#So sorry if someone else has already pointed this out!! I’m just makin’ observations

[erythroniumlily]

Until I am proven otherwise, I’m choosing to believe that Huzzle Mug is the one who created the Megapon for King <3

The word “huzzlajig” from Cap’n Hauzer really stood out to me upon replaying the demo, and upon closer inspection, I realized that the Megapon is actually pretty Huzzle-shaped!

I don’t think it’s super far-fetched to believe the god of innovation had its hands in creating something as interesting and wacky in-concept as the Megapon :-)

[taechaos]

Oooh Lisa, I really loved that TBL Jungkook x OC scenario😍 what would the dialogue be like if Jungkook thought OC was checking out some other guy but she really wasn’t she was thinking about how she is planning something sweet for him and they kind of argue because he misunderstands until she tells him the reason why and they make up😭❤️ only if you want to of course, you’re awesome Lisaaa, I want you to always know that❤️

before i get into the drabble i just gotta say this: YOU MADE ME SMILE SO HARD thank you so much 😫 you're so sweet ahh makin me happy n shit ;( 💗💗

What's the best time to propose with a promise ring? It's practically engagement, just in a different form, and you can't stop fidgeting in your seat with a giddy grin that you can't seem to wipe off your face. Jungkook likes rings. Promise rings are romantic. The black band wood ring sitting in the pocket of your dress bounces along with your knees in excitement.

In the cozy café, you sit in a booth across from Jungkook who narrows his eyes at you with a playful smirk and a hand holding up his chin. You've been acting different all day, spreading rays of happiness to whoever you cross, and he's curious as to why. It has him suppressing a stupid smile with a press of his lips.

"Are you going to tell me or do I have to ask?"

You break out of your trance and realize you've been staring at him for a whole minute without saying anything. A giggle bubbles up in your throat as you shake your head. "I don't know what you're talking about, but neither." Secrets aren't your forte when you're so impatient to spit it out.

"Hm... alright. I'll wait. You'll tell me sooner or later," he shrugs and leans back, his hand reaching out to place it next to yours so you can play with his fingers. It's more fun for him than it is for you, but it's like clockwork how you immediately start to bend his knuckles and toy with his fingertips.

You're waiting with him after deciding to "propose" after your meals arrive. You trust the service to be quick, and it has you nibbling on your lip with even more impatience. Your toes curl and uncurl, losing yourself to your thoughts of predictions of how the scene will play out again. You remember to look elsewhere this time, not caring as to where your eyes fall.

"Are guesses permitted?"

"No," you sing as your eyes turn into crescents from the force of your smile. You don't look in his direction as he hums in thought.

"That's no fun. I can see you're dying to tell me."

"Mm-mm," you shake your head. He's absolutely right, but you're already zoning out which means time will pass faster for you, so no need to break your unspoken promise of waiting.

He huffs as if disheartened, catching onto your gaze locked on a specific spot, but doesn't stop with his antics. "Babygirl," he quietly sings, attacking your weakness to the pet name as he slowly leans in, "why are you keeping secrets from me?"

You tune him out as you continue imagining his reaction, preparing for best and worst case scenario with a now swollen lip. You get too excited about things, leading to impatience and then obsession, ending with a rush of anxiety. Your facial expression becomes neutral as you fall deeper into wonderland, your teeth still stuck on your bottom lip.

Jungkook sighs and starts wiggling his fingers you hold onto. His other hand travels to your neck and tickles it like he's expecting you to purr like an engine in response, diverting your attention back onto him. You only tilt your head and stay silent, prompting him to glance at your focal point, and just as he's about to look back at you, he glances at the man you're staring at again.

It takes a few glances back and forth for him to register you are actually eyeing someone else in his presence while he's right in front of you. He pulls his hands back as he stares you down for a moment. He calls your name twice until you give a delayed response of a huh?.

The server joins in by placing the dishes on the table, and you clap your hands excitedly before thanking them and locking eyes with Jungkook whose smile has faltered.

"Are you okay?" you worry.

"I'm alright, thanks," he vaguely says, "what about you? Someone catch your eye?"

You chuckle through your nose as you say, "No? Why? Unless you mean yourself, in that case–"

"No, I just feel like I'm interrupting something with the way you couldn't take your eyes off of that guy." He licks lips and arches a brow with an empty gaze. "I can invite him to our table, if you want."

"Huh–"

"I can converse with him about how slutty it is to undress another man with your eyes while you're on a date with your boyfriend, how's that sound?"

"Jungkook–"

"Or maybe I should leave you with him so I can ask other women if they often entertain other men while on a date, hm?"

"I was zoning out," you pout pleadingly. "I was thinking about something."

"Trust me, it's obvious you were thinking about something," he scoffs irritatedly.

Your cheeks flush under the heat of his glare, embarrassed by the accusation and his immediate misunderstanding. "I was thinking about you, the thing I'm so excited about, I didn't even notice him."

"You didn't notice him and yet you completely ignored my existence because you coincidentally zoned out while staring at him? Huh. Let me try that tactic."

"Jungkook," you whine at his cruel sarcasm. "I swear I wasn't staring at him, I just didn't want to be weird by staring at you. Don't you think I'm loyal to you? I love you so much and," you sigh, "I was mentally preparing myself to give you a promise ring."

He knows before anyone else how much you're obsessed with him. It's been obvious since the beginning, and he can't pinpoint the cause of his jealousy, but what was he supposed to think from his observation? That you were planning to gift him such a meaningful thing?

His brows knit in a mix of surprise and confusion. "A promise ring?"

"Yes– I mean unless you don't want it, which is totally fine!" you babble as you take out the jewelry. "I know you aren't shy to say no, but I'm just saying... err, if it's too much commitment..."

He takes the ring you awkwardly hold and doesn't bother inspecting it until it's wrapped around his left ring finger. His lack of hesitiation in wearing it warms your heart as you internally coo. It's so pretty on him.

"I'm already committed to you, stupid girl. The fuck does too much mean?" He closes one eye as he holds up his decorated hand. He likes it. He really likes it.

You stare at him in awe with glimmering eyes until he says, "Perfect. I'll have to get you a matching one." He winks at you as a boyish smile grows on his face. You smile back with absolute adoration.

"Also," he blushes and clears his throat, "sorry about what I said earlier. I mean, you did make it very hard not to get the wrong idea..."

"Sorry," you grin sheepishly, "I space out when I'm concentrated. A-and I'm really happy you like it."

At your flustered state, he bites his lip before pointing at your food. "It's getting cold."

[deniigi]

i have been sick in bed with a stomach bug and re-reading a bunch of your series and these questions have plagued me so pls, for the sake of your fellow samuel chung lover, if sammy was in the Selkie verse, would he be a fae? if so, what kind? ALSO, what would his interactions with jack be like (either in the selkie verse or in the lying by omission verse)? pls and thanks <3

hi!

I’ll answer asks in a bit, but for this one I have a fic that explore a What If Jack Lived/Mike existed scenario with Sam in the Inimitable verse? I know it’s now what you asked for, but it is like 4k already written so that might be smth--an LBO Sam would be tricky because Sam would be itty bitty and Matt wouldn’t have the same kind of relationship with him.

As for selkie-verse Sam? I would have to do more research on Chinese spirts/fae/folklore, but for now, he’s not fae, just human 💖He’s like 12 and can make himself invisible though, which would be very confusing for Sue if she ever bumped into him

(Sue: baby boggart??? come here I love you I will look after you.)

(Sam: please stay exactly 5037 feet away from me! Thank you and I’m calling my mom!)

Here is the What If Jack and Mike thing from the Inimitable Verse.

Jack Murdock was the size of a house. He made Matt look dainty. He made Kirsten look like a kids’ mannequin. And he made Foggy laugh until he wept.

Sam could not understand a goddamn thing he said. Nor could he understand the guy he’d brought with him, who appeared to have had some serious plastic surgery to look exactly like Matt.

Sam could take an unintelligible giant. What he couldn’t take was an unintelligible Matt, and before him, somehow, in this ring of ginger, he’d been presented with two unintellible Matts.

His head was spinning.

Kirsten patted at him sympathetically.

“I’m from New York,” Sam told her mournfully.

“I know, hon.”

“How is this even possible? You’re from New York. How are they—what are they saying?”

Kirsten shook her head.

