god complex

“If I sit normally, my reasoning skills drop by 40%” weird flex but same 

Sidenote: I can’t believe how many episodes of this show I already have watched

Ngl I was VERY shook that Mr. Yagami had a heart attack. Also does Light care if his family lives or dies or is he kind of neutral on the subject? 

“If Kira is an ordinary person who gained this power, then he is a very unlucky person” Dad and L said ‘if u ARE Kira could you please stop murdering thank you <3′ 

Light really underestimated how much cops hate anyone who has killed a cop oops

OH SO IT’S NOT LIGHT I WAS WONDERING WHY HE HAD NOT MADE AN APPEARANCE THIS WHOLE EPISODE U MEAN THERE ARE TWO GUYS WITH THIS EXACT SAME IDEOLOGY AND PLAN? INCREDIBLE

Update from ten seconds later: Two people, I guess

Well this explains the girl in the short dress which serves as the Netflix thumbnail of this show I was wondering when she would show up 

Also she sounds like she’s very young? Clearly Shinigami don’t have a minimum age of informed consent when it comes to their Murder Eyes Contract 

Hahah I bet Light didn’t imagine that his petty and fucked up apple joke would bite him so quickly in the ass

Dhkjdhdkjhd Misa is so bold dropping her Death God deets in a video for anyone to see 

“The way to kill a Shinigami, is to make them fall in love with a human” does this mean that Ryuk is going to fall in love with Light or Misa? Both would make me uncomfortable

Oh wild guess Misa became a Death Note Wielder through the Power of Unreciprocated Voyeuristic Love

“Yeah, I have a girlfriend now,” said Light, after a girl contacted him through a series of anonymous video tapes implicitly vowing to be his disciple 

“No one could tell who he’s attached to if I’m with this many people” [20 seconds pass] “Found him!” HAHAHA the funniest part of this show is consistently watch Light going “got ‘em” before it immediately is revealed that he doesn’t got ‘em 

Why is Light so incredibly searchable??? I think the only way people people could find my height online is if I happened to answer it for one of those Facebook note memes in 2007 lmaoooo

“There are many places that will go and sell your personal records” ah, data breaches; a problem that has not gotten any better in the last 15 years since this anime came out

HKJHFHKJFHF Light immediately jumping into fake-dating his weird disciple in front of his mom... what is this show

“Please make me your girlfriend” OH MY GOOOOOD

This is one of the weirdest romantic dynamics I’ve seen in recent memory but you know what? Whatever, at least it’s not Anxiety and Murder

“Does that mean I’ll have to deal with her until she dies?” Light is truly exuding some Ladybird Book of Dating Energy rn: 

The fact that to kill L all Light had to do was get an obsessive girlfriend... astounding

Beautiful that it took Misa less than a week of knowing Light to ruin his whole 15 episode game plan and also life

“I think I may be Kira” Well this show keeps taking one escalation after another this is exhausting why can’t Light just be a normal person who found it, tried it out of interest in the occult, discovered he’d committed a horrible atrocity and then went to therapy for the rest of his life only to confess to Magical Murder on his deathbed while his family goes, ‘Wow, Grandpa’s crazy’

Does L not think that keeping three different people imprisoned for days on end will lead to some psychological repercussions for him

FOR WEEKS ON END????? OH MY GOD???? The fuck L, I know two of these people are murderers but there are some minimum conditions of correctional facilities and this seems a little Stanford PE

THE DRAMA OF THIS EPISODE I KNEW IT WAS GONNA BE A BLANK BUT HOW FUCKED UP TO PUT EVERYONE THROUGH THIS L I THINK YOU NEED THERAPY!!!!!!! I MEAN LIGHT AND MISA ARE MURDERERS BUT FORCING A MAN TO HOLD HIS SON AT GUNPOINT AFTER IMPRISONING THEM FOR OVER A MONTH IS REALLY A REFLECTION OF A COMPLETE LACK OF EMPATHY (especially when you think that this version of Misa and Light don’t know anything!!! Oh my god!! The fuck)

“I will make arrangements so you and I are together 24 hours a day” call me crazy but I would not want to spend 24/7 with the man who imprisoned me for over a month while playing cruel psychological games all the while

“I’m one of those people who’ll accept Kira, I’d think of ways I could help him” Misa said Bimbo Rights

“I could never toy with a woman’s emotions like that” Light’s dating life and personality has gotten a LOT funnier since he forgot he was a murderer I kind of wish THIS could be the whole show 

Also: Nice to know Light USED to have standards of how to treat women

Honestly fair play to both L and Light they both deserved to be punched and it’s funny to see eighteen episodes of mind games culminate in punching and kicking each other in the face

“Matsuda’s being an idiot again” “Well, Matsuda is a natural at that” wghkjhgkj what has Matsuda done to any of you

"He’s punishing criminals as a front, and killing people for the benefit of this company” is Light unknowingly going to solve the murder chain he himself started... inspiring

“I was testing you” this is why Light is your only friend, L, Aizawa has kids and it’s a dick move to ask him to put his convictions before them

Poor Matsuda realizing he’s got the least to offer to their team... me in high school science labs 

I understand Aizawa’s moral crisis but why do NONE of these cops care about their wives or daughters they’re just kind of like, ‘I will provide for you but I have no interest in or fulfillment from being part of your life’ (ACAB)

Matsuda is truly about to die for being dumb and eager to help 😔 Rest in Pieces

“We must not allow Yotsuba to figure out that we are investigating them,” said L, just after it cut from Matsuda being obvious about investigating them. Oh Matsuda 😔 you’re so bad at your job 😔

MATSUDAAAAAAAA oh thank goodness; Bimbo Rights save the day

“I can’t go along with your idea, it’s wrong!” said Light, despite the fact it took him 15 seconds to get over murder the first couple of times he did it 

Staaaaaaaaay Good Light, I don’t want ur Deathnotesona I want this young man with moral convictions!!

The level of hubris it takes to answer a phone call during your secret Murder Meeting while people continue to talk about their Murder Plans is just out of this world

“If I die, you could probably become the successor to the ‘L‘ name,” said L, to the person he has been trying to catch for twenty episodes 

“I won’t say anything under any kind of torture” “Yes that’s true” Which he knows because he tortured her for six weeks!! You see that that’s fucked up, L, right? RIGHT??? RIIIIIIIIGHT? (LIIIIIIIGHT???)

Seriously not to beat a dead Shinigami but Light is so much better like this. He doesn’t want to throw people’s lives away for the investigation! He wants to protect Misa! He thinks Kira is wrong! Why does he have to be a murderer!!! Why can’t this show be about a nice young man!!!!

“Hey Ryuzaki, that’s messed up!” THANK YOU LIGHT AGAIN I KNOW YOU BOTH HAVE KILLED PEOPLE BUT YOU DON’T KNOW THAT RIGHT NOW SO FOR ALL MISA KNOWS HE’S JUST A GUY WHO TORTURES HER AND TELLS HER CRUSH WILL DIE IF SHE DOESN’T HELP

Wow Rem is so ride or die for Misa protecting Misa from creepy Higuchi, giving her info and telling her to trust Light, that’s love bitch

Props to Misa for getting a confession out of Higuchi after one (1) car ride 

Why do I feel like L is going to be responsible for reawakening Bad Light is it because he psychologically tortured him for six weeks? Had his dad hold him at gunpoint? Forced Misa to investigate on his behalf? Constantly and unerringly presses him on what Kira would be thinking as he’s handcuffed to him 24 hours a day? Maybe!! This is like Build-a-Bear but he’s customizing his Teen Murder Friend 

“Only Mr. Matsuda can do [the mission to lure out Higuchi!Kira]” Death Note really said the Himbos, Herbos and Thembos shall inherit the Earth 

They keep saying they don’t know how he kills but it seems pretty obvious that he writes down their names to kill, they literally saw him do it

I really don’t want any of the investigation team to die but things are not looking hot :(

“Ryuzaki, I never knew you could fly a helicopter” “It’s just intuition” what does that MEAN

“Those aren’t allowed in Japan,” said Light, about a gun, as if he had not killed probably thousands of people without one 

In spite of this fact I really do want Good Light to stay 😔 Why! Can’t! This! Show! Be! About! A! Nice! Young! Man!

Also they really are playing into this father-and-son duo I will be very sad when the dad inevitably dies as I’m sure he will 

Family side note: I’ve been wondering this since the prison ep but where do Light’s mom and sister think he IS now that he’s dropped out of first year uni to be a teen criminal investigator handcuffed to a maladjusted homebody private eye

AIZAWAAA and also the other two guys I guess there was a plot relevant reason for him to rejoin the police huh

Well what a clean ending to this Kira arc. No one died and the killer was caught! Yikes that the next ep is called ‘Revival’ tho 😔 Rest in pieces Good Light

Also a new and very threatening intro???? What happened to the Twilight Apple Hands 

BOOOO I knew Light would get his memory back but I was hoping it would at least fuck him up for a while he sorted out his two personas but I guess all roads eventually lead to Bad Light 

Full disclosure I stopped watching for a few days just after Light got his memory back and let me tell u coming back later hasn’t made it any more tolerable I am truly not built for this EUGH

“Do you really want to halve your life a second time” “Well, that can’t be helped” REALLY???? CAN’T IT BE HELPED MISA??? WHY ARE YOU AND LIGHT SO CRAZY

Oh I guess we’re back to Light saying incredibly suspicious things right near the investigators lmao what if those cameras secretly had audio or you know, L simply knew how to read lips 

“Misa, let’s make a new world together” Remember a bunch of episodes ago when Good Light was all ‘I could never toy with a woman’s emotions’?? What was the reason!!!

“Have you ever told the truth at any point in your entire life” L cutting straight to the core lmao (also the answer is obviously ‘no’)

This show has taken a jarring tonal shift why are they having a post-rain-confrontation massage and towelling each other off this is a level of intimacy I was not prepared for I NEED PEOPLE TOOK LOOK AT THIS:

OKAY OKAY OKAY I KNOW THAT IT WAS PROBABLY NOT THEIR INTENTION BUT THE ONLY WAY I CAN READ THIS SCENE IS AS “Don’t kill me Light~ 🥰 I’ll fuck you~ 🥰” 

I guess L knew he was forcing Rem’s hand to kill him if he disproved the rules written in the book?? But to what end omg how does this help anyone 

“In April 2012, Light Yagami, age 23, joins the National Police Agency” should’ve known we’d land here eventually (ACAB)

Ah, I see another person who doesn’t know how to sit, clearly they will inherit the L title next lmao

Update from the first few mins of the next ep: “Near should succeed L” told you

“There’s no way I’m letting Sayu marry a detective” ahjfkhkjf he’s a little old for her I think but it wouldn’t be the worst thing this show has done romantically lmao; maybe Sayu would get to investigate her brother

“I might’ve considered going out with you, if you were a little younger” HA GOOD FOR HER

“[...] the Japanese police are unreliable. In order to solve this case, we want you to hand over the notebook to our country.” Of all the Japanese-speaking Americans in this show, this is the most accurate jkhfkhf the US government really is Like That 

Ah, so that’s where Mello’s gone, oh how the turn tables 

Also way to sell your subordinates out immediately, NPA Director, will you give them the Kira task force’s home addresses too

The real question is if Light actually cares about his sister enough to prioritize her over the notebook

“Call me... N” Oh my good L... M(ello)... N(ear)... Oooooooooooooooo

It’s my saving grace that I only need to get through 9 more eps but as always I must wonder where this is going will Light just die and end up in Shinigami purgatory while the people who knew him after the fact go, ‘hey, that guy was fucked up’

“If things get bad, I’ll have to kill Sayu” well I guess that answers that question, my expectations of Light are so low and yet he continues to find new ways to be awful

Good for Mr. Yagami and Sayu for getting out of that alive I guess but hoo boy I think this is going to have some psychological repercussions for both of them 

Uh oh this episode is called ‘Father’ I’ve been dreading this one bc I think that means Mr. Yagami is about to die 😭😭😭