“Only Foggy knows,” she said. “It’s okay, he’ll translate when he gets back up.”

 --

 Mr. Murdock, the tallest of the gingers, might have been a good three to four inches taller than his boys, and he might have had the biggest hands that Sam had ever had the opportunity to touch in his life, but he was really nothing but a big, shaggy sheep dog.

The reasons Sam couldn’t understand a single fucking word he said came threefold.

1) Mr. Murdock had grown up in mid-century Hell’s Kitchen. That was just how accents from those parts used to sound. They’d lightened with time.

2) He had an extra layer of what Matt called a ‘brogue.’ He was first-generation American. Both his folks had immigrated from Ireland. He talked halfway between the way they talked and the way that the kids in his neighborhood growing up had.

And 3) The man had a lisp?

It wasn’t super noticeable. Sam sure as shit couldn’t hear it among the other layers of stuff going on, but Foggy said it was there.

Apparently, it came out more when he was anxious.

Apparently, he was anxious a lot.

Foggy told Sam to just give it an hour and he’d understand.

 --

  “So your name is Sam?” Mr. Murdock asked him while Sam tried to keep his mouth from falling open.

Matt was holding his facial-copy-cat against the wall by his lapels. The copy-cat had started making kissy noises at him. He egged Matt on to punch him right in the face.  

No one was stopping them.  

Kirsten cleared her throat and brought Sam back down to earth.

“Yeah,” he said. “Sam. Mr., uh—”

“Call me Jack.”

Never.

“Matty hasn’t said much about you, sorry to say.” Mr. Murdock explained. The more he spoke directly to Sam, the more Sam found, to his relief, that he could understand him. “He don’t like sharin’ things his brother can get ahold of and take from ‘im.”

Sam looked from him to the ‘brother.’

“There’s two of them?” he asked.

Mr. Murdock hummed.

“God help us, every one,” he huffed.

You can say that again.

“How long has there been two?” Sam asked hesitantly.

“Mm? Oh, uh. Christ with the math,” Mr. Murdock said, “Michael—Michael—boy, you knock that off; that’s how you lose teeth—how old are you now?”

Nevermind. Sam didn’t need to know.

“I’m ageless, Pops, remember?” ‘Michael’ said, grinning at Matt’s sneer in his face, “Everlasting, never dying. Immortal. Timeless. I’m—” Dude got the wind knocked out his sails from Matt aiming for his solar plexus instead of his face.

“Maitiú,” Mr. Murdock said sharply. “He’s your brother.”

“He earned it,” Matt snapped back at his dad. “You said ‘no teeth,’ I ain’t even touched his goddamn teeth.”

“No, you coward, you wouldn’t, would you?” Michael threw back at Matt with no sense in his head. “You scared of gettin’ stuck on all that metal, huh?”

“I ain’t got my tetanus booster,” Matt deadpanned.

“Oh, get the yellow fever one next time, it’s a hoot—”

“I’m mailing you back to Thailand in a crate.”

“Oh mail me, why don’t you?”

“I’m gonna.”

“Boys,” Mr. Murdock said, exasperated. “Knock it off. You love each other. We get it.”

Kirsten shook with giggles.

“I’d drown you in the open ocean and then kill myself,” Matt said through gritted teeth. His nose was maybe an inch from his brother’s.

Michael just beamed.

“Aw, babe. You’d do that for me?” he gushed.

“HHhhh—”

“Maitiú.”

Sam had never heard someone said ‘Matthew’ this way. It was delightful. It made Matt’s shoulders go stiff as a board and then squirm in barely contained fury.

“Thank you,” Mr. Murdock said. “Drop ‘im.”

Matt didn’t want to, but he released his grip on his sibling. Michael slipped down and then caught himself and straightened himself out.

“Well, I’ll never,” he said. “We come all this way to visit you on your deathbed and—”

“I’m not dying,” Matt said.

“—you worry Dad sick for months on end. Don’t call. Don’t write. He thought the Californians had eaten you—"

“—I told him that it was a dislocation and I’m fine—”

“—and of course I told him, ‘no Dad, there ain’t any more cannibals in California than there are in New York’ but who listens to Mike, huh?”

Mr. Murdock had only been in the house for 15 minutes and he already looked exhausted.

“Where are the dogs?” he asked Foggy.

 ---

 This was the weirdest time-out session Sam had ever experienced and he’d decided that he was living for it. Mr. Murdock went out onto the deck and locked himself out there with the dogs. Matt and his brother had never been more guilty.

Quickly the arguing turned towards scheming, which turned towards climbing out a window, which turned towards getting stuck on the roof and pleading with the Father to lend a hand.

Mr. Murdock observed Matt sobbing with laughter over Mike’s sudden anxiety of stepping from the roof to the deck’s arm railing with only hollowness.

“Mike’s not very super,” Sam pointed out to Kirsten.

“Nope,” she said brightly. “He is refreshingly normal,” she said. “Even the conman part.”

The what?

 ---

 Matt climbed off the roof with ease and took the opportunity to finally give his old man a hug, which Mr. Murdock seemed to appreciate. He smoothed a giant mitt of a hand through Matt’s hair tenderly, like he was a baby.

It was kind of cute.

Mike scowled at them both and announced that he was pretty fine, by the way. He’d just stay there on the roof until the vultures got him.

“Matt’s the younger twin,” Foggy told Sam cheerfully. “He can do no wrong.”

Sam felt like he could suddenly see the forest for the trees.

“And Mike?” he asked.

Foggy snickered.

“He and Jack live together to keep each other in good cardiac shape,” he said. “They drive each other nuts.”

“But they still live together?” Sam clarified.

“Yeah,” Foggy said. “Mike’s what happens when you give a used-car salesman ever so slightly too much brain. He travels all over. Gets shot at and held hostage a lot. He’ll do just about anything for a couple bucks, no matter how hard Jack’s tried to get him to go straight over the years.”

“And Mr. Murdock? He doesn’t mind his son living with him?” Sam asked.

Kirsten and Foggy softened.

“Matt used to check on him more when we lived back home,” Foggy said. “Without him and Mike, Jack’s by himself. He’s got friends and work, yeah, but you know. If it weren’t for Mike, he’d come home to an empty apartment every night. Man’s got too much head trauma for that to be any kind of good. Mike looks after him—probably more than he lets anyone else. He’s too stubborn to let Matt try to help him.”

Aw, cute.

“Be prepared, Sammy,” Foggy said. “Jack’s already adopted you.”

Say what now?

 ---

 Mr. Murdock didn’t outright say that Sam was puny and he was going to fix it, but Sam could see it in his disappointed gaze.

“Don’t like bread?” he asked as Sam chewed his way through an Uncrustable at the kitchen table. Sam froze with the sandwich in hand. He stared at it.

It was bread.

Surely, this was bread.

Right?

“Uh?” he tried.

“Don’t like the crusts?” Mr. Murdock asked him more gently.

Oh.

“I don’t mind them, these are premade though. You know, convenient,” Sam explained.

He got a stare impossible to read.

“Stay there,” Mr. Murdock decided.

It took too long for Sam’s brain to work out what had just happened, and by the time it had, it was too late. Matt stuck his head in the room and asked Sam why he’d told his dad that Matt was starving him.

Sam floundered and tried to explain the sandwiches. Matt absorbed this and rolled his whole head.

“Well, now he’s makin’ a week’s worth for you,” he sighed. “Wants you to eat the crust.”

Dude.

“It’s easier not to question it,” Matt sighed. “What kind of jelly do you want?”

 ---

 Matt didn’t interrogate his father, but Mike did. Unrepentantly. He walked in as Sam was emphasizing that he didn’t want any kind of jelly and he’d make his own sandwiches and understood the entire situation faster than Sam could have possibly explained it.

“FATHER,” he roared. “Leave the boy alone, he’s not starvin’, he’s just short.”

Flattering. Thanks, asshole.

There was no response from the kitchen. Matt told Mike to ease off. Mr. Murdock was trying to be nice.

“There’s nice and then there’s rude,” Mike said.

“And you’re rude?” Matt offered.

There was a pause.

A warm hand found the space in between Sam’s shoulder blades.

“I’m sorry about both of ‘em, kid, they got rocks for brains, it ain’t their fault. Our grandfather was a caveman, you know how it is,” Mike said kindly.

Matt was not amused.

“It’s not a big deal,” he repeated. “I’ll eat ‘em if Sam doesn’t want ‘em.”

“And subject yourself to peanut butter hell for multiple days in a row, Maitiú?” Mike asked, scandalized.

Matt glared in the direction of the stairs.

“Some of us enjoy nut protein,” he said.

Sam blinked in shock as big hands slapped themselves over his ears.

“There are children present,” Mike hissed.

Sam found the guy’s middle fingers and yanked. Mike swore. Matt chuckled.

“He ain’t a baby,” he said fondly. “Sam’s a tough cookie.”

You’re damn right he was.

“Charming,” Mike grumbled as Matt abandoned them for the kitchen again. He scowled down at Sam. “What’s your gimmick then?” he asked.

Sam wondered if he could make his contacts come out by blinking slowly enough. It would be cool as fuck. It definitely wasn’t happening.

“I control typhoons,” he said.

Mike winced.

“Fuckin’ vigilantes,” he said.

 ---

 Mr. Murdock gave Sam a second sandwich. He’d cut it into quarters.

“Matt says you don’t like jelly,” he said. “Bananas are better?”

Sam couldn’t help but like him.

“Yeah. I don’t eat much bread generally,” he said. “My family has always been more about rice.”

Mr. Murdock analyzed him.

“I can do rice,” he said.

Bless. It was okay, really.

“Do you like spicy things, Mr. Murdock?” Sam asked.

“Jack.”

Nice try.

“Spicy?” Sam repeated.

Mr. Murdock considered it.

“Not sure,” he said. “You mean like hot sauce? I ain’t fuck with that ghost pepper shit.”

Sam hummed.

“Before you leave, I’ll cook for you in return,” he said. “I won’t make it too spicy, cross my heart.”

Mr. Murdock considered this and then got a look in his eye that made Sam’s cheeks start to ache a little.

 ---

 Matt told Sam to play nice. Matt told his father to play nice.

There was to be no hiding chilis in Mike’s pasta.

They were caught and scolded.

“Not to worry,” Mr. Murdock told Sam fondly, “There are other ways.”

 ---

 Sam had never seen such outrage over a knot in a shoelace. Matt crossed his arms over his chest, seconds away from tapping his own foot.

“You said you were ready,” he reminded Mike for the fourth time.

“I know what I said,” Mike snapped at him. He’d dug through all the kitchen drawers to procure a metal skewer to apply to this situation.

“We’re going to be late,” Matt said. “I wait for my guide, she doesn’t wait for me.”

“Well she’s waitin’ today,” Mike said. “I swear to god—”

Mr. Murdock stroked the top of Tuesday’s head and asked Mike if he’d tried putting baby powder on it. Mike spat at him to mind his own business and went back to the knot. He managed it get it untangled and the shoe half on just in time to find the second one stuck in the third hole down.

He just about vibrated with fury.

Matt sighed loudly.

“Borrow mine already,” he said.

“Never.”

“Mike.”

“They’re blue. This outfit tolerates only warm colors, Matthew. ONLY warms.”

“We’re late.”

“Style waits for no man.”

“Well, clearly that ain’t the case, is it?”

Mike stood up sharply.

“I’m going to change,” he said. “And whatever elf tied these will rue the day. Mark my words.”

“Yeah, okay, I’ll tell the elf—oh, my bad, the clown, Mike. It’s you. Get your life together. We’re late.”

Hilarious.

 ---

  “Why don’t you move out here?” Sam asked Mr. Murdock as he watched Sam sand away at his latest secret project in Matt’s absence.

“Sun’ll kill me,” Mr. Murdock deadpanned.

“I thought so too, but it’s not so bad,” Sam said. “I miss the snow sometimes.”

Mr. Murdock cocked his head and then knelt down to take the sanding block out of Sam’s hands. He gestured for Sam to give him the hunk of wood in his hands, too.

“Matty says you don’t got papers,” he said.

Sam was surprised. Matt usually kept that secret locked tight. But Mr. Murdock didn’t seem to have any adverse reaction to it.

“No,” Sam admitted. “My mom brought me here when I was really little. I didn’t know what it meant to overstay a visa.”

Mr. Murdock hummed.

“Makes flying tricky,” he said.

Yeah.

“Bus, not too bad, though?”

Mm. Bus was better, yes.

“Train?”

Depended on the train.

“Hm. Well, if you get homesick or need busfare, you just give a shout, ya hear? You’re always welcome to stay with us.”

Aww.

“Or if you really hate yourself, I’m sure Mike would love to come pick you up.”

Oh god.

“He can drive?” Sam asked.

Mr. Murdock paused and held his face in his dusty palm.

“The day he got his license was the worst day of my life,” he said.

Sam snickered.

“Did you guys drive all the way here?” he asked.

“No, thank god.”

“Can you drive?”

“Son.”

Sam looked up from the block of wood into Mr. Murdock’s hazel eyes.

“I take two steps out of New York and I’m gone, that’s me dead. No, I don’t drive. Why the hell would I drive? Where the hell am I goin’?”

Wow, mood.

“I tried to drive once,” Sam said. “Reversed into a fire hydrant. Matt laughed so hard he cried.”

Mr. Murdock handed back the woodblock. It was much smoother than it had been. Sam was chocking that up to the muscles and the practice.

 ---

 Matt and Mike got home and Mike announced that he was disowning that ‘putrid being’ that was the Swamp Monster beside him. Matt told Mr. Murdock that Mike didn’t approve of the swimming part of triathlon.

Mr. Murdock picked leaves out of his hair with supreme patience.

 ---

 “So Dad’s officially decided that you’re his grandson,” Mike informed Sam out of nowhere that Sunday. “He prayed for you at church today.”

Sam almost dropped his wrench. That was so endearing his teeth hurt.

“It’s ‘cause I do woodwork,” he said. “He can smell the handyman on me.”

Mike cocked his head to the side. His eyes were blue like Matt’s. Their mom must have had blue eyes—or maybe hazel like Mr. Murdock’s.

“No,” Mike said. “It’s ‘cause he’s also been a grocery bagger, a janitor, and a contractor.”

He what now?

“He wants to know why you aren’t in college.”

Oh. well—

“Matt tried to explain, but you know, it ain’t clickin’. He don’t get the politics part of things sometimes. Gets confused why people make such a big deal when there’s obvious solutions in front of ‘em. It’s not all his fault, he barely got a highschool diploma back when ‘critical thinking’ wasn’t even a testing category. Anyways, he wants you to go to college. Thinks you’re too smart to be pushin’ paper.”

Sam was going to cry.

“I think he sees a lot of Matt in you,” Mike said with a squint. “So just as a warning, he’s unbearable. Always—well, no. More like 95% of the year. He’s alright around New Years when he’s tired. You can tell him to fuck off at any time, though.”

No, no. It was okay. It was nice to have…more family. That’s what it was.

“I hope you know what this means, Samuel,” Mike said.

Mmm no?

Mike’s hand clasped his shoulder.

“You can call me ‘uncle,’” he said.

Ah.

No, thanks.

 ---

 Foggy and Kirsten couldn’t look at Sam without bursting into merciless laughter, which Sam had realized was a result of Mike’s vocal distress at his rejected offer of uncle-dom. Sam didn’t know what to tell him.

Mr. Murdock was nice. Enormous, yes, but very well meaning and gentle. His and Sam’s priorities and experience in life aligned neatly and Sam was slightly charmed by the way that he expressed himself verbally only to Matt and Mike.

Sam also didn’t hate Mike. He just didn’t want him to have uncle privileges. He didn’t see what was difficult about this.

“Mike’s got a history of rejection,” Foggy said. “And by that, I mean that every woman on the eastern seaboard has rejected him and he tries anyways.”

 ---

 Matt came downstairs and told Sam to ignore everything Mike said to him all day. He also said that they were going out that night, so don’t burn fingers on the soldering iron.

Sam saluted in acknowledgement.

Forty minutes later there was a rap at his door followed by Mike saying through it that he wanted to show Sam something.

Sam did not open the door.

He heard Matt’s name being cursed on the other side.

 ---

 Twenty minutes later there was another knock, this time with Mike saying that Mr. Murdock wanted to bond with Sam.

Sam nudged open his curtains and squinted hard into the backyard where he could see the vague shape of Matt chatting to his dad on the deck stairs, both apparently having a beer and shooting the shit.

This was a scam.