“It was an institution for brilliant children, to raise them to become L‘s successor” okay calm down Professor Xatari that’s not what children are for lmao 

Well I guess it’s a lot easier to track down info about these two guys than it was to figure out L lmao

HAHAHA Sidoh haunting Ryuk to ask for his stuff is a fun addition to this madness  

“He’s scary for a human” jkhhfjh how unhinged does Mello have to be to threaten a literal Shinigami 

I truly don’t understand the logistics of how they revealed Ryuk to the police force isn’t the second Kira notebook supposed to belong to Actual Kira, in the police force’s eyes????? I do not understand how Light can just turn up with another notebook and everyone’s like ‘sure cool’ did I miss something 

Mr. Yagami killed for being unable to take human life ugh this is the worst 

“You’re not Kira. I’m really glad.” WAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH THIS IS SO SAD MR. YAGAMI NOOOOOOOOOO THAT’S WHY HE RENOUNCED OWNERSHIP OF THE NOTEBOOK 

Neither Mello nor Near seem overly concerned with the lives of people around them does being a Super Genius Investigator also mean you have to be a dick (is this Benadryl Coddleswab Sherlock syndrome)

Lmaooo genuinely love how it’s constantly apparent that Light is the least smart of all of the smart people Light spent five years working on his reputation and it took Near one (1) phone call to destroy it 

Ghjkhgkhgkgjh Light outsmarted by Near yet again never think people will prioritize principles over money

Lol yeah Aizawa needn’t have given a name after he said the “Deputy Director Yagami would kill Kira and then himself” thing, you don’t do that just for anyone who was he fooling 

How does Light keep track of all the renunciations and notebooks bc I certainly can’t 

Ffhkfjhfj Mikami truly looks like the son of L and Light it’s like Light missed him and was like, “Miss u boo :( (even tho I kinda killed u) I’ll adopt An Evil 27-year-old in ur honour :)”

Is Mikami’s story really, ‘I got bullied in high school and have mommy issues so now I think people I don’t like should die’ ok Shonen Snape 

“I just want you to meet with me and hear me out” Light really proving to Aizawa that he can lie AND manipulate people’s feelings 

“The truth is, she’s not smart enough to be my partner” first of all Light I think this show has proven you’re not that smart, and Misa’s Herbo Energy is effervescent and will outlast you, and third of all go to jail

“He’ll look suspicious if he doesn’t say something soon” “Ide, have you ever been in love” Matsuda continues to be the only good part of this show

“You’re the only man I’ve ever respected and admired in my life” GET SOME THERAPY KIYOMI

“You’re going to be the goddess of the new world” so it’s not enough for Light to be a murderer he must also be a cheater

Lmao Near’s powers of perception do seem a little B/BC S/herlock because L tried for literally months to work out the possibilities and Near is just like ‘I KNOW IT NOW’

“The only thing I can deduce from this is that Light Yagami is popular with the ladies” HEAVEN KNOWS WHY (PUN NOT INTENDED)

Every moment Aizawa gets closer to proving Light is Kira is another step closer to death 😔

“This is definitely Mikami’s handwriting” Not to be a know-it-all, Near, but handwriting analysis has been proven faulty many times in multiple courts of law

This truly is a game of Cat and Cat. All these hidden plans give me a headache fkjhkfjh call me Misa-Misa and spin me sideways I don’t have the braincells to spare

Well this is definitely some kind of s*xual assault absolutely fucking hate it wow this show truly just drains the life out of you 

“Matt, I never thought you would be killed” why wouldn’t you think that at this point anyone who comes close to this investigation eventually dies (also wjkhkjhgk why is Matt special didn’t you kill all those thugs you had before -- Mello said ‘the lives of my allies are only important if they are drawn in handsome protag style’) 

As of yet I haven’t really talked about Near’s wild toymaking but hoo boy is that L finger puppet something to observe

“Everyone who knows about the existence of the notebook will die” I’m still pulling for their survival, particularly Matsuda (himbo rights!!!)

Imagine if they just shot Light Yagami on sight how ironic would that conclusion to all these mind games be 

“I’m waiting, for the one who will solve everything, to arrive” Lmao if it turns out L is alive I’ll pee laughing this show is so fucking stupid 

Take a shot every time there is a Humpty-Dumpty-in-Puss-in-Boots style explanation about how everything actually happened

“I’ve won, Near” I bet/hope what gets Light caught is his inability to hold in his hubris for one (1) minute

Although the last episode is called New World, in which case maybe he wins in a very weird ending to a very weird show

Sjkfhkjhfkhfkjhf well I guess what gets Light caught is that the person he invited to be his murderous disciple keeps calling him God

“A second ago, you said ‘I win.’ That’s as good a confession as any” HA hubris strikes again also bold of Aizawa to clap Light on the shoulder knowing he is a mass murderer

Ohhh Matsuda he’s so nice and believed the best of Light :((((((((((((

Watching Light become increasingly desperate and crazed is very uncomfortable give it up dude u’ve been beat (though I suppose there is time for everyone here to be murdered still lmao)

LMAO LIGHT SAID “IF YOU CAN’T BEAT ‘EM, CONVERT ‘EM”

Yeah I figured if one of them was gonna shoot it would be Matsuda :( :( Good for him for not killing Light tho!!

Huh I guess that’s the end of the show I thought Light would die but I did think we’d at least get to see him in Shinigami Purgatory or smth... what a wild ride. This certainly was a show.

[saharamae21]

Vapor (Part 12)

Hey y’all. Sorry for not updating Vapor the past few days. I needed some time to think about where I wanted this to go. It was a good time to refresh and go into it with a clear head!

Word Count: 1.6K

Warnings: Mentions of Drugs and Abuse

______________________________________________

The accident sounded way worse than it was. John was released from the hospital and now we all sat quietly at The Wreck. I, of course, was a little worried. I was scared if the Pogues would welcome me back the same way they had treated me when I left. I did abandon them. They all smiled though. They told me they were glad to see me and that they hoped I got everything figured out. JJ slung his arm over my shoulder and I smiled. They were so nice to me and I couldn’t figure out why.

Then we were off. The conversation turned useful pretty quickly and we sped off to the old forts. We had to find where the old stone wall was. I stood on top of the hill, trying to imagine where it would be when JJ crept up behind me. He wrapped his arms around me and rested his chin on my shoulder. The warmest of feelings filled me whenever this boy was around, my own personal ray of sunshine.

From the forts, we drove in the directions of the wall. We were on this gravel road that I remembered a little too well. Why did this seem so familiar? I grabbed JJ’s dab pen and took a hit of it while laying in his arms. I exhaled towards the roof of the van, receiving protests from Pope in the front seat. JJ chuckled and pulled me in for a sloppy kiss. His eyes were so dilated and huge. They were so pretty. I heard Kie dry heave next to us as JJ moved from my lips down my neck. I pushed him off and took another hit, needing the high. The nicotine ran through my body like electricity, giving me energy and fulfilling my needs. I let out my vapor again, this time breathing it in JJ’s direction.

“God, that’s hot,” he whispered deeply in my ear. I bit my lip and handed him back his pen. He took a hit of his own before returning his attention to me. “I could watch you smoke all day.”

We took a sharp left and then a stone wall came into view. Our stomachs churned as we got out and realized where we were. We stood in front of the Crain house. We all knew the rumors of what happened here. We all knew that it was the worst case scenario. Without much hesitation we snuck onto the property. This was 400 million in gold we were talking about. We couldn’t stop here. I walked through the garden, holding JJ’s hand as we went. I listened to John say he didn’t really believe the stories of this place. I did though. I listened to Kie joke around, causing JJ to speak up. He started telling us about how it was all true and how Mrs. Crain’s daughter used to babysit him. I listened to him tell his story and felt a sick feeling in my stomach.

Murder was not my favorite subject, so to say. I was definitely on edge and JJ knew it. He kissed the top of my head and pulled me into his arms. I listened to him whisper an apology and I told him I was fine. Then John told us that we needed to look for water and we decided to split up. Kiara walked away first. She was upset about the whole Sarah Cameron thing as she should be. John followed after her. Pope told us to take one section and he would go the other way.

“The decapitation quadrant,” JJ muttered. I swallowed hard and grabbed tightly onto his arm. He ruffled my hair and told me he’d protect me.

I was almost relieved when we found nothing. The whole area we checked had no sign of water and I let out a sigh of relief. JJ pulled me into his arms and held me tightly. He knew how much anxiety this had given me and just wanted to make sure I was alright. Just when my anxiety had drained away I heard John B call out.

“Hey, psst! Hey, come on. It's the only place we haven't looked,” John B said, crouching in front of what looked like a cellar entrance. We walked over. I shook a little as I looked at it. I was not going into the basement. I couldn’t do it. JJ told me he would be right next to me, but it didn’t help. This was all too much. My inhales became sharp and JJ told me I didn’t have to come. He told me to stay and keep watch. I nodded and stayed outside the door. I listened to them bickering back and forth inside. I wanted to know what was going on, but I couldn’t bring myself to go in. I listened to Kie and John arguing and closed my eyes. I wanted to be with my friends. What was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I do it? It was just a cellar…

When they came back out, Kie was silent. John was raving about a plan with Pope. But JJ, he came straight to me. He kissed me sweetly and wiped the tears from my eyes. I could tell that he knew I was upset with myself. He pulled me into his arms and whispered how proud he was. He whispered to me that I was strong and that it was a working progress. He told me that I shouldn’t push myself too much.

After that I felt pretty tired. We went back to the chateau and I plopped down in the spare room. JJ laid down next to me and pulled me into his chest. The smell of weed and mint filled my lungs. As soon as he had his arms around me, the bad energy drained out of me. He was better than any chemical I could put into myself. I closed my eyes and drifted off.

This wasn’t my usual dream… This is home. I was in my room on The Cut. It was small and there wasn’t much in it. It was later in the day, probably around 8pm. I heard a knock at the door and ran over to get it. I used to love greeting people. When I opened the door, JJ was in front of me. His blonde hair was sticking to his forehead from sweat. Blood dripped down his face and onto our welcome mat. “JJ!” I yelled and tried to wipe the blood off of him. He pushed my hands away.

“You’ll get dirty, Addie. Stop,” he said. I let him in and he was just going to freshen up in the bathroom, but my mom saw him. She knelt down in front of him and tears filled his eyes. Whenever my parents were nice to him, it would trigger waterworks from the boy. He didn’t know what kindness was. My mom helped him clean up and gave him a cupcake that we had for dessert. I remember him smiling and eating it happily. I remember him coming back, day after day, bloodied and bruised. Why hadn’t I done anything for him sooner?

I woke up and he was peacefully asleep next to me. He’s had the same expression in his sleep his whole life. It was innocent and adorable. I laid there and admired him for a second until I heard John B call for JJ. I leaned over JJ and placed small kisses all over his face. He woke up, smiling. He pulled me into a kiss. One of the kinds that make you not want to leave bed. I pulled away and told him that John B wanted him. My guess is that he needed JJ to go get Pope or Kie. We walked out of the room and JJ went to JB. He told me he would be back soon and walked out. John also told me he would be back. I waited on the porch for everyone, but to my surprise, there were now six instead of five.

Sarah Cameron sat on the couch next to John and eyed me for a moment and told John she didn’t know I’d be here. I rolled my eyes at her as I walked past. I don’t know why she was still upset when we both clearly were not into Topper. I sat next to J and leaned my head on his shoulder. I listened to John explain what was going on and I listened to Kie protest.

“I gotta say, I'm just a tad uncomfortable with all of this,” Pope added, shifting uncomfortably. He was siding with Kiara. I think most of us were siding with Kiara.

“When are you not?” John snapped back.

“I dunno. I rode here on the back of JJ's bike pretty comfortably,” Pope shot back.

“It's true. Most relaxed I've ever seen him,” JJ backed him up. I chuckled and asked JJ if I should be jealous. He tucked a piece of hair behind my ear and said I had nothing to worry about.