Sam would not be scammed.

He went back to the suit.

There was more cursing outside the door.

 ---

 About half an hour later, there was a knock, followed by Mr. Murdock’s voice this time, asking Sam if his shoes were supposed to be on the front porch.

They were not.

This was playing dirty.

Sam ventured out to go right this wrong and ended up outside on the front porch with the conman himself. Mike closed the door after him triumphantly and proceeded to get them both locked out.

“Are you supposed to be a good conman or?” Sam asked.

Mike gaped at him.

“The best conman,” he said. “Don’t worry, kid, I’ve broken into a thousand houses and won two horses. I’ve got this.”

That was not comforting. Sam was not comforted.

“First, we gotta test all the windows, and, failing that, we get a rock or a gun,” Mike told him with a knowing finger.

Sam blinked at it and then up at Mike. The man’s shoulders twitched.

“Uh?” Mike said.

Ah. The eyes. No contacts today.

“Do you like them? They’re Prada,” Sam said to absolute silence.

“A brick,” Mike announced abruptly. “A brick works too. Like a rock but bigger.”

Okay, so they weren’t talking about it, gotcha. Look, a whole family’s worth of repression styles. Sam was glad that they had a full set of methods.

 ---

 Sam broke into his own bedroom through the window. Mike clapped for him outside. Sam opted to leave him there.

 ---

 He was sort of sad to see the Murdocks go, especially after seeing the effect that the most senior of them had on Matt.

Sam hadn’t seen him this chilled out. He visibly relaxed under his dad’s hand on the back of his neck. He tolerated the fussing and constant hair fixing and the fingers brushing at his cheeks and elbows. Mr. Murdock guided him with the same practiced ease that Foggy and Kirsten did, but his guiding was accompanied by a quiet, ongoing commentary about the street around them, which Sam hadn’t actually heard Foggy do in the same kind of way.

It was like Mr. Murdock was telling Matt a story everywhere they went.

He told him when there were flags hanging up a story above, waving in the wind. He told him about the hanging wire baskets of flowers that Sam forgot about. He huffed a bit while he talked about lines of traffic in the street and a vast lack of color in the group due to the absence of so many yellow cabs.

Mr. Murdock of course, had been Matt’s first ever guide. It only made sense that he had a specialized style of it, just for Matt.

And for Matt’s sake, Sam didn’t want him to go, but alas, New Yorkers, man. The city called them back to the coast like a siren.

“You take it easy, y’hear, kiddo?” Mr. Murdock told him at the airport.

Sam smiled and said that he’d try.

“Take care of yourself. I mean that. Out at night too.”

Copy that, big guy.

“Give us a hug.”

Oh??? A hug??? Sam loved hugs. Hugs were great. He was—er. Leaving this one with double the ribs from the cracks apparently.

Mr. Murdock released him to go break Matt in half and then Foggy and then Kirsten. Mike told him that he couldn’t avoid flying again by hugging people. He also warned Kirsten that he’d see her soon and that then, she was sure to fall for his charms.

Kirsten said that she would be waiting with bated breath, and then that was it. Three Murdocks again whittled down to one.

“God, I should have married your dad,” Foggy moaned.

Matt laughed at him.

“He’s plenty busy avoiding the gaze of every person over sixty in his building. Let him live,”  he said. “Sam? Not too traumatized, I hope?”

Mm. Not so bad.

“Are you sure Mike’s your brother?” he asked.

“Unfortunately.”

Too bad.

“It’s fine, if we ever need a guy to distract the police, we’ve got him on retainer.”

That was true.

“They’ll come back?” Sam asked.

Matt paused before feeling for his shoulder.

“Yeah,” he said. “Or we’ll go to them. I think you’d enjoy watching them in their natural environment.”

 -----------

Hope that’s something for you anon!! I also hope you feel better!

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One Good Turn ch. 5 [end]

[Read on AO3] | [First Chapter]  Rating: M Story summary: Angel’s clean streak is broken when Val forcibly calls him back to the studio. On principle (and not at all out of concern for Angel's wellbeing), Alastor takes it upon himself to free Angel from Valentino's control. But what started as a simple favor becomes something much more complicated, all because of an innocent thank-you kiss. Note: I did have another chapter planned for this story, but I’ve gotten so thoroughly invested in my Giardino Segreto AU that I don’t think I’ll ever get around to it. Besides, this isn’t a terrible place to leave off!

— — –

Angel’s back was pinned against the wall in the hotel’s abandoned excuse for a ballroom. The room was mostly dark, a little light from the setting sun bleeding in through dingy windows while he lazily observed one of his fellow patrons trying to make a move on him. The other demon was a little taller than Angel himself, a little broader, and he used his extra bit of height to his advantage, leaning forward against the wall to bear down on Angel.

“You talk a pretty big game, sweet thing.” His name was some kind of music joke: Jazz or Ska or House or some shit. “I’d sure like to see you put your money where your mouth is.”

“I can think of better things to put in my mouth,” Angel snickered. As the other demon grinned and reached up to pet his cheek, Angel slapped his hand away and went on, “But your dick ain’t one of ‘em. Fuck off and find someone else to bother.”

“Are you serious?” Maybe-Jazz growled. “You sit there makin’ offers all through Charlie’s sessions but you won’t follow through?”

“Offers? Please. Look, I ain’t serious about any of that shit; I’m sayin’ it to fuck with ya, not to actually fuck ya.” This wasn’t the first time he’d had to explain this over the past week or so, but truth be told, he was kind of enjoying having the freedom to say ‘no’ (not that his sex drive wasn’t as strong as ever, but he’d gotten pickier about who he was willing to spend it on—a lot pickier).

“Well I’m not into being teased, so maybe you better reconsider.” Jazz snaked an arm around Angel’s waist, incorrectly thinking this was a situation he could brute-force his way through. As if his vague bullshit threats were anything compared to what Angel had been through in the past.

Cute. His body moved almost by reflex, one hand grabbing Jazz’s shirt to reverse their positions and shove him back against the wall. His other hands reached into his jacket and drew out a matching set of three pistols, pressing one to Jazz’s temple, one to his chest, and aiming the last at his crotch.

“Which trigger should I pull first, ya think?” Angel asked casually, enjoying the shocked and disarmed look on the other demon’s face. “You could probably live without your balls, but I feel like you don’t get much use outta your brain, either.”

“Hey, cool it,” Jazz grumbled, raising his hands in surrender. “You know killin’ me’d set back your redemption plan pretty far.”

“Ha! You must not know me very well, sweet thing. I’m a backslider from way back; wouldn’t be the first time my virtues got a little blurry.” After another moment of enjoying the tension, he released the other demon’s shirt and took a step back. “But fuckin’ you up isn’t worth listenin’ to Charlie gripe. So how ‘bout you get the hell outta my face and we call it even?”

“Fine. Shit.” With a bitter, disappointed glance in Angel’s direction, Jazz shoved his hands in his pockets and stalked out of the room. Angel twirled his guns once before tucking them back into his jacket. He was just in such a good goddamn mood lately, and he didn’t have to wonder why; true to Alastor’s word, none of Val’s guys had shown up at the hotel since their little ‘chat,’ leaving Angel free to enjoy his independence and sexuality—or lack thereof!—whatever way he chose. Since he’d been working for Val so long, it was refreshing to be back in control of himself now. And he hadn’t forgotten for even a second who he had to thank for it.

Alastor had been acting a little weird since then, though. Looking at him funny, not responding to his playful flirting right, and then there was that word—cher—he’d started using. Angel might not have the best grasp of French, but he was pretty sure he recognized that term. Enough to know what it meant but not what it meant.

As he strolled out of the ballroom Jazz had dragged him into without warning, he found Alastor standing outside, clutching his staff tightly in both hands. “Angel,” he said a little too cheerfully. “How are you? I thought…well, I could’ve been wrong. It sounded like you and Jazz had a bit of a disagreement.”

“Is there anything in the hotel you don’t hear?” Angel tried hard not to think about how many times he’d moaned the Radio Demon’s name into his pillow over the past few nights.

“Not much.” Alastor’s default expression didn’t shift in the slightest. It wasn’t easy, but Angel was making a point of learning to tell one smile from another. How else would he ever learn to read the cryptic bastard? “But you look fine. I suppose you took care of it.”