I could sense the tension in the room as Kie and John B went back and forth. I knew that this wasn’t going to be something that was completely settled, but when Kiara told John B that it was her or Sarah, I knew this wasn’t going to end well. John was an indecisive guy. He wanted the easy things in life and in his head he didn’t see what was wrong. He didn’t see the pain he was causing Kiara the past few hours and I honestly didn’t know if he cared that much. He was too focused on himself. He went for the Hail Mary and said he wanted both. I rolled my eyes and listened to the boys besides me snicker. That was enough to push Kie past the point of caring and stormed out. I followed her, telling JJ to knock some sense into his friend.

Just when I came back, everything else began to fall apart… And no one could predict what happened next.

_____________________________________________

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[i-am-a-closet-fanfic-fiend]

Sexiled (Part 19/23) ~ Steve Rogers x Reader ~ College!AU

A/N: Hello my lovelies! Happy Friday! Hope you’re all doing well and I hope you enjoy this! 

Summary: You and Steve discuss the night before. You and Sarah bond over the ballet. 

Characters/Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader, Sarah Rogers,

Rating: K+

Warnings: Light angst, discussing death of spouse/parent, feels, fluffy Steve

Word Count: 1679

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

You woke slowly, no alarms, no annoyed roommate, just steady breathing and a muted scuffing that you couldn’t place, coming from beside you.

“Good morning, sweetness.”

“Good morning. Umm, how did we get up here?”

The last thing you remembered was being curled up in Steve’s lap, stroking his hair and pressing the occasional kiss to whichever part of his face you were closest to.  

“You walked. I did wonder if you were actually awake. Guess I got my answer,” he chuckled, continuing to sketch.  

You propped your head in your hand so you could study him.

“You’re so beautiful,” you sighed, as you mentally traced his features. You couldn’t help but smile when his cheeks turned pink. Placing his sketchpad and pencil on the bedside table, he scooted down in the bed so he was mimicking your position.

“You are the most beautiful person I have ever met. Inside and out.”

You ducked your head, flustered by his sincerity. Steve reached out to brush your hair out of your face, lingering on your cheek pulling your gaze to him.

“Thank you for last night,” Steve murmured. “I wasn’t expecting to react like that.”  

You pulled his hand away from your cheek so you could kiss his palm.

“Thank you for being open with me. How are you feeling?”

“Much better. It’s the first time I really talked about feeling that way. It helped a lot.”

“You know you can talk to me about stuff like that any time.”

“I don’t want to burden you,” he argued but you were already shaking your head.

“It’s not a burden. Your problems are not a burden. You are not a burden.”

His eyes widened at your words, and you knew you’d hit the nail on the head.

“Steve, listen to me. You are never a burden to me or to anyone else. Do you understand me?”

He nodded, slowly, still mulling it over.

“Yes. I’m not sure I believe you. But I’ll work on it.”

You smiled at his honesty. “That’s all I ask.”

“I love you,” he whispered, kissing your forehead.  

“I love you too. I was right by the way,” you added with a satisfied smile.

“About what?”

“I do love you more today than yesterday.”

His answering smile was radiant. When he kissed you it was slow and deliberate and he poured every ounce of emotion into it.

“As do I,” he whispered when he pulled away. “As do I.”

You spent a little longer kissing and processing the night before. When you finally got yourselves ready for the day you found the downstairs was halfway to being a winter wonderland.

“Good morning, kids,” Sarah greeted from behind a box of Santas.  

“Good morning. You’ve been busy.”

“I can never wait to put up the Christmas decorations,” she admitted, panting out a laugh as she tried to juggle a box and the lights.  

“I’ll get it, Ma.”

Steve rushed to her side to help with the box, and that was how most of the day went. When it was time to call it quits before the ballet the place was completely decked out.

After a quick shower, you retreated into Sarah’s room to get ready together.

“You looked so beautiful on your wedding day,” you gushed when you noticed the wedding photos on her vanity as she carefully arranged your hair into an elegant twist. “I love your gown. It’s so classic.”

“Thank you. I still love that dress. I think if I were to get married again, I’d still pick it.”

“I hope I feel that way about my dress someday.”

“I’m sure you will.”

“Steve looks so much like his dad.”

“Yes, he does,” she sighed as she looked at the picture. “Sometimes when I come home and see Steve reading in this chair, I think it’s Joe for a just a minute.”

She sniffed as she pinned fabric flowers into your hair, just below your right ear.  

“You look so beautiful, sweetheart,” she complimented, looking over your shoulder into the mirror as she tucked the tag into the back of your dress and smoothed the flutter sleeves.  

You covered her hand with your own, squeezing.

“Thank you. And thank you again for this. It’s so amazing. I always dreamed of seeing the Nutcracker done professionally.”

“It’s my pleasure.” She leaned on the end of the bed to slip her shoes on. “I’m excited to share it with someone who loves it as much as I do. Joe and Steve have never quite shared my love of the ballet, but they always went along with me.”

She sat next to you on the vanity bench to put on her jewelry.

“Did you go often?”

“Usually just the Nutcracker. But Joe always made it special. He made sure that Steve and he were dressed in the best clothes. And he’d bring me a bouquet. Red roses and pink tulips. And we always took our holiday photo that night.”

“That so sweet.”

“This is the first year we’re going since Joe passed,” Sarah admitted quietly.

“Really?” you asked, choked up.

“Yes. Steve had been getting sicker. And by the time Dr. Erksine came along, it felt too hard to go back. So we just let the years pass.”

You tried to find the words to comfort her, but none came so you held her hand instead. She squeezed tightly, a silent thank you as she sniffed back a few tears.

“It was high time to bring the tradition back. And what better reason than to share it with someone so special to Steve.”

“I’m…” Flattered? Honored? You couldn’t find the right words.

“You don’t have to say anything. I think we understand each other very well.”  

You stayed quiet together for a few more moments before she shook her head and stand up.

“Are you ready, sweetheart?”

“Absolutely.”

Steve was dressed in a gray suit and sitting in the armchair in the living room scrolling through his phone when you and Sarah came down, but he immediately hopped to his feet when he heard you on the stairs.

“You both look beautiful.”

“Thank you, son.”

“Ma, I have something for you.”

“What is it?”

He reached behind the armchair and retrieved a bouquet of tulips and roses. You had to bite back your aww and you could see Sarah fighting tears.

“I know that things are different now with dad being gone, but I thought since we were bringing back this tradition, I could carry on this part too. I want to make things special for you again.”

She reached out to cup his cheek and you had to look away to give them privacy.

“Oh, Steve.”

She hugged him, bringing his head down to her shoulder as she cradled the back of his head.

“You are a good man. Your dad would be so proud.”

The ride to the Metropolitan Opera House was quiet. A lot of emotions had been stirred up so far that evening, but when you finally arrived, the overwhelming one was excitement. You couldn’t take in the details around you quickly enough. You were certain you were missing amazing things. You felt Steve’s amused gaze as he led you by the hand, allowing you to devour the new environment.

Once you were seated, you continued your attempt to commit the architecture to memory – memories you knew would never do it justice.

When the lights dimmed, your breath caught in anticipation. Steve’s fingers found yours, grounding you, even as you were threatened to be carried away by the music. You were one of the first on your feet during the curtain call, clapping until your hands stung and your arms were sore.

“What did you think?” Sarah asked as you slowly filed out of the theater.

“It was breathtaking. Did you enjoy it?”

“Very much so. And what about you, Steven? Did you enjoy the evening?” Sarah asked, a teasing tone in her voice you didn’t quite understand.

“I did,” he assured her. “I believe I saw something truly beautiful tonight.”

“I’m sure you did.”

You watched the back and forth curiously, before Sarah turned her attention back to you, clearly changing the subject.

“Y/n, sweetheart, would you mind taking our picture?”

“Of course.”

You took her phone from her and lined up a shot of the two of them below the marquee and then several close ups.

“There you go. Let me know if you like them,” you told her, handing back the phone.

“Oh they’re perfect. Okay, now let’s get you two together. Come on. Get close.”

Steve’s ears turned pink with his mother’s fussing, but tugged you into his side nonetheless. You felt awkward in the first few, but when you looked up to see Steve’s warm gaze you couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face.

“There you go! More like that. Act like you like each other.”

That made you laugh.

She took a few more pictures before asking a passerby to take one of the three of you and finally hailing a cab back home. She kissed both you and Steve good night.

As you lay, curled up in his bed, you asked the question that you’d been wondering since witnessing Steve and Sarah’s exchange.

“Steve,” you whispered.

“Yeah, sweetness.”

“Did you not like the ballet?”

He chuckled; he knew where you were going with this.

“To be honest, I didn’t watch most of it.”

“What were-“

“I was too busy watching you,” he explained. “That’s what Ma was teasing me for.”

“Why were you watching me?” You asked, just barely able to make out his features in the darkness.

“Because you are so beautiful when you’re happy. You light up so brightly. How could you expect me to watch anything else?”

You wanted to scoff. Or laugh it off. But you knew he was utterly serious.

“I could watch you be happy forever, sweetness.”

“Nothing would make me happier than forever with you,” you whispered.

“Win/win then,” he chuckled, pulling you close and kissing your temple.

A/N: Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed. 

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[libermachinae]

An Abundance of Prowls

I remembered the first time I read IDW, feeling like I couldn’t get a hold on Prowl’s character, like he existed as a general concept but I was never really sure what his goals were or why he did... anything he did. I mentioned it to my girlfriend, who was delighted to introduce me to the discourse of our local cop car/war criminal.

Months later, in anticipation of Prowl Week, I said to myself, “Well, I could read through all of Prowl’s appearances, in the order they were published in, and see how the writers developed him over time. That could help make sense of his character.”

Friends. It did not. Here’s a summary, plus my thoughts. [Spoilers ahead!]

Infiltration: Prowl’s first appearance in IDW is him yelling at Ratchet for exposing the Autobots to the humans. We’ll call this guy Rule-Abiding Prowl, and he’s very steady/boring throughout the rest of the -ation series. His main function is to try to stop kids from being involved in the plot. Thanks Furman.

Spotlight: Kup: Our first glance of Spec Ops Prowl. Though he’s not physically present for most of the issue, Nick Roche still delivers a Prowl who is behind the scenes, pulling the strings. I was honestly surprised by how early on this was set up, considering everything we’re about to trudge through.

Megatron Origin: More Rule-Abiding Prowl, this time by Eric Holmes. He has a job, he does as he’s told, he clings to the chain of command like a padlock.

All Hail Megatron: Seven instances in which we’re victorious! It’s number-cruncher Prowl time; also anxious, war-weary, slightly hopeless Prowl. Maybe Shane McCarthy was trying to do a combination Roche and Furman? It’s all for naught, in the end, because Roche got brought back in to follow up on Kup’s story and he dove all the way in with Prowl being a sneaky bastard.

Spotlight Prowl: Can’t get too far ahead of ourselves, though! Mike Costa wanted Prowl to be a hardboiled detective with a a spark of gold SO BAD. Also the point at which Prowl falls into his terrible cycle of learning a lesson only to learn the opposite thing in the next issue. In this case, it’s between doing what’s right regardless of the rules, and sticking to the rules because order is paramount. Is this unresolved internal conflict going to haunt our boy for the rest of the continuity? Mmmm. Transformers V1 is more of the same, except now Prowl has a little buddy. Can’t lie, Streetwise delights me and I wish he’d stuck around.

Death of Optimus Prime: Co-written by Barber and JRo, so it’s tricky to say who exactly was responsible for what, although I have a feeling JRo was all over that Peaceful Resolution backstory. This does provide a perfect bed in which to sew the seeds of who Prowl will be in the coming arc.

MTMTE: Okay, full disclosure? I jotted this guy down as Warm Prowl in my notes. Through flashback, JRo gives us a gentler version of the character whose blunt nature and vow to regulation are underscored by a hidden concern and appreciation for his partner, Tumbler. Don’t look at me, I think about the conversation about the coming war and them leaving together all the goddamn time. Also, JRo waves at his buddy Roche’s Spec Ops Prowl from afar.