“Y’know, it’s pretty cute, you gettin’ all protective,” Angel said with a knowing grin, “but don’t start thinkin’ I can’t handle myself with jerk-offs like him. I’m not gonna ask you to step in for me again any time soon, don’t worry.”

“Right. Of course! No, I know you’re perfectly capable of defending yourself.” He was doing it again, getting all awkward and distant for no reason, avoiding Angel’s eyes, his usual smooth attitude stuttering a little.

Angel Dust had never been much good at quiet contemplation or impulse control, so instead of keeping his concerns to himself and giving Alastor space, he asked directly, “What’s goin’ on with you?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Bullshit. Don’t act like you haven’t been lookin’ at me different since you got back from Val’s place.” Or maybe it was the kiss. “You act like you’re happy to see me, you start talkin’ to me like normal, then you clam up all of a sudden and run off. You were always a little weird, but you’re weirder lately, and I feel like it’s got somethin’ to do with me.”

It bothered him more than he wanted to admit to think that Alastor was mad at him or something. Despite his best efforts at resisting, Angel had developed a sort of attachment to him, weirdness and all. Maybe out of gratitude. Maybe something else. He already knew better than to expect Alastor would ever start feeling something similar about him, but he’d thought they were at least on some kind of friendly terms.

The Radio Demon was silent and still for just a moment too long, and Angel let out a frustrated sigh, throwing up his hands and starting past him toward the elevator—but Alastor caught his hand to stop him.

“If anything I’ve done has made you feel like you’re in the wrong, I’m sorry,” he said plainly. “I’ve been keeping my distance while I decided how to talk to you about this. And, obviously, I haven’t had any luck. Now might be as good a time as any.”

“For what? What d’you want to talk about?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Alastor seemed to realize he was still holding Angel’s hand and released it. “I’d rather have the conversation in private, if you don’t mind. We could use one of the conference rooms or—”

“Isn’t your room closer?” Angel asked, raising his eyebrows, and Al’s throat constricted with a reflexive gulp.

“Yes. That’s also fine. If you like.” He turned on his heel to lead the way down the hall to room 313, then held the door open and gestured for Angel to go ahead. The room was surprisingly minimalist, not reflecting the beaucoups of personality that showed every time Alastor opened his mouth. But that was better than the hellish horrors some other Overlords might decorate with.

“So what’s the deal?” Angel’s instinct was to seat himself on the bed, but he resisted it, not wanting Alastor to think he was being pushy.

“The question seems simple enough, doesn’t it? Yet as hard as I’ve tried, I can’t seem to answer it as clearly or eloquently as I’d like. That’s part of the reason I haven’t mentioned it to you; I felt there was no point bringing it up until I actually had something to say.”

“Funny. Most times, it’s a lot harder to make you stop talkin’.”

“Believe me, I know exactly how unusual this is,” Alastor sighed, releasing his staff and letting it vanish, “which is most likely why it’s been so difficult for me to form it into a complete, polished statement.”

“Give it to me messy, then.” Seeing how rigid Alastor had gone, Angel winced and tried again. Sometimes his mouth just formed innuendos without any effort on his part. “I’m sayin’ I don’t need it to be super-organized and flawless. Just tell me what you’re thinkin’.”

The Radio Demon took a deep breath and, without looking anywhere near Angel, confessed, “I want…you. That’s the clearest way I can think to say it.” He wrinkled his nose and shook his head, obviously frustrated with how inelegant the words were. But they were enough to hold Angel’s attention regardless.

“Oh.” He was about to ask Alastor to elaborate but quickly realized that was the part he was having trouble with. So he asked a different question. “When’d that start?”

“Roughly twenty-four seconds after you kissed me,” Alastor said matter-of-factly.

“After? So that’s not why you helped me with Val?”

“No. I don’t think so, at least. And I didn’t want you thinking so, either. But then—” He choked out a laugh. “I don’t have a definitive answer for why I did that, either, so maybe I’m fooling myself. It’s hard to say.”

“Well, if you can’t tell me what ya want, it’ll be awful hard for me to give it to ya.”

Red eyes lingered on Angel’s lips, and Alastor wet his own. “But you’re willing to agree, just like that? Without even knowing what I’m asking for?”

“Al, I’m gonna be totally honest with you,” Angel said, drawing closer and bending down a little to meet his gaze. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a little bit of a freak. I figured I was wastin’ my time, thinkin’ about gettin’ with you—”

“You’ve been thinking about that, have you?”

“—but I’m pretty sure whatever you wanna do with my body, I’ll enjoy it,” he went on, draping his arms over Alastor’s shoulders, not missing the shiver that went through the Overlord’s body. “I trust you.”

Those were apparently the magic words; Alastor’s eyes widened, and he dragged Angel into a firm kiss. And he participated much more actively this time! He slid one hand into Angel’s hair to draw him downward, forcing his posture to bend, but he was too absorbed in the experience to be bothered.

It all seemed to happen much slower than he expected. Alastor’s tongue traced his lips, stealing his breath, then slipped inside, everything soft and wet and warm. Even as Angel pressed in closer, arms tightening around Alastor’s shoulders and waist, Al refused to let him take things any faster. It seemed like he was intent on exploring every inch of Angel’s mouth in his own time, and—God—his tongue was longer than expected. When Alastor moaned into his mouth, Angel’s heart practically stopped, and he forced himself to break away for a breath.

“Fuck,” he muttered, hanging off Al for stability.

“That’s a nice sound, cher,” the Radio Demon purred, allowing his free arm to wrap around Angel’s slender waist and hold him close. “I wonder what it would take to hear more of it.”

“Uh. My voice?” Angel asked, embarrassed at how turned on he’d gotten from just one kiss (albeit a very deep, very thorough kiss).

“That’s right. I know for sure that I want that. The question is how to go about getting it.” Using the grip in his hair, he turned Angel toward him for another kiss, one every bit as hot and intense as the first, and Angel found himself moaning softly with every breath from having his mouth full. How ironic that someone so indifferent about sex could excite him with hardly any effort. But after so long doing without, every little bit of pleasurable friction made him eager for more. If this is his first time, is he feeling all that too?

“H-hang on,” he whimpered, reluctantly pushing Alastor away so he could catch a breath. “You probably can’t hear me really well if my mouth’s covered.”

“Fair point.” Al grabbed his wrist and dragged him over to the bed, then pushed him forward to kneel on the mattress. Stepping in close behind him, Alastor wrapped both arms around his waist, chest pressed to Angel’s back. With Angel on his knees, Alastor’s mouth was at just the right level to meet his neck, lips and tongue and teeth teasing to send hot shivers down his spine.

“That’s…nice, baby,” Angel sighed, and he could feel Alastor tense up behind him. “What? Somethin’ wrong?”

“I don’t care to be called that,” the Radio Demon said plainly. “Try again, cher.”

“Oh. Well, what d’ya like, then?” Angel was struggling to focus on talking as Al easily unbuttoned his jacket and stripped it off him to toss it to the floor. So much for shyness! He knew some part of what he wanted, clearly.

“Surprise me,” Alastor chuckled. “Something unique. Something you wouldn’t use for anyone else.”

“Okay. How ‘bout, uh, dear?” That one was a lot more wholesome than he was used to.

Al laughed against his skin. “Yes, that seems appropriate.” His hands drifted down to unbutton Angel’s shorts, drawing a breathless moan from his lips.

“Alastor…”

“Simple, but I’m surprised at how much I enjoy hearing it.” As he talked, casual as could be, he slid his hand down the front of Angel’s shorts to tease a desperate whine from his lips.

“Y-y’know, you’re makin’ this…kinda hard for me, honey,” he moaned, cheeks flushing with heat. There was another term he didn’t use often. It always felt too sweet, too familiar to call a stranger. But of course, Alastor didn’t fall into that category anymore.

“Oh, I like that very much, cher,” he purred, his hand meeting Angel’s bare skin without any sense of reservation or discomfort. Angel whined and writhed, embarrassed at how hard he’d gotten already but not trying to escape.

“Hang on. Lemme…do somethin’ for you too.” He tried reaching back with his free hands to grope between Alastor’s legs—but the Radio Demon moved away before he could.

“That’s not necessary.” The shadows in the room came to life and bound Angel’s wrists in front of him so he couldn’t reach. With a snap of Alastor’s fingers, the room went utterly pitch black, forcing Angel to feel everything else even more. It seemed unfair that with hardly any experience, he was still doing everything just right. “If you want to please me, speak to me, moan for me—sing for me if you like. I can promise no one else will hear. And I intend to keep it that way.”