RID: War’s over, everyone can (literally!) go home! Prowl? Hey, bud, did you hear the news? No, ofc not, because this is Endless War Prowl, the guy who is convinced the Neutrals are out to murder everyone and also that Bumblebee sucks at his job. This is also the arc where Bombshell happens :(

Dark Cybertron: Prowl Buries His Trauma

Spotlight Bumblebee: Rude boy. Doesn’t like Bumblebee? Doesn’t respect the chain of command?

Autocracy/Monstrosity/Primacy: Prowl wants to follow rules! He trusts Optimus’ judgement! Babey Prowl.

RID Pt 2: It’s hard to classify this Prowl because so much of what he does in this arc is in response to things that have been done to him. The Decepticons mind controlled him, so he has to keep them from getting the Engima. He’s been saddled with gestalt coding, so now he needs to have the Constructicons along wherever he goes. Spike Witwicky betrayed him years ago, so dammit, now he’s gotta spend a Saturday trying and failing to squish one tiny human. He’s Renegade Prowl in my notes, because this is definitely the point where he stops giving a shit about rules. (Get a teeny bit of Warm Prowl, tho, when he calls Bumblebee his best friend. Kinda comes out of nowhere, the guy could have used your support like, any time over the last few years, but it’s a nice moment.)

Combiner Wars: Absolutely loses his goddamn shit. It’s like Spec Ops Prowl, going behind everybody’s backs, making the “hard choices” (he’s literally deciding to kill off the Cybertronian species; please keep this detail in mind), but he does it all as a giant combiner who solves problems by smashing them, so we’re gonna stick with Renegade Prowl. Barber wants to blame this on gestalt coding. I shrug and say sure, though I do raise a hand to question it when Optimus proceeds to beat him up for it.

Sins of the Wreckers: NAUGHTY SPIDER TIME. Roche takes all of Barber’s Bitch Prowl energy and embellishes it with those sweet spec ops tactics we’ve been missing so dearly. Gone are giant combiners smashing shit: now it’s just Prowl having ideas, making deals, and twisting morality to suit his own needs while desperately trying to avoid the fact that he has a conscience. Roche also makes the fascinating move of highlighting Prowl’s shittiness while subjecting him to Tarantulas’ arguable shittierness. There’s a nice moment at the end when he decides he wants to do better going forward, though Roche leaves it open for other authors’ interpretations via violent interruption by Impactor. Nick Roche never writes Prowl again, and an infinitesimal part of the internet grieves.

MTMTE Pt 2: AKA the misadventures of Luna I, AKA the one scene where Prowl’s helping with the dishes and actually seems comfortable for the first time in centuries. JRo takes a comedic approach to the character which is evocative of his Warm Prowl invention. Just one thing. Remember that detail I told you to remember earlier? About how he was entirely ready to bring Cybertronians to extinction? Here to Sentinel, Prowl says, and I quote, “And unlike you, I don’t feel the urge to kill the rest of my species.” I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about this, so rather than risk turning this into an actual literary essay, I’m going to leave it at that.

Optimus Prime: Two versions of Prowl in here: one from the past, where he describes himself as “unpopular” and beats up Jetfire, and present-day, where he somehow ends up in a ship with Stardrive, Garnak, Wheelie, and a vamparc gun from Autocracy. No one bothers to explain how this came about, the same way no one explains how by the books, rule-driven Prowl started battering prisoners before the war ever started.

Unicron: The most bizarre. Prowl does his whole logic thing, gotta sacrifice Devisiun so we can save everyone else, y’know. But then, in the showdown with Shockwave, he gives a whole speech about how the real battle is within the self, to make sure goodness prevails or something like that. It comes out of nowhere and I guess is a follow up from the Wreckers, but honestly idk?

Lost Light epilogue: Rule-Abiding Prowl! Hey dude, how you been? Work for Windblade now? Have an official job reviewing Functionist Cybertron and establishing ties with the Galactic Council? Neat!

Optimus Prime epilogue: Giving this one its own thing because it’s one of Prowl’s most memorable moments for me, personally. He begins by acknowledging his own multifaceted nature through an argument with Shockwave, arguing that every one of an individual’s identities are “real” and rendering this entire exercise moot. After I dragged myself off the floor from that realization, I went straight into the line that has always stuck with me, “We are our actions... not our hopes.” Barber wraps up Prowl’s character by having him acquiesce to the criticism he’s been facing since the beginning of the continuity. It places a heavy emphasis on Spec Ops Prowl, the one who made “hard choices” in hope of possibilities that rarely came to pass, but is not entirely bound to that identity. Every aspect of Prowl I’ve described here performed actions that influenced the overall plot of the comic, though his motivations throughout are rarely transparent. What do we make of it, now that the character himself is now saying they didn’t matter? Is Prowl the sum total of the crimes he committed, friends he betrayed, and lives he sacrificed? In our calculations of Prowl, is there any variable that represents an unclaimed seat on the Peaceful Resolution?

Answering that question isn’t what I set out to do here, though, and I’ve already had to stop myself from writing an English essay once. I hope someone finds this useful, because putting it together was like building a puzzle of pieces that don’t quite fit together. You could even argue that not all of them are important, and that some bring down the integrity of the whole. They’re all in the box together, though, so we’ve gotta make something out of them.

[the-headbop-wraith]

1 _ 19 Brambles

Soft voices glide through the room, cutting and retuning to a new scene or tone or voice with rhythmic pauses.  It was a delicate matter to set one claw to the button of the remote and press with a stiff finger, cycling through the dull white noise that made up the blubbering television theme of each channel.  What was defined as ‘news’ was scarcely credible, many channels were dedicated to realty programs, infomercials that promised ‘satisfaction guaranteed or money back,’ and as always the static infused HBO special feature.

Therehad to be a better use for television. Humans just refused to find it, or the general population was content tonumb their minds into oblivion with this toxic waste of ozone.  Mystery huffed into the folds of the blankethe lounged over, and pressed his paw to the button again.  None of his companions had said anything, aslong as the soft background chatter remained below audible they were somewhateased by his habit.  The dog halflistened as Vivi went over the next destinations marked on the map, there werea few but they had lost time after the van was put into the body shop for repairs.  Mystery rolled over, sliding the telly remote along the sheet cover as he did, for ease of access and the minimal of movement required of reaching it.

The argument between Vivi and Arthur had been typical, Arthur on the opposing side wanting no pair of hands on the van aside from his own, and Vivi adamant about getting the exterior of the van patched up. Lewis had been like Mystery, huddled outside in the parking lot where it was relatively safe.  In the end, Arthur had folded under the assurance that nothing within the vans metal hull would be tampered with.  That had been the case of course from the beginning, even Vivi didn’t want the off chance of strange people poking through the vans back, and seeing the mess that none of them had made the effort to pick up.  There was no concern shed over the ward scripts, carved stones, and endless containers of sage and salt stashed in the cuvees – all over the floor.  Long ago Vivi had given up any attempt to explain these items to the inquisitive outsider.

“But the baseball stadium sounds more interesting,” Vivi said.  She and Lewis had the selection narrowed down – a hospital, a maternity store, and a bed and breakfast that was on their route.  Mystery personally preferred the bed and breakfast, and they might just stop in along the way since it was literally on one of their roads.  “A batter ghost?  Why is he there, and who is he?”  She scrolled through one of the tabs she had opened on the main page, there were a few pictures but nothing clear, no definite image of a spirit aside from a gray glob that could be easily be explained as lens flares or rudimentary odd shadows.

Behind her hovered Lewis, just above the head rest of the hard chair she had claimed.  Mystery had caught Arthur glancing over at Lewis a few times, from his position on the opposite side of the one bed.  It was probably difficult for him to wrap his mind around the sight, with Arthur being the analytical one of the group, struggling to rationalize whatever science there was into a free floating body.  To describe it, imagine bungee cords that are not visible, Lewis’ body was parallel of the floor but suspended a good two feet above the headrest and peering over Vivi’s fluff of blue hair and into the computer she held on her lap.

“What’s this activity about?” Lewis inquired. His body dips down, folded arms coming within inches of the headrest above Vivi.  He spoke aloud before she could read off the page, “‘Seen after games end on the field, sometimes caught in the stadiums big screen.’  Groovy.”

“There’s speculation he, or she – we don’t know – they could be a fan,” Vivi continued.  “There’s a case where one of the spectators suffered a concussion from a free flying ball, but they never went to the hospital and by the time they realized how serious the concussion had been, it was too late.”  She shifted in the uncomfortable seat, and Lewis raised himself a foot more reflexively.  “They could be trapped there or something.  What do you think, Art?”

Mystery recoiled from his leisure sprawl when Arthur jerked on the bed.  “Who- what?” Arthur sputtered.  He had met eyes with Lewis, when the free suspended body had shifted so Lewis could see him better.  Vivi kindly reminded Arthur the subject they were discussing, and Arthur set aside his notebook as he thought it over.  “Batter ghost sounds the most low key, but what about the rumors?”

Vivi tapped at the laptop, and Lewis shifted to view the key words she searched for.  “There are all the usual grainy shots, most caught when there’s a game. Lots of people, lots of cameras going off?”  She rubbed her finger over the scroll pad quickly, eyes flashing behind her magenta glasses.  “There are a few post game pics, but they don’t look any more better.”

“We could do with another low key investigation,” Lewis chimed in.

“You liked the ‘Owl Widow’ ghost?” Vivi accused, half a smirk on her face.  The Owl Widow had been horrifying as hell, but she was all bark and no bite.

“I can sympathize with anyone who would terrorize people that would hike all the way out to my house, to wreck the furniture and break the windows,” Lewis grumbled.  “But… she had such a gentle heart.  After all those years, it’s a tragedy.”

Vivi sighed and sank down in the chair, she pushed the laptop higher up onto her knees for Lewis viewing ease.  “She’ll be okay,” she persisted.  “Decades gone by and she just keeps on protecting those owls.”

Mystery folded his wrists together and pinned the remote under his lower paw. Those that study the occult would recall a myth which went, when a person and an animal die in each other’s company the souls are bound, and if the trauma of the event was powerful enough, a spirit would return.  The people of the town spoke of a young birder who had a favorite owl she took out to train.  It was believed that hunters may have mistaken her for some animal and shot her, and her owl, or some variation of the scenario.  Murder was suspected but due to lack of evidence ruled out, and the case was never solved.  However, not long following the incident hikers and campers began to tell stories about an abandoned home in the area, where dozens of owls would congregate to roost, and at night the shrill cry of a woman or a shrieking owl was heard within. Few would dare stay in the home, and those that attempted only made it a few hours into the evening before the ear splitting shrieks would drive them out into the night.

The Mystery Skulls had no problem with the Owl Widow and even believed the rumors false, until they as a group ventured up into the unexplored attic where the owls roosted during the day.  Vivi had no way of hailing the spirit, and the Owl Widow was as feral and skittish as any bird.  When the Owl Widow realized she was discovered, she abruptly vanished without a trace.  Later, Vivi learned that it was the local’s thrill seekers sport to stay in the home or try to draw out the Owl Widow for a good scare, and that was commonly done by vandalizing the home.  This disgusted Vivi and she refused to do anything more that would negatively affect the spirit.

Arthur climbed off the motels bed and gave Mystery’s head a warm rub as he waked by.  Mystery took his cue and climbed off the bed and followed his companion to the door, where Arthur pivoted and stopped him.

“Stay here,” Arthur urged, motioning the dog with his metal hand as his other hand took the door handle.  Mystery sat down and tilts his head as Arthur backed out. “I’ll be back in a gif, I’m just gonna check the laundry.”  Mystery raised an eyebrow as Arthur turned away and shut the door between them.