So there was a little possessiveness in him somewhere. Not that Angel minded. Even if it wasn’t the same kind of sex he was used to having, he was still 100% engaged and eager to do whatever he could to make it good for his partner too. He moaned wantonly, trying and failing to keep his hips still, dropping his head back against Alastor’s shoulder just to be closer to him. The Radio Demon chuckled at his enthusiasm and nibbled along his neck, sharp teeth deliciously dangerous against soft skin.

“Harder,” Angel whispered, and he obliged without hesitation, biting down hard enough that Angel was sure he would have a bruise—but he still wasn’t satisfied. “I said harder, honey.”

Alastor hummed his approval and sank his teeth viciously into Angel’s neck, the force enough to buckle his knees. Good thing he was kneeling already. Al made a point of lapping up whatever blood he’d spilled, even gathering a few stray drops with his fingers and licking it off. Meaning that when his hand slid between Angel’s legs again, it was slick and wet, enough to pull a shocked cry of pleasure from his lips.

“I didn’t…I really didn’t expect you to be this good,” he laughed shakily.

“No? What did you expect?” Alastor’s other hand slid up the curve of his waist and into the thick fur of his chest to banish any space between them. “I’m curious, chéri: what have you been imagining?”

“Well. I figured you’d be kinda…forceful like this,” Angel answered, trying to distract himself from the slow strokes on his heated flesh, the way Alastor’s fingertips seemed to be mapping out every curve of his body. So calm, so thorough, and shockingly effective. “But, uh…I dunno, maybe a little clumsy? So much for that.” It was also surprising him how difficult holding a conversation was; normally guys weren’t interested in talking to him, especially in bed.

“Why bother doing a thing if you aren’t going to do it well, that’s what I always say.” Alastor took his hand away, and Angel almost whined, almost begged him to keep going—but his breath caught as something else curled around his erection, something slender and flexible like a… Like a shadow tentacle, he realized. Holy shit. The Radio Demon was apparently kinkier than he let on, but Angel could hardly complain when it all felt so good.

As his body was burning up and he was really losing track of his breath, he rested his head back against Alastor’s shoulder and turned to murmur into his ear. “Will you, uh, kiss me again?”

“Hmm. You like having your mouth full that much?” Al teased, and a shiver of hot embarrassment (and something else) rushed through Angel’s stomach.

“Well, I”—he swallowed hard—“I like when it’s your tongue.”

Alastor let out a low groan and held him even tighter. “Whatever you need, chéri.” One of his hands found its way into Angel’s hair again, and this time his kiss was brutal, bruising, urgent. Perfect. But he was no slouch at multitasking, his shadow magic just as precise and attentive as his hand was, and all this friction between Angel’s legs and lips was driving him out of his mind.

Remembering what Al had said about wanting to hear him, he didn’t bother stifling his moans, not for a second, his pitch and volume rising every moment that Alastor toyed with him. Fuck, it’s so hot. I can’t handle it! I… He could hardly even keep his own thoughts straight, too lost in feeling every single second of this, getting closer and closer until his willpower finally broke and he came with a breathy scream. His instinct was to pull away to catch his breath, but Alastor kept him trapped, apparently content to swallow every deep, desperate whimper that slipped out of his lips as he rode out his orgasm.

Eventually, after several more seconds of enjoying his mouth, Alastor drew away and let him gasp for air but still refused to allow any space between them. He even nuzzled his lips slowly against Angel’s neck, and a different, totally non-sexual warmth flooded through him. “That…that was… Uh, wow,” he laughed, and Alastor snickered along with him.

“Good to know my ‘weirdness about sex’ didn’t ruin it for you.”

“No way. It was better,” Angel told him without thinking. “Maybe just cuz it was you.”

“Ahem!” He could imagine Alastor’s bashful smile, which was very slightly different from his nervous smile or his apprehensive one.

“So?” Angel shifted carefully to sit up, tugging at the bonds still holding his wrists. “You gonna let me spend the night or…?”

“Let you? I would be bothered if you didn’t. Besides.” With another snap of Alastor’s fingers, a lamp in the corner glowed to life, casting soft red light across the room. Shouldn’t that be creepy? Unnerving? Angel felt totally comfortable. “I think you’d find it difficult to get upstairs in your state.” To illustrate, he pushed Angel forward lightly, and he easily collapsed against the bed, shaky now that he was no longer being supported.

“Twist my arm, why don’t ya,” he answered, wriggling out of his shorts and kicking them, along with his boots, to the floor.

“Oh, is that something else you enjoy? I’ll keep it in mind.” After stripping out of his coat and hanging it in the closet, Alastor unfastened his cuffs and unbuttoned his shirt a little, then came to crawl into bed still mostly dressed. Angel decided not to question it; if that was how he was comfortable, then fine. When he noticed Angel’s shaking wasn’t stopping, he tilted his head to one side and asked, “Is something wrong?”

“No, no.” Angel tried to still himself, hoping not to ruin the mood after everything had gone so well. “I’m fine. Just…tryna calm down.” That was a pretty intense session, after all, so his body and mind were still a little overwhelmed.

“I see.” Moving slightly closer without touching him, Alastor instead asked, “Would you like to be near me while you do so?”

His reflexive and honest answer was yes, please—but he hesitated to speak it, not wanting to come off clingy or weak. “I mean, you don’t hafta do that. If you gimme a couple minutes, I’ll—”

“You aren’t answering my question, cher,” Alastor pointed out, very carefully brushing his thumb over Angel’s cheek. Even that tiny bit of gentle affection was a huge comfort after so much intensity. Angel’s resistance quickly broke.

“Yeah. I would.” He wriggled a little closer under the covers to put himself in Alastor’s arms, and the Radio Demon held him without question, stroking his hair and humming to him softly while he slowly relaxed. So weird. So different. But different in a way Angel could definitely see himself getting used to. “You better be careful, honey. Keep bein’ this nice to me and I might start gettin’ confused about what you actually want here.”

“That would make two of us,” Alastor answered quietly. But he didn’t back away, didn’t get uncomfortable, didn’t kick Angel out of his bed. He didn’t make any effort to insist that this was just about sex (since it obviously wasn’t) or that Angel shouldn’t get his hopes up for anything more. Which was a good thing, because as he leaned down for another kiss—slow and soft this time—Angel’s hopes were rising higher and higher all the time. How long had it been since he’d felt hopeful about anything? He wasn’t even sure what he expected to happen, but damn it: he’d forgotten how good it felt to believe in something. 

[boogiewrites]

Choking On Sapphires 90

Characters: Alfie Solomons x Genevieve (OFC)

Title & Song: Right Back Where We Started From

Summary: Genevieve has her Bat Mitzah, a grand celebration with everyone important to her. But Alfie uses the opportunity to turn the already memorable night into something she'll never forget. Song is Maxine Nightingale - Right Back Where We Started From

Warnings/Tags: FLUFF. Bat Mitzvah. LOTS OF FEELINGS. A LOOOOONG awaited chapter. 

Click on my icon then go to my Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. (Had to do this since Tumblr killed links, sorry.) Please like, comment and reblog if you enjoyed it! It helps out us writers A LOT!

Another Shabbat passes and Genevieve finds herself becoming more and more preoccupied with the planning of her bat mitzvah ceremony. Although simple compared to a traditional bar mitzvah, as she didn’t want to ruffle any feathers with the orthodox and read from the Torah, she still had plenty to plan and worry about. Currently, the location being the biggest concern.

another sigh escapes her, Alfie had lost count of how many now. She hurriedly flipped through the notebook she’d been using to lay out her plans. The little leather-bound book hadn’t left her side for weeks. It was full of speech bullet points and notes for her chosen subject to speak about but she was currently stuck on the list of places left she could choose from. The options were dwindling by the day as they became booked. Every night Alfie would watch her tap her pen on the top line, a sad limp mark through her first pick for where to have her ceremony and party, but she’d been declined.

But he was always the close observer and decided to try his hand at giving her an early bat mitzvah gift. The first of many to come.

“Ya gonna bore a hole in ‘at if ya keep tappin' at it so.” He remarks with glasses sliding down his nose as he side-eyed her from his reclined position.