“Hurry back, then,” Vivi answered.  Mystery glanced her way as she resumed scrolling. “It irks me though.”  Lewis hummed in question and Vivi continued.  “This would be a lot of work running around, for one ghost.  Stadiums are huge, unless we find a binding object.”

“What’s the info on our subject?” Lewis asked, and pointed to the screen.  “Is there anything?  A name?”

“We could just use any old baseball I guess, if that’s what caused their death.”  Vivi was clicking links, hunting for a newspaper article in the cities historical database.  “There’s a lawsuit, but when s’there not?  Mystery.”  The dog looked up at Vivi when she called his name.  “Arthur said he wouldn’t be gone long.  Don’t worry.”

“That link there,” Lewis cut in, pointing to the un-highlighted title among the few darker cousin links on the screen.  “I got a good feeling about that.”

“Keep your socks on.  I got it.”  She clicked it and the two read silently to themselves.

Mystery shrugged his shoulders and returned to the bed. The layout of the motel room was as basic, dry, and boring as the thousands they had the privilege to stay in before – table, armchair, lamp, vanity desk, single bed – a picture print of a pasture with deer grazing in the tall grass, a distant lake and tall trees surrounding the scenery – framed and hung on the wall above the bed.  Mystery stretched out over the tussled sheets and adjusted his thin ankles over a stiff fold of the covers.  He raised the volume only slightly and resumed his meditation through channel surfing.

“There was also this guy that overheated and died while in the mascot costume,” Vivi mentioned.  “You’d think he’d come back as some sort of demon bonded to his costume.”

Lewis often wondered over Vivi’s unique style of thinking.  “What was the costume?”

Vivi fixed her hairband, then put her hands back to the keyboard and scrolled.  “A badger?”

“The stadium no longer sounds low key?” Lewis humped.  He rolled sideways in mid hover and folded one arm under his neck, as if to support his head by some invisible tabletop.  “None of the reports remark on any aggression, accidents?”

“No, you big chicken.”

“Bawk-bawk,” Lewis droned, void of any enthusiasm. “Is it too much to ask that we return to cases where some… angry thing doesn’t come crashing out of the shadows with a huge chip on its shoulder?  Have I mentioned, I would like that?”  He nods, as if agreeing over an important matter.

“Well…” Vivi let her voice trail off, and glanced up at Lewis.  They had those cases too often.  Failed cases she categorized them.  The encounters which were too volatile for traditional techniques and it was advised by any veteran paranormal investigator, that if you have no training in that particular field, you have no right to meddle with it.  In those instances it is strongly advised to pack up and book it rather risk harm, or worse.  It was another topic she wanted to ask Arthur about, but she wouldn’t bring it up with Lewis since he was in that realm himself.  

That place, it would have been one, it should have been a Failed case.  They just didn’t recognize the danger in time.  Another notch, a proud scar in their resume.  They never failed a case, but often the case did fail them, and she had failed them.

Packed up and ran away.  No matter what danger they left to those that came in their wake. Let the experienced, the demon hunters, deal with it.

“Huh?” Lewis asked, slanting one dark eye at her.

Vivi gave her head a shake and returned her attention to the screen.  “I thought of something.  Anyway,” she paused, noting she had exited out of some of the history articles. “Just a bunch of sightings. Nothing threatening.”

“Great,” Lewis chirped.  “What were you thinking, then?”

“I was wondering,” Vivi mumbled and curled down into the chairs back.  She looked up as Lewis peered down at her, prompting her to go on.  “Well….”

“Well what?”  There was something in his voice, something that had been absent until recent. Vivi had only realized it herself, but his voice was sounding more natural, vocal rather hollow.  Solid as if projected, rather than suggested through the vague scratch of an outdated radio.  The slight transition had been lost to her, while in constant company of her subject.  She wondered what sort of voice outsiders heard when Lewis spoke with them, or were they oblivious?  She could ask Arthur how much Lewis’ voice had changed.  “Vi?”

“Are you aware you’re floating?”  Vivi looked between Lewis and the floor, through the back of the chair she was nestled in.  “Can you do that intentionally or—” She winced to the audible thud that came. “Uhh….”

“I was not aware,” Lewis’ garbled voice came, somewhere beyond the chairs back.  “Thank you for notifying me.”

“Explain that to me.”  Vivi set the laptop down on the seat cushion and stood up, to peer over the chairs headrest.  “How can you not realize you’re free floating?”  She pulled back and sat on her knees when Lewis poked his head up, skull in place of a face, and he resumed a buoyant hover above the floor.

“I’m kidding,” he said, as he fixed the jacket collar.  Lewis felt his face, recognized the common distinction of solid spectral that symbolized his skull.  “My concentration broke—  I knew I was, but….” He fumbled, voice breaking off into scratches and he gave up. “Hard to explain.”  He winced and looked up to Vivi when she set her hand on the side of his skull.  The embers of his eyes brightened, most noticeably in Vivi’s glasses as she smiled at him.

“I get it,” she hummed.  “I’ll try not to do that again.”  

Lewis let his gleaming eyes dim and fall away from her tender gaze.  He pressed his cheek into Vivi’s palm and let his ethereal essence sooth out, calming from the choppy ripples that dug through his usual insubstantial eminence. Passive waves rolled through Vivi’s aura, strong, vibrant, and cool.  No wonder she had such power over the spirits; how could she not?  It was compelling and desirable, more than the once strong call that had persisted on him in that early time.  As the days ticked away the call became less, and less vibrant, until the draw had subsided into faint tugs; unpalatable and easily ignored.  Bleu Moyen.  High blue waves to dose his fires, severing his ties to the ravenous fury and blind ambition.  So clear. Everything became so crystal clear when he was with Vivi.

A low shudder burned in Lewis, when Vivi leaned over the headrest to kiss the upper edge of his jaw.  His eyes brightened in their dark sockets and a wisp of flame faded as Vivi drew back.  Lewis didn’t want to lose her, he could scarcely recall that time of the between. He only wanted to believe his feelings were genuine.

An interesting segment was on the history channel, describing ancient magicians of centuries past.  Mystery turned his ears up as the narrator described a priest of the pharaoh whom became famous for cutting the heads of various animals, and that animal would function normally, walk around, but without a head; after some time the priest would restore the head to the creature and it would resume life as normal.  This spectacle was never performed on a human, never a servant, the priest would always refuse, and what matter of the illusion was never discovered, though attempts have been made to recreate it.

By the programs end, Mystery was on his side fully content to watch out the conclusion.  No animals were harmed during the making of the program.  A hollow promise, but it had some effect of easing him a little to see the message and be reminded that some humans did care.  He rotates his head over to see Vivi more or less in the chair, she would be in the chair if Lewis wasn’t under her.  They had resumed discussion of what case was more favorable, but softer, as if Mystery wasn’t there.  He took a deep breath and let the air wheeze out of his nose.

Wait.

Mystery rolled over, off the bed and padded to the door.  He sniffed along the edge picking up Arthur’s most recent scent, and pawed at the scuffed up white paint of the door.  Mystery whined and looked up to Vivi and she peered over the computer in her lap, down at him.

“What’s up, Mystery?”

He barked and sidestepped at the door. Arthur.  How long has Arthur been gone?  Mystery resumed scratching at the door, and reared up on his hinds legs to take the L shaped handle between his wrists.

“He should’ve been back,” Vivi paused as she looked to the clock on the laptop.  “Forever ago.”  She stood up off of Lewis and crossed to the vanity desk, where the telly was stationed. She unplugged the computer, shut it, and stuffed it into her overnight bag on the desk.  She fished around for the room key as Lewis raised up from the chair.

“Maybe he had to re-dry the clothes,” Lewis suggested.  He stepped up beside Vivi and set his hand upon the shimmering surface of the mirror, and stared into the steady state of his skull and bright eye sockets.  He had worked on this off and on, he could ‘jolt’ his state back into his more favorable appearance with a flash of a thought.

“Or he could’ve gone for a walk.”  He briefly examined his face, the stubborn dark eyes, then turned to Vivi.  “Clear his head.  Think for a bit?  He’s been really quiet lately.”

Vivi’s attention was directed past Lewis, toward Mystery standing on his rear legs.  Mystery had tottered backwards with the door following his movements, and was now stepping out.  The door began to slip shut, but stopped when Mystery blocked its progress and gave a bark at them to hurry.  “Mystery doesn’t like to be away from Arthur for too long,” she said, as reason.  “I worry about him, I have to.”  Mystery ducked out of the doorway when Vivi stepped over to him.

“I know.”  Lewis snatched his sunglasses off the table as he followed Vivi out the door, and into the blazing sun of midafternoon.  Way past noon, the sky was getting the dusky soft purples that Lewis appreciated.  He wanted to converse with Vivi about the one time when the group managed to get hopelessly lost and spread out around the motel, only because they kept following each other around the main office building, with a length of the wall distancing them apart.  What messed them up was that they were just barely in ear shot, they could hear the nearest person but in all the confusion they never got it across, “Stay right there, I’m coming.”  They had run around in circles all day, but the scenario was straight from a cartoon and they had great fun anyway.

He decided not to encourage the memory.  It wasn’t so much for her benefit, but the thought of it pained him worse than….

“We just barely ate an hour ago,” Vivi mentioned. She and Lewis followed Mystery down the steps and through the small hallway that cut between the two halves of the motel.  As per destiny, the nearest convenience mart was adjacent to the motel.  Night or day, it didn’t matter to Arthur when he drank an energy drink.  Hell, he’d drink one before taking a nap.  Vivi would check there next.  “You didn’t have to come.”

Lewis gave a sheepish smirk, missed by Vivi. “Well, you didn’t stop me.”

Vivi could smell the warm scent of the dyer heaters as they walked along the wall to the laundry room; beside the kids play area, and the gated and tarped pool.  She pulled the door open and let Mystery and Lewis enter before she followed them into the cramped room.  “Not here?” she spoke, as she moved into the adjoining room with the washers and laundry detergent vendor.  

Mystery’s paws scratched and clacked on the cool tile as he wandered around, sniffing under a table and then at the edge of a wall. He turned to Vivi and gave some soft barks that echoed, unintentionally loud, off the walls.  Arthur hadn’t been here lately, but with all the oddball scents it was a trial to discern accurately a time.

The dryer was still thumping and rumbling. Lewis examined the timer and found it had fifteen more minutes.  “If you don’t think you’ll need me, can I have the room key so I can get this stuff up there?” he asks.

“Sure.”  Vivi pulled the car key out of her wrist sleeve and handed it over to Lewis. “We’ll see you back in the room in’a bit.”  She waved to Lewis as she returned to the glass door, Mystery scratched over the slippery linoleum to catch up with her at the door.  “Chao.”

“Good luck,” Lewis answered, as the door shut. A few minutes drift by and a thought occurred to Lewis.  When Arthur stepped out, Lewis wasn’t certain but he didn’t think Arthur had picked up the laundry bag.  If Arthur had come to the same conclusion, Lewis might run into him on his way to or from the room.

The room was still empty of Arthur and provided no insight of a short return.  Vivi shut the door and took the opposite path along the rooms, her eyes scanned about as she walked, in hopes to catch the faint blur of yellow contrasted on the open car lot below.  Mystery padded at her heel as they took the route for the back stairs that ran above the main office.  Below, a group of kids laugh as they race by, shoes slapping on the hard cement.  Vivi tottered at the rail trying to catch sight of the jovial youths; maybe Arthur was down there lost in his own thoughts and mildly discomforted from the innocent play.  It seemed like the situation he would be tossed into when he craved some seclusion.  The sounds fade somewhere, and if Arthur is below she cannot see him from the angle she’s at above.

“It’s a beautiful day,” Vivi murmured.  She paused on the steps to look out from the narrow arch and scanned the clear sky, the moist tinge still on the air from the recent rains.  “There was a park when we rode in, wasn’t there?”

Mystery stood sideways on the steps and stares at the sky.  He gave a soft yap.

“I know this deal with the van put us on a tight schedule, but we can do with a lil TLC.”  She continued down the steps, and Mystery followed.  “We’ve spent so many weeks cooped up together, I forget what open air feels like.”

The road that cut through this section of the city was not very busy, even throughout the day when people would be busy with errands. Vivi with Mystery crossed to the nearest shop mart with the highest gas prices she had seen in a hundred miles.  Down the sidewalk from their current residence, it was only a few blocks among the stores and cafes to the open flat of the body shop where the van was being adjusted.  The body shop was only going to fix up the ragged sides where the van had fallen and scraped, part of the deal was allowing Arthur to do the paint job himself.  That would leave the van looking half finished and metallic until they returned to home base.

As Vivi pushed the door of the convenience store open, a blast of balmy air hit her.  Immediately the clerk at the cashier counter piped up:

“I’m sorry, miss.  No dog’s allowed.”

Vivi let Mystery in anyway, and Mystery went on his way examining the racks assorted foods, and the doughnut case positioned across from the cashier counter.  “He’s a therapy dog,” Vivi answered.

The cashier, a tall woman with curly hair, hesitates as she looks back to the white dog free of a leash.  “Do you have papers?”  She seemed uneasy as Mystery sniffed along the corner of the tall doughnut case.  In Mystery’s defense, the doughnuts smelled exceptional that day.

“That depends,” Vivi rebuked.  She turned from the woman and looked over the near empty store, a few people drift around picking at the inventory in various sections – sweet, salty, and standard household goods.  “Did you see a guy come in here?  Shocked yellow hair, quail curl, orange vest.”  She turned to the cashier and the blank stare the woman wore.  Vivi motioned her elbow.  “Metal arm?”

__

Indeed it was a beautiful day.  Arthur was glad he had stepped out to enjoy it, get some fresh air.  He hoped the van was all right, he hated the thought of strange people putting their greasy hands all over his pride and joy.  Even if the van liked to break down in the harsh weather conditions, or guzzled gas like a leech did fresh blood, they didn’t pay for it.  He never asked how much it was going to cost, but Vivi had been the one driving at the time and she always insisted on these matters. Arthur gave up trying to fight her about it long ago.

He sighed and leaned back into the cool wall in the stores shadow.  It was cold only in the shadow, but standing in direct sunlight had warmed his chest too much and so here he stood in the shade, listening to the children in the nearby neighborhoods whoop and holler in play.  He put his hand back in his pocket, pushed the pack of gum aside, and pulled up the chainless pocket watch.  Four thirty-nine.  The laundry should be done by now, he didn’t want a collection of his pants in bacon ripple style.  Sickly yellow, bacon ripple style… whatever.

The watch went back in his pocket and Arthur brought the cigarette back to his lips for another draw.  His eyes half closed and he let the sizzle work in his throat. Two more minutes.  He calculated the time up in his head, two more minutes coupled with the walk back to the motel—, he forgot the bag.  Get the bag, go back down and collect the freshly dried pants and shirts.  Or he could forget the bag, have five more minutes to let his blood mellow.

“Arthur!”

He jumps in place and turns to Vivi’s accusing stare.  “Hey. I didn’t worry you, did I?” he rasped. Arthur took another breath and looked down from Vivi, to Mystery huddled behind her legs.  When Vivi began towards him, Mystery turns and bolts out of sight. Arthur backed up and hit the wall. He gets out a vague question as Vivi slaps the cigarette out of his metal hand.  “Whoa now!  What gives you the right—” He shut his mouth when Vivi grips the front of his shirt and heaves back a fist.

“You promised me you quit!” she snarled.

“I did!  I DID!”  Arthur tenses but makes no move to defend his face.  He probably deserved it.

It was on the prescription, among the long list of drugs compiled into his blood to keep his kidneys from shriveling up, his heart pumping, his capillaries clear of toxins.  They worried about toxins in his blood.  Arthur had laughed that day, it was so out of character they had to call in a psychiatrist to evaluate whether or not his brain had suffered mental trauma that was not foreseen since his earlier evaluations. Oh what medical science was blind to; oh what they were willfully ignorant of.  The only person that might’ve gotten the joke, wouldn’t have gotten it anyway.  That cruel irony made looking at her twice as difficult for the remainder of the month, but he found his way out of it.

The doctors advised Arthur to quit, obstructed capillary networks was what they labeled it.  It was common in amputees.

“Was this your first pack?” Vivi growled, tugging Arthur towards her.

He choked and spat out a no.  “I’m gonna stop though, I will!” he stammered, leaning back.  Why was Vivi so strong?  Arthur was no heavyweight, but she could pick up Lewis when he was alive.  “It always helped, with the… it just helped!”

“We have sage!” she hissed, face twisting, tears brimming in her eyes.

“But that’s so rude!”  Arthur cringed down fully expecting the blow to connect and knock some sense back into him.  He bought gum and sometimes chewed that instead, but it wasn’t the same.  He’d show Vivi once she calmed down.  He was hauled forward, staggering through the dark shade of his thoughts and awaiting the flash of light from her fist to cleave through his mind… but the harsh blow never comes.  Instead, soft arms wrap around him.  Arthur risks opening his eyes and stares down on the weed riddled pavement behind her blue heels.  His muscles remained locked, he didn’t dare move even when Vivi’s shoulders quivered. Arthur clenched his fists at his sides and rested his chin on the poofy sweater around her neck.

“I should have asked,” she mumbled into his shoulder.  “I should have asked you.”  She squeezed tighter around Arthur’s chest, as if fortifying his presence with her embrace. “Why didn’t I?”

“You…” he began, and hesitated.  Vivi said nothing, hadn’t calmed down, and Arthur went on, “already knew the answer.  Nothing’s changed.  This is fine.”

“No, it’s wrong.”  She pressed her forehead into the collar of that stupid amber vest Arthur always insisted on wearing.  “I wasn’t thinking about you, I wasn’t worried that….  Jesus, I don’t think.”  How could she forget?  Why had she been blind to this?  For all her intuition, her flexible and quick mind, how could she overlook such simple, yet crucial details?  Essential, yet fragile.  Delicate, but poisonous.  A balance that tipped dangerously.  

Arthur brought his arms up and wrapped them around her shoulders, gently.  “Vi, we’ve talked,” he insists.  “I told him I was solid.  I don’t have the right—” Arthur froze again when Vivi recoiled and pushed him back by his shoulders.

“That’s not an invitation!” She snapped.  “That’s submission!  That won’t do.”  Arthur let his head hang, but Vivi cups his chin in her fingers and pushed his face up. “No, Art.  Look, I’m not mad, I’m frustrated.  Well, maybe that’s not the truth.   I’m mad at me, not you.  But— Would you look at me!  I’m frustrated, that’s it.”  She stares into Arthur’s face as his eyes crease and his brows stretch, into a conflicted expression she was too familiar with.  “You’re not allowed to destroy yourself.  Are you listening?”  He nods, and tries to let his eyes drop from her steady gaze.  “What did I just say?”

“Don’t wreck myself,” he mumbled, below a breath.

“That’s good enough, I guess.”  Vivi sighed, and raised a thumb up to touch the lone tear that had made it past Arthur’s resistance.  “How do I save you?  How do I save my boys?”

“I miss Lewis,” Arthur says.  He shuts his eyes and begins to slip down to the cold ground, his knees fold up under him.  Vivi helps him down, pulling at his vest and trying not to grip the upper space of his left arm where metal met flesh.  “I’m keeping it together, pulling myself back.”  Vivi kneels in front of him and pulls him upright when he begins to sag sideways over his knees.  “I’m not gonna fuck this up too.  I can do this.”  He shuts his eyes and presses his metal palm to his forehead in an effort to cool his fevered brow.  “I can do this.  Just… just give me some time, and I’ll work it out.”

“Hey.”  Vivi brought her hands up and clasped Arthur around his forehead, his shocked blond hair folded under her palms as she held him.  Arthur tucked his eyelids shut and winced to her touch.  “Don’t push yourself so hard.  It’ll… you’re going to hurt yourself.”

“I know my limits,” he murmured.  Arthur feels his heart being ripped in two, skewered by icy teeth and shredded across his ribs.  “I can endure.  I can.”

“Don’t give me that,” Vivi hissed.  “You’re not impervious to— Art, wait!”  Arthur had ripped himself from her hands and managed up onto his feet, stumbling a bit as he spun away from Vivi still crouched on the broken asphalt. Vivi hopped to her feet and followed his stabbing steps. “Art’ur!”  She jerks back when he whirls on her.

“I’m not fragile, Vi!  God, I’m not going to come apart and scatter in the wind.” Arthur screams, his body movements erratic as he gestures with his hands; the prosthetic arm is dull and awkward while he’s amid a state of distress.  “My legs are strong, my mind’s still here!  I’m okay!  Just… chill.” He motions his arms, bringing them down to his hip level as Vivi watched.  “You don’t trust me?  Do you?”

Vivi searched for something else to focus on, and settled for the edge of the motels roof beyond the corner of the convenience store Arthur had hidden behind.  “Sometimes you forget Art,” she says.  “You’re so focused on anything else, you avoid the little things.”  She shakes her head and then looks back to Arthur.  “I don’t want to forget for you.  I can’t drag you down.”

Arthur stuffs his hands into his pockets and toes at the crumbling cement, trying to dislodge a thick stubborn stalk of a wilting weed.  He recollected on Vivi before the Cave, ambitious headstrong Vivi, always leading the way.  Lewis always right there for her, to grab her and pull her back from the edge of disaster when it suddenly opened up in her path.  And Arthur… him, always a step behind, the last one into the room, always lagging behind the others.  The first to run, or the one somehow caught.

“Vi,” he says, “you never dragged me.  If anything—” He stopped, and looked up at her.  “You brought me back.  You were there when I woke up.”

Vivi doesn’t meet his eyes as she moves towards Arthur.  She takes him by the wrist of his metal arm and pulls the hand into hers and examines the stiff, numb digits, Arthur had carved himself.  “I wasn’t always there,” she confessed.  “I didn’t want to be there.  Art?”

“Hmm?”  The air became chilled when a cloud, or the sun, had inched behind some obstruction that blocked the strong yellow rays.  He couldn’t feel Vivi’s fingers tracing the mars and etches in place of his metal palm, he could only detect the vibrations he had grown accustomed to when faint touch fell onto his false limb.  When he had built his first prosthetic and attached it, Vivi had never taken a second look at it.  He had always been gratified by this.  

“We should look for Mystery,” she suggests, and tugs him by the wrist with no force applied.  “I think he went this way.”

Arthur followed without protest.  “We should talk a bit.”

“We’ll talk a bit,” Vivi echoed, leading Arthur behind her by his hand.

“It’s such a nice day, or was,” Arthur muttered, and squinted at the darkening contours of the sky.

Vivi led their way towards a dark alley behind the convenience store, chain link fences and the clay floor packed down, overgrown with trees and weeds.  It looked more interesting and secluded than the open sidewalk beside a road.  “I thought we could hit the park tomorrow.” Vivi’s voice brightened a bit.

As they departed the wall and Vivi’s voice twittered with the prospect of a day for just them, a dark shadow rose across the glossy paint of the brick.  The shadow seeps from the walls surface and reforms itself, bright magenta illuminates along its outline and spreads across its torso and legs.  A gilded heart pulses at the broad chest as the dark hue fades by degrees, until it is restored to its pacified shape.

Lewis took a step from the wall and leaned back onto it, he crossed his arms over his chest as he watched Vivi and Arthur disappear down the alley.  He thought of following them and making certain Vivi was safe, but he decided that may have been a lame excuse to eavesdrop on following conversations. He’d… done enough of that.

“What happened to us?  I mean, why did we let this happen?”

Vivi’s words rattled in his mind.  He remembered Arthur then, catatonic, sleeping.  His aura had been in its most indolent in that state, and Lewis had for a moment believed Arthur had died, if not for the shallow movement of his chest.