“I’m feeling so very indecisive about the location.” She sighed out frantically for the umpteenth time that evening. “I have everything else I want but...nothing feels RIGHT.” She clenches a theatrical fist in her conviction.

“You aren’t used to being told no.” He states it as the fact it is.

“I’m afraid I am entirely serious.” She retorts with a frown. “I have full power to customize this but the one thing I want I cannot have. It’s frustrating when this means so much to me.” Her face was round and pouting, pursed lips he thought were rather soft and precious when she was angry.

“I know love, I know. But ya can have whatever you like really. Just gotta know how to get it.” He gives her a pat to her knee in support.

“You would think with how much I’m paying for all this.” She huffs. “This is on par with one of my birthday parties.” She reflects. “Good thing we skipped that this year.” She grumbles. “I’m so perplexed. I’m paying for all this to not get what I actually want.”

“You’re paying for everythin'?” He challenges with an out of place smile.

Gen gives him a look that judges his intellect. “Yes, clearly. I haven’t asked you for so much as a pound have I?”

“I wish someone had told me this before I went and paid for the venue then. Shame, that.” He shakes his head.

“Alfie. I haven’t chosen. My word, have you not been listening at all?”

“You have chosen though. You wanted the museum.”

“And they told me no.” She responds with flushed cheeks. “Repeatedly.” she lets out a frustrated whine.

“Well, I wish someone had informed me of that before I paid for the bloody thing.” He responds to her blustery rant with a confusing indifference.

“Alfie? Are you okay? Are you smelling oranges dear because you are making no sense.” She places the back of her hand to his head.

“I’m makin' perfect sense if you’d just calm down and listen.” He chuckles.

“You said for the museum.” She states again. “But it’s not available.” She insists.

“Say that first part again. Forget the last.” He instructs with high brows as he sets his book aside. The poor thing was so distraught over her rejection she couldn’t see he was handing her the answer to her problems.

“You paid for the museum.” She rushes out.

“Yeah. And again. Slow it down pet, think of the words.” He keeps a fully amused look on his face.

“You paid for the museum.” She repeats slowly. “But…?” Her brows furrowed in question.

“I paid for the museum. For you to have the bat mitzvah ceremony there, love. I asked them and with a bit of persuasion, they said yes. You’re gonna have the museum.” He has to clarify in basic terms for her rapid-fire brain to grasp onto.

She blinks in a rush of realization. “You got the..?” She stammers.

“You have your heart set on it and I was tired of watching you lament every night about not getting it. This is important and I want it to be as close to perfect as it can for ya.”

“You…?” She whispers.

“Yes. With some exhortation, I managed to talk them into it.”

“You…?” She stammers again.

“Oui.” He lets out a laugh this time. “dois-je le dire en français pour que vous compreniez?”

“Oh Alfie, darling.” She coos, one hand to her chest and the other to his cheek.

“That’s more like it.” He smirks, reaching to hold her hand and kiss it.

“Oh bless you Alfie, you thoughtful man.”

“Nah. I just pay attention’s all. Not gonna let me own woman not have the bat mitzvah she wants. What sort of man would I be?”

“You wouldn’t be Alfie Solomons.” She smirks softly and kisses his cheek.

“Fuckin right love” he grunts and nods.

She chuckles against his cheek. “Oh, darling you’ve made me so happy.” She coos and nuzzles her nose into his ear. “Shall have to start calling you, Sweet Solomons.” She grins and kisses his cheek.

“Oh go on Genny.” He puts on a mean face but soaks up the affection. With her hands in his beard and hair, she turns his face to hers.

“Thank you. I love you. This means the world to me, darling.”

“I’m glad you’re happy.”

“And all because of you.”

“Was nothin'.”

“And modest! My goodness!” She chuckles and squeezes his cheeks, giving him a soft and affectionate kiss to his pouted lips.

“Man's gotta have his values.”

“Even a man like you.” She kisses him again and speaks softly.

“Even me.” He answers in a muffled voice before she takes her time, slow kisses to his plush lips that make him hum with content.

————-

Gen stood tall on her pedestal in her closet, Freddie tending to the last minute adjustments for the embellished gown he’d created for her.

“These stones are being little buggers.” He mutters, keeping his thin face focused on the hem of the silk and beaded gown. It fell to the floor in a pearlescent puddle around her feet, Sheer little sleeves and a silver hue throughout that made her skin and hair stand out against its paleness.

“I can’t say enough good fings bout it, Fred.” Alfie captures their attention as he comes in freshly showered, slicked and perfumed with his trousers and white shirt on.

“You could try.” He smirks and Alfies face is kind and amused. The dress fit her like a glove, a band of embellishment around her waist and everything loose and flowing around her, she looked like an angel. He wasn’t one to get emotional about such things but perhaps the significance of the occasion was wearing the old boy down. He’d heard Gen practicing her speech, speaking of growth and change and finding meaning in the chaos of life and perhaps he was swayed to reflect himself. Tonight was a rather important night for both of them.

“Would you think it brash of me to suggest some pieces for you to wear with this, Chanah?” Her only been calling her by her given name all day and Gen couldn’t find it in herself to mind. She watches him looking through the glass-topped drawers at her collection of jewels.

“As long as I retain the right to turn them down, Certainly no.” She gives him a warm smile as she stays still for the sake of Fred’s sanity.

“‘Course.” He says obviously with his usually gruff tone. “I only had suggestions. I saw that dress and thought of certain pieces as soon as my eyes took it in.” He elaborates with a shaking hand as he moves about the circular space and collects pieces in his hands.

“I think that has it for now. I’ll have my kit with me all night. Won't have you looking a bead out of place if I can help it. Tonight’s too important. You’ll have photographs and I refuse to have you look anything short of angelic.” Freddie speaks with a pointed finger as he gathers a small satchel with beads, stones, and thread.

“It is gorgeous and it will be perfect. Thank you, Cheri.”

“Don’t make me cry just yet.” He protests with an exasperated voice as she takes his hand and kisses it.

“Not yet.” She shakes her head and pats his hand before releasing it.

“I’m off to change. I’ll be at the door waiting for you for the last check before your entry.”

“Lovely.” She says softly as she runs her hands down the textured surface of the gown.

Distracted, Fred has a whirling list of things to do in a short amount of time and is muttering to himself as he leaves.

“He’s a mess, bless him. He doesn’t handle sentimental occasions very gracefully.” Gen observes with a fond by pitying expression.

“He has a lot of heart, that Fred.” Alfie nods and agrees. “But I wanted to speak of yours while we had a moment, love.” His voice is cool and even, demanding her to him as he holds out his hand and she steps off the raised platform.

“What of it Ari?” She implores with inquisitive eyes.

“I wanted to give some significance tonight to what you wore. Jewels wise. I wanted to bring a bit of me into the ensemble. Even if it is a bit of a prick thing to say on such an occasion now that I say it out loud.”

Genevieve smiles and insists he’s incorrect with a shaking head, her long hair cascading down her shoulders. “Don’t be silly. You were so crucial in getting to this point. I value your input so please share.” She holds both his hands in hers and gives them a squeeze.

“As you wish, my love.” He gives her a rather formal nod and turns to start with one piece. “I would like to first recommend Sapphires for such an occasion.” Be announces loudly as if he were presenting to a group, But only Genevieve was in his company. “I believe your favorite stone, Yeah?” She nods with a gentle smile as he brings forth a ring she knows well. “I would suggest this first.” He puts the ring onto her finger and holds her hand, the warmth was felt not only through his skin but in the mild crinkle around his eyes as he spoke. “You wore this the first night you accompanied me out. I couldn’t make up me mind if I wanted to stare at you or your jewels and that is sayin’ somethin’ Both for your taste and your beauty, love.”

She leans forward to kiss his cheek and gives him a smile that disarms him as her soft hands rub against his hardened ones. “I’ll always remember that night.” She speaks softly. “Lovely choice.” She praises.

“And ‘is. A bit farther down the line.” He holds the long and weighted large sapphire stone encased in a halo of tiny diamonds. “You wore this the night I took you to the opera.”

“The night I cried like a baby at the show.” She huffs out a laugh to herself.