The questions plagued his deepest contemplations, alternating, “Why did we? What happened?”  As if she were before him now asking the same question, inquiring for some form of answer he too yearned insight into.  There remained the questioned he flittered away from, the ones that he could ponder over for long hours, while time held him prison to witness superficial events from afar.  The locket thrummed at his chest, always steady, sometimes thunderous, and then at other times its as somber as a coo.  The questions in their most basic function nibbled at him:  What and Why?

It was all a ruse, he promised himself. He only intended to frighten them.  Get them to abandon his mansion and force them far-FAR away, never to return.  Leave him to sleep and forget, and fade away with each pulse of his heart.  That was his intent, he swore it was all that he meant to do. Play up the theatrics, convince them it was not worth their time or sanity.  He was incapable of killing.... unlike Arthur; it was beyond his nature, he swore it wouldn't go that far no matter how much… he suffered. The long, endless cycle of time tormenting his existence, abandoned and betrayed by someone he thought of as a dear friend. Something...  somewhere… it all went wrong.

  Reuniting with Arthur. The event brought something out of him, something he never genuinely contested before. Not with earnest. The unbridled horror in Arthur's features when Lewis emerged from his coffin, the unsightly attributes which cost everything he held dear and precious; his brazen perplexity upon seeing this… ghost. It pissed him off. He wanted to wipe it out, make Arthur taste some of that spite that curdled his soul. He couldn't stop, he absolutely could not stop himself. How far could he drive Arthur on before he broke? Arthur deserved the suffering, the torment and hostility unleashed by his failings. Nothing would make this right, but Lewis also couldn't elude that anger. It was as much of a part of him now as the locket affixed to his chest. Inseparable. 

And then she was there.  It had happened so fast and Lewis couldn’t bear it.  The ache in his hollowed chest when he saw her for the first time since….

He said goodbye.

Why he remained far past his expiration was never a controversy for him.  The question that stumped him when he was not careful, and it came upon him when his defenses were down: What was he now?

Lewis rounded the corner of the convenience store and walked across the parking lot.  He saw Mystery on the sidewalk beyond the gas pumps waiting for Vivi, or him, he was on the sidewalk beside the crosswalk marks that bridge across to the motel.  The dog perked up at Lewis’ approach, and Lewis said nothing until he reached his four legged ally.  “How’s it going?” Lewis rattled, his voice near toneless.

Mystery’s answer was to tilt his head and lower one ear at an angle.  He stood and pivots to cross the road, glancing around for any speeding traffic; there were no cars but Mystery was careful to look anyway.  He spins about when Lewis begins to walk off, and Mystery pads up to follow at a distance.

“I’m not going back to the room yet,” Lewis explained.  “Vi and Art are looking for you.”

Mystery’s steps slowed and he fell back.  That didn’t make sense, any one of them knew without a fail that if he was separated from his company, he would either turn up at the van or the current place of occupation.  He gave his head a shake as he resumed his quick pace, struggling to keep up with Lewis long stride.  It was evident Lewis was in no hurry, but Lewis probably wanted to be alone and Mystery knew he couldn’t allow that.

They came to the busier district of the widespread city.  Mystery recognized it down the road from the motel, an easy to and from for some of the better diners and the cafes.  Arthur was impossible when it came to the prospect of being stranded, and the distance to a place for a worthwhile cup of coffee.  Mystery woofed at Lewis’ back.  Lewis didn’t need a reminder that he was out in public, and not dressed for one on one interactions.  Numerous shops throughout the city block catered to tourists, featuring carved wooden animals, jewelry, or rugs and quilts.  The small clumps of people they passed would give Mystery odd stares, and Mystery began to wonder what for.  It wasn’t unusual for people to stroll around with a ‘pet’ off the leash, was there a city ordinance he was not aware of?

Then it dawned on him.  No shadow was cast under Lewis and he had no reflection in the shop windows.  Lewis was hiding.

This didn’t alarm Mystery, if it was Lewis’ wish to go unnoticed then he was entitled to that.  For Mystery matters were complicated.  Head up, chest puffed out, ears proud and forward facing.  He had someplace to be and that was where he was headed.  He observed that humans rarely bothered a dog with confidence, minding his or her own business and on their way to wherever dogs go.  What humans did not trust was a timid, confused, lost creature that scuttled away from attention or drifted around.  If he kept moving it would make tracking him difficult.  Even so, he had his collar and tags and people would regard that and conclude he was just a regular out for a walk.  He would be fine, and he had some notion of Lewis’ destination.

As predicted they arrived at the body shop where the van was left.  Show Car Remake and Renew, a general garage and minor vehicle repairs.  The main garage was a long gray building with a few windows along the uppermost walls, and the large shutter doors at the base drawn down and locked for the evening.  The far side of the lot was overnight parking, the cars and trunks caged in by tall barbed wire fence.  Mystery followed Lewis to the fence but was forced to wait, as his transparent companion slipped through the metal links and entered amongst the many vehicles.

Mystery lost sight of the ghost as his tall figure weaved around the portion of large vehicles and trunks.  Mystery spun around and looked back to the road as the first streetlamps snapped on, cars sped by and after a short time of waiting the street quieted.  It was getting late, the air grew colder.  He sat down and gave the spot behind his ear a dedicated scratch, working to straighten out the hair bent there.  He tensed when a white utility trunk drove by and seemed to slow down – at least to Mystery it looked like the vehicle was stopping – but no, the truck sped up and the dog let out a sigh.  Never was the best time to run off and get lost somewhere in a strange city, with strange people, and strange beliefs.

Vivi and Arthur would be wondering where he was, if they had managed to reach the room by now.  They shouldn’t worry, but Mystery admitted he was not immune to dangers, or the mild irritations offered by the few humans he could do without meeting.

The sudden awareness of a presence at his back caused Mystery to twist around.  It was only Lewis, slipping through the large chain links in the fence.  Mystery examined him over and noted the piece of cloth tangled in his hand.  Ah.

Lewis looked at the cloth between his fingers as he untangled it.  “Are you still afraid of me?”  Mystery raises his snout higher and glares through his spectacles at Lewis.  “Would it be enough if I apologized?”  He unfolded and refolded the cloth and straightened out the creases to the best of his ability.  It had been folded and pressed wrong for quite some time.  

Mystery give a soft woof and steps back from Lewis. They should head back now.  The dapper specter wouldn’t budge.

“You were there for Arthur,” Lewis whispered, traces of flames bud from his shoulders and hair.  “But not for me.  Why not? Why is it…?”  He tightened his fist around the sad piece of cloth, “Why did I have to be the one abandoned?” He looked down when Mystery stepped forward and set a paw on his foot, the white face looked up at him.  Before Lewis could utter a word, Mystery had whisked away and was already halfway across the parking lot, the faint tapping of his claws fade as the ghost stares after him.

He could have just haunted Arthur.  Or he could have remained in his mansion, his sanctuary from the world ticking by with the tempo of the seasons cycling through, worlds moving; moon sweeping through crescent to quarter, harvest and back to the new moon.  What time had passed while he had slumbered?  Existing but not in a state of present, not dispersing but not fully cumulative either.  A piece of himself was lost in every wedge of every day, not noticed and not missed. Small segments of his childhood, the places they frequented as kids, the warm smiles of his parents.  How could he miss what he couldn’t reflect with?  It may have been a process of Acceptance, or it just happened naturally.  He ceased to worry, and he couldn’t care.  The lethargy of simply existing drained him heavily, and he fed on the lone coal of his passion, his raison d'etre.  What purpose, and what meaning had come to him, when the cycle of existence had evicted a squatter?

It was Mystery’s aura that had stirred him. That wild, untamed thing – a font of composer and class, with a writhing tangle of insanity that clawed for escape. He would know it anywhere, it was the last, and first thing he had latched onto before the fulcrum of his final volition had scattered.  He didn’t remember much in that span of time between… before….

The light of the motel room was out.  The curtains were drawn shut, as Vivi had left them, and the walls would be absolutely silent, if not for the dull rattle of the heater.  Night was well upon the motel now, and Vivi and Arthur would not be far behind it. Without a thought Lewis pushed his palms into the cracked stucco of the wall, and allowed his unsubstantial shape to slither through the cold molecules of cheap drywall and plaster.  Mystery gave a soft yap at his back as he faded, and then, the room was opened up before Lewis.  The interior air warm from the buzzing heater in the wall, bags and a few essential supplies sat in grainy detail along one wall, the bed was overtaken by blues and yellows.  Lewis turns back to the door and pulls the handle, but stood in the way when Mystery tried to nudge through and enter with him.  Lewis picked up the piece of cloth he had dropped, but paused as Mystery searched for a way around him.

Somewhere in the parking lot below the walkway, Lewis could pick up on the soft warble of Vivi’s voice accompanied by the timid tones of Arthur’s speech.  “Hold on,” Lewis murmured, as he shooed Mystery out of the threshold.  “They’ll let you in, but I have something to do real quick.”  Mystery stiffened when Lewis gave his scalp a comforting rub, an action Mystery was unaware of how much he missed.  Mystery stepped away when Lewis straightened up and shut the door.

What… just happened?  

Mystery whined.  That was not fair!  He scratched at the door and sniffed at the crack along the frame and listened for the muffled sounds from behind the door.  He tugged at the handle, though he knew the door couldn’t be opened without a key.

“What up, Mystery?” Arthur was the first to ask. He stepped behind the dog and raised his knuckles to the door, rapping gently.

Vivi leaned down and hugged Mystery around his shoulders, plucking him up off his front feet as she rocked him.  “Did Lew leave you outside?”  Mystery whined and stared at Arthur, pleaded at Arthur’s back with his eyes.  “I’ll talk to him about it, and we’ll fix this.”  Mystery strained his whimpers, and Vivi took note of that tone in his voice. “D’you have a key, Art?”

“Hmm?  Yeah, sure,” he muttered, as he began digging through his pockets.  Arthur found the thin plastic card easily, and with one swipe the red light on the handle lock flicks to green.  “Lew?”  He asked softly as he pushed the door open, intent to enter before Vivi for once. “You left Mystery outside.”  The heater of the room chattered as it stuttered off, and the dark plain before Arthur was left with the reverberations of its silence, along with the strange emptiness of the room.  The scarce glow of the few streetlamps outside tumbled around his shoulders as he stood in the doorway.  He was startled only briefly by his own reflection in the mirror, directly across from the doorway.  “Damnit,” he gasped, and clutched at his chest as his heart pounded behind his ribs.

“Lew?” Vivi chimed in, as she and Mystery pressed in behind Arthur.  She shuffled to the tall lamp stationed in one corner of the room and flipped the light on, coating the walls and floor with its pale white coat.  “Are you here?”  She had the impression that he was hiding for some reason.  Vivi brushed past Arthur and crossed to the bathroom at the furthest side of the room.  Mystery followed, sniffing along the bed and the corner of the wall.  

There was nothing in the bathroom.  The light blazed harshly over the white walls and plastic floor, a few bottles of shampoo sat around but mention nothing of guests. Vivi was usually comforted by the fragrant soaps, but she had only noticed them now when she was uneasy.  It didn’t feel right.  The bathroom heater came on with the light, but the air retained a chilled quality.  The whole of the room felt reticent, inhospitable.

Vivi shut the light off and stepped out.  She felt unnerved and was not certain where this sensation had crept out from, but it was there and she couldn’t shake it.  She heard the door shut as Arthur entered fully, he cast his eyes over the walls and the short carpet as if anticipating Lewis to pop out from a surface at any given moment.  Arthur sprang in place when Mystery poked his head up from the opposite side of the bed.  Vivi shared a look with the white face, then their sight feel onto the bed.  

The scent of fresh laundry overpowered the room, and Vivi with Mystery examined the shirts, skirts, and pants laid out over the bed covers where they wouldn’t wrinkle.  Further evidence of Lewis’ presence was not visible, aside from the large leather jacket draped over the back of an uncomfortable armchair.  On the table rests the room’s twin key card, beside a pair of dark purple sunglasses.  There was nothing to suggest anyone had been in the room recently.

[allaboutthebooz]

I See The Light Pt. Four

Summary: Tony takes the team to Walt Disney World and Steve is understanding why it’s so magical.

Pairing: Steve x Reader

Warnings: angst. Gotta have the angst.

A/N: Well when I typed this up it came out to over 2300 words and I could have kept it going, but I figured I would cut it where I did and just make add another part. Have mercy. There are a few scenes from the actual movies added in and, well you’ll see. Memories will be in italic. The majority of this will be memories. And don’t worry, this is just scratching the surface of the relationship between Steve and the reader.

Sweat dripped from Steve’s forehead and covered his back, chest, and arms. It soaked his shirt, causing it to stick to his body with each hit he landed on the punching bag.

‘whack’ ‘whack’ ‘whack’

Memories of his past flooding his mind with each swing. The life he lost when he put the aircraft into the ocean the frozen Artic. The war. Bucky. Peggy. Peggy. Peggy. Nothing, but anger pours from him. His hits growing harder and harder until the bag rips from its steel hinges and crashes onto the floor, sand flying from the busted stitching.

Breathing hard, he takes a moment to calm down before brushing his hair back in place and picking up a new bag and hanging it up. Replacing the broken one. Another deep breath as he resumes his workout.

‘whack’ ‘whack’ ‘whack’

“Trouble sleeping?” A voice calls from the front of the gym, pulling Steve’s attention away from the task at hand. He looks for the intruder to see Fury standing in the shadows, except he’s not alone. A smaller, slim figure stands beside him. A woman. They move forward together, stepping into the light.

“I slept for seventy years, sir.” ‘whack.’ More punches land on the hefty sand filled bag. “I think I’ve had my fill.”

“Then you should be out. Celebrating. Seeing the world.” The two stop about five feet Steve. He stops his hits and finally looks at his company.

Fury the same as always. Dark clothes and eyepatch. Face void of emotion. But the woman. The woman was someone Steve had yet to meet. Her hair was long and a rich shade of burgundy. Her face almost completely void of makeup. Freckles scattered across her cheeks and nose. Eyes big and round. Her suit skin-tight, like Maria’s, but more blue than grey. Still dark, though. He tries not to stare too long, but her small smirk tells him that he failed.

He turns from then and starts to unwrap his hands. “I went under, the world was at war. I wake up, they say we won. They didn’t say what we lost.” He stuffs one wrap in his bag and begins to unwrap the other.

“We’ve made some mistakes along the way. Some very recently.”

Steve peeks at them and notices the file in the woman’s hands.

“You here with a mission, sir?”

“I am. Agent Y/L/N.” She takes a step forward, holding the file out to him.

“Trying to get me back into the world?” He asks, not taking the file.

“Trying to save it.” She tells him, speaking for the first time. Her voice calm, but stern. She opens the file, urging him to look.

The subject within grabs his attention. He puts his other wrap in the bag, joining its friend. He takes the file from her and sits on the bench.

“Hydra’s secret weapon.” He starts flipping through the pages and pictures of the Tesseract.

“Howard Stark fished that out of the ocean when he was looking for you.” Fury explains, causing Steve to look at him. “He thought-we think the Tesseract could be the key to unlimited sustainable energy. That’s something the world sorely needs.”

The super soldier closes the file and hands it back to the agent. She takes it. “Who took it from you?” He asks.

She sighs. “He’s called Loki. He’s…not from around here.” She taps her fingers against the folder.

“There’s a lot we have to bring you up to speed on, if you’re in. The world has gotten even stranger than you already know.”

Steve stares beyond them, contemplating. “At this point, I doubt anything will surprise me.” Agent Y/L/N smirks when he stands and turns away from them. “Ten bucks says you’re wrong.”

He gathers his bag and walks to the row of punching bags that are lined on the floor. Picking one up and putting it on his shoulder. Fury continues. “There is a debriefing packet waiting for you, back at your apartment.”

Steve keeps his pace, heading towards the exit.

“Is there anything that you can tell us about the Tesseract, that we ought to know now?”

“You should have left it in the ocean.”

--

That was the first time he had met Y/N and all he knew about her was that she worked for S.H.I.E.L.D. and was nice to look at. Except, he never admitted that to anyone, not even himself. He remembers seeing her in the control room of the Helicarrier and the way she let out the biggest belly laugh as he handed her a ten-dollar bill. “Thanks, Cap.” Was all she could manage to say between her laugh.

He learned that she and Natasha were extremely close, and both had a personal mission to save another agent that had been compromised because of Loki. The two women were very similar in skill and attitude, which he believes is because of their time in the Red Room, but Y/N was just a bit more carefree. She laughed more than Natasha did. He never had to ask her name. He didn’t have to. It was in her file in the debriefing packet. Y/N Y/L/N. Simple yet fitting.

Both she and Natasha hail from Russia, saved by Clint, and are now the top spies working for Fury.

Said spies were currently sitting across the table from he and Bucky. They were sharing pictures from the trip. This was the first time they’ve actually sat together as a group for a meal. They decided to meet up in the UK at Epcot to eat at the Rose and Crown.

They ordered drinks while waiting for Sam and Wanda. Laughing and telling stories of different events that happened during the trip.

“I didn’t think I’d ever hear a grown man scream the way that Bucky did on Space Mountain.” Nat tells the other’s as y/n hunches over the table, laughter spewing from her lips and tears falling from her eyes.

“It’s a rollercoaster in the dark!” Bucky states, trying to defend himself. “You can’t see anything except for some fucking lights that look like stars. You think you’re gonna go one way and it’s like ‘no man, you’re going this way.’” All I could think was ‘All of this bullshit that I’ve dealt with, and this is how I die.’”

His admittance makes the other’s roar with laughter again, drawing unwanted attention to their table.

--

Another successful mission means another party thrown by Tony. Various friends and heads of business to rub elbows with. The team is required to attend to kiss the asses of every old rich snob that walks through the door.

Everyone in their best. Steve in his usual button down and black slacks. After watching a couple of World War II vets- who were as old as he is- get taken down by Thor’s Asgardian elixir, he moves to find more of his friends. He spots Nat behind the bar, mixing drinks. She’s talking to another woman. As he moves closer, the woman turns her face to the side as Bruce steps up beside her.

Steve stumbles the slightest when he realizes it’s Y/N. Her burgundy hair looks almost black in the dim party lights and curled in soft waves down her back. Her dress, like everything else she wears, clings to her curves in black silk, stopping at her knees. Her shoulders covered in nothing but two thin straps. A giant bow on her left hip. Her soft skin tempting to touch.

He shakes his head and continues his walk to the bar. Y/N turns from the semi-private conversation that was occurring between the beast and the spider. She gives Steve a smile when she sees him coming her way.

“Hey there, soldier.” Her soft voice calls to him.

“Hey, yourself.” He replies, leaning against the bar.

“Having fun?”

“Impossible not to. There’s some interesting characters here tonight.”

She laughs and nods. “Do you expect anything else from Tony?”

He chuckles. “No, of course not, but it’s fun no less.”

“Well, good. You deserve to have fun.” She stretches over the bar, giving Steve a good view of her long frame, and pulls a couple bottles of beer from behind the counter. She pops the tops off of both of them and hands one to him. “I talked to Sam. Still no word on Bucky.”

The soldier sighs and nods, taking a sip of his beer before answering. “Yeah, he’s still missing.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll find him.” She puts a hand on his arm, stroking her thumb across the skin that’s exposed under his rolled sleeves. His skin tingling at the simple touch.

All he can do is nod.

**

The night is drawing to a close, all the guests have left, and the team is sitting around a table, littering the couches and floor. Thor laughing.

“But it’s a trick.” Clint calls from his spot on the floor, drumstick twirling between his fingers.

“No, it’s much more than that.” Thor tells him, clinking beer bottles with Steve, Y/N perched against his legs in the floor.

“Whosoever be he worthy shall haveth the power.” Clint exclaims in a mocking tone. “Whatever, man! It’s a trick!”

The God of Thunder chuckles raising his hand to Mjolnir as a welcome gesture. “Please, be my guest.”

This begins the entertainment on the guys each taking their turn trying to lift the hammer. Each of them failing after countless tries. The women sitting around, smirks in place and eyebrows arched.

After Bruce jumps away from it with a tease of Hulk rage, Steve pats your shoulders, urging her forward so that he can have a try.

Everyone giving words of encouragement, while he struts the short distance to the table, rolling his sleeves up once more, a smug look on his face as he observes the taunting hammer. He grips Mjolnir’s handle and tugs. Muscles straining with the resistance she gives.

The hammer budges just a bit, but quickly sets back in place. Thor’s smile slipping and Y/N’s eyes growing wide, her drink stopped on her red lips. He gives a final tug, before raising his hands in defeat. Thor gives an anxious chuckle as Steve resumes his spot on the couch. She stands, handing him her drink.

“Let a lady show you show it’s done.” Her bare feet pad quietly across the floor, Sam giving a cat call from his hair by the bar. Steve watches her observe the hammer, placing her hands in the same position as the other’s had. Giving it a good pull, the table groans beneath it and the hammer ever so slightly scoots across the surface. Another pull and it lifts only a centimeter up.

The others fall silent, watching in awe of what was happening before their eyes. Thor’s drink long forgotten as it tips in his hand and drips down his arm. Steve sits unmoving, watching this killer assassin, move the hammer more than he ever thought possible, by someone other than Thor.

She releases the handle with a huff and step back. “I didn’t want to be queen, anyways.” She smooths out her dress, ignoring the silence and stares from the team, sits on the arm of the couch next to Thor’s shoulder, snapping him out of his shock.

Bruce clears his throat and gestures to Net. “And, Widow?”

“Oh, no, no, no. that’s not a question I need answered.” She responds, leaning back on her elbow.

Tony, ever the skeptic, carries on with his belief. “All deference to the man who wouldn’t Be King, but it’s rigged.”

“You bet your ass.” Clint chimes in, patting Tony on the shoulder.

“Steve, he said a bad language word.” Maria calls from her place on the couch.

Steve sighs. “Did you tell everyone about that?”

--

After Sam and Wanda finally join the table, everyone orders their food and the laughter continues. Steve sits back, trying to remember everyone got to be carefree like this. He can only think of one time and even then, they were hiding from something.

--

Clint had a family. A family. And the only people who knew were Y/N and Nat. After they had all settled in and gotten washed up. The girls helped Laura get dinner ready. They laughed and drank, well Y/N and Nat did, and they caught up on everything. That night, Steve found himself standing on the porch with the burgundy haired Avenger next to him. Both sipping from a bottle of beer in their hands.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

She laughs and shakes her head. “Because it wasn’t my secret to tell. He wanted to keep them safe. We all did. They’re the only family, I have. We couldn’t tell anyone.”

Steve’s gut twists at her admission. Her only family? What about the Avengers? Weren’t they a family? “They’re not you’re only family.”

She pulls her big eyes away from the night sky and turns them on him. “You don’t know anything about me, Steve? You know me as well as Tony does.”

“That’s not true and you know it.”

“It is true. You only see what I allow you to see.”

“Why? We’ve been working together for a long time now. How many times have we almost died together? How many times have we saved each other’s lives?”

“That’s work, Steve. That’s not personal.”

“Then let’s make it personal.”

Y/N sighs and shakes her head, looking down at her lap. “It’s not that easy.”

“Why not? You know everything about me.”

“The whole world knows everything about you. You’re an open book. They have a fucking exhibit dedicated to you at the Smithsonian for Christ sake.”

“That’s not everything. That’s what I did during the war.”

“Then tell me something that no one else knows. If you want to get personal, then you can start.” That stops him. He wasn’t expecting her to turn it around on him. “That’s what I thought. How about this, Cap. When you can be honest with me, I’ll be honest with you. It goes both ways, if you want to be a family.” She hops down from the rail and goes inside, slamming the door behind her.

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