“The night I found myself truly mesmerized by you, love. Such softness under that wild exterior. Like a weeping angel, you were, yeah?” He gives a gentle pat to her cheek and she nuzzles into it with a soft kiss. “The last. So far the most important.” He begins with the teardrop Sapphires earrings that dangle from Diamond studs. “Our trip to Paris.” He says with a fond nostalgia in his voice. He puts them on her with strong and steady hands. “My promise to never make you cry real tears, only those of stone.” He pauses and takes her hands again. “I’ve not kept that promise I’m afraid.” He frowns.

“We cannot know the future Ari. As badly as we might want to. You know anything that caused me to shed tears that you caused is forgiven. You’ve only ever had my best interests at heart. That’s worth more than the mere falling of tears.” She squeezes his hands and he nods, not fighting her on it and deeply Proud of her understanding of him and their life together. “I recall it as the best time I’ve ever had with a man in Paris. When we told one another we loved the other.” She speaks softly from the heart and puts her hand to his cheek. “Where we danced by the Seine and played pretend like children to be married.” She sighs, her eyes misty at the fond memories.

“Oi, I recall. You becomin' my real-life fantasy of Lily Lafitte.” He gives her a soft smile.

“The only man I’ve ever introduced to uncle as well.” She adds with a nod of her chin.

“Speak of the Devil,” He smirks, “He and your mum will be there today.”

“Really?” Her band drops to his chest and her eyes go wide. “Mother wasn’t sure if she’d be able to, What with George being difficult with her leaving.”

“I believe a promise from Altar Lafitte when I hear it. He and Alma will be here this evening.”

“Oh, Ari.”She tears up and wraps her arms around his neck. “You’ve made everything so perfect already. I’ll be owing you after tonight.” She teases and kisses his cheek.

“It’s nothin if it’s to make you happy Chanah. You know within reason and reality I’d do anyfin' to make you so, yeah?”

“You lovey gentleman. You absolute mensch.” She nuzzles her nose against his. “I couldn’t think of a single thing you could do to make me happier tonight.” She whispers as she kisses him gently.

“There’s always somethin', Chanah.” He smiles and kisses her cheek innocently. “Always more I can do for a woman like you.”

—————

Her entrance was dramatic with musical accompaniment in the grand style she was known for. The lights hitting her gown just right in the golden hour as she ascended the decorated stone steps.  Alfie stood in her shadow and watched as she was received by every sort of Jewish folk in London. Altar brought a few of the French family members and the east end roughians that worked for Alfie got to stay as long as they behaved. The posh wealth were in attendance as well, some out of good wishes and some to see if things would fall apart, either was fine with Alfie if they were giving her money.

Her art of religious text was spotted throughout the room, some for sale and others just for show. Flowers cascaded over columns and tables as the smell of lavender filled the air with their pastel palette warmed by late summer heat. The tall room with its giant windows and painted ceiling were a perfect setting to the important ceremony, stained glass cascading down jewel-toned light as the sun set and Genevieve became a woman.

After being greeted with loud hugs and kisses by some she hadn’t seen since she was a child.  A beaming Altar and a weeping with joy Alma allow her to be pried from their grasp by Alfie who adjusts her jewels and tenderly asks if she’s ready.

Genevieve Chanah Lafitte was formally inducted into the community with a short but praising introduction by her mentor Rabbi Gold. She gave a beautiful speech, all tying back to her studies and Rabbi Golds teachings over the past year or so. She spoke of growth and change, of tradition and finding one’s place in the world. She ghosts over the bad, only mentioning she hasn’t had an easy sort of life. She tells tales of the good with a charming smile. She chooses to focus on her mitzvah project and how they would be continuing after tonight. The teaching of all religions, the scholarships for Jewish girls, the importance of health and education among the youth and women of the community that she was choosing to focus her efforts on. She told of when she was a young girl, lost and lonely, and how the Jewish community embraced her and gave her a life. Altar pretended he wasn’t crying but Alma fully embraces the emotion of the night. Genevieve ends with mentions of donating to her scholarship and the charities she works with, as well as thanking her closest friends and colleges, Freddie, Claire, Aggie and Alfie among them.

Then came the other speeches as she took her seat at the table with those loved ones she’d just thanked on the stage.

Altar boomed and demanded cheers, telling of knowing she was special from the moment he held her. How he could not be more proud of the woman she had become. Alma confesses this night was her most wild dreams coming true as she had always wanted her most special daughter to find her place in the world and know her people and where she came from. She cries and so does her daughter, emotional tears run in the family. Aggie gives a very short speech sharing the same sentiment as Alma, how she thought of her as her own daughter and as everyone else had, she expresses how proud she is. Claire, much to Gens surprise also speaks and keeps it brief as is her way of doing things. She gets as sentimental as Claire can, calling Gen not only a business partner but a life long friend and sister to her, and that she was looking forward to what the next thirty years brought for them. Fred threatens stories of her wild youth but refrains with a laugh. Calling her a friend and confidant and even if he wasn’t Jewish, he was glad to know there was a warm community to keep her while they lived so far apart. Then came Alfie.  

He had been preparing for this night for some time, a lifetime it felt now. He was so gifted at demanding the attention of a room he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to make a show of it all.  He stood straight, hands accompanying his endearment and his voice rich and deep and full of affection for the woman of the hour. “I know, as a man, that I am lucky to have a woman like Chanah. And I want you to know that us, as a people, are lucky to call her our own. She has the capacity for tenderness which astounds me every day. Especially with some of the lot she has to work with. I include myself in that. She is brilliant. Smart, fierce, funny and not as important but it is worth mentioning that she is rather easy on the eyes. I have no doubt she will be a pillar for our community. Through her words and actions she is everything a Jewish woman should aspire to be, educated, charitable and strong. A survivor, as we all are and continue to be. I am honored to have a part in her story that brought her to us. Although I will take no credit for any of her achievements. She was already successful when I met her and since she has only grown in leaps and bounds both personally and professionally. We are proud to call you ours, love. And I am even more proud to call a woman like you mine.”

Gen was holding it together, crying but not weeping as Alma currently was into Aggie's shoulder. Altar sat proud and impressed, watching Alfie kiss her cheek and her beam at him with love and admiration. With his hand in hers, he closes out with telling the room to donate, give gifts and eat and be merry. It was a joyous occasion and they’d paid enough for everything so make good use of it. His humor as always comes through and the crowd chuckles and moves, conversations floating about and food being eaten, wine drinking and money changing hands. Gen is embraced with warmth and love, hugs and kisses, thanks and congratulations from all who came across her. She was lost in a whirlwind of praises in English, Hebrew, and Yiddish and was proud to understand each one. Altar networks, as is his way and the women closest to her all huddle like hens and reflect on the hard work they all put in to make Gen who she is. The room is full of life and love and Gen feels full in a way she never had before. A feeling of belonging, of completion and family that made her heart so full it ached in her chest. As the crowd settles into its groups, laughter, and discussions all weaving in and out as she moved about the space, Alfie finds her and takes her hand to pull her from the praising current she was swept away in.

“Might I have ya back now?” He smiles. “I surrendered you to the mob and it seems they’ve all feasted on you enough for now.”

“When the wine kicks in it’ll start back up.” She chuckles and moves to his side without hesitation.

“How about we let them marinate in it then eh? We’ve got plenty to see away from them yeah? And I’d like a moment with you on a night like this. Call me greedy but I rather like Keeping you to myself.” He teases as they lock arms and move to the edge of the room towards some hard looking lads by a velvet rope. “Boys.” Alfie nods and one pulls the rope back.

“Are we allowed back here?” She whispers and looks over her shoulder.

“I got the whole bloody museum love. Just didn’t want no one wandering about, wanted you to have all the attention and have the whole place to yourself. Which is what those rather rough lads were doin' there.” He motions back with his hand as they walk into a dim hallway.

“Never been here with everything so dark. Almost spooky.” She gives a small giggle as her hands rest on his arm.

“I had them light candles for ya love. I thought it’d be interesting to see it in a different light.”

“It’s lovely daring thank you.” She coos at him softly.

“How’s about we go to France eh? Your favorite?”

“Yes please.” She nods enthusiastically.

Only their footsteps echoed as he guided her through the flickering light in the hallways, towards a brighter room that housed the paintings she loved most.

“Monet is the one you like so much innit? The one you’re always on about when you’re out by the pond painting?”

“Yes, I love his work. So dreamy.” She sighs as they round the corner to the room and she stops and stares at the state of the room. “Oh my God.” Alfie stops and lets her take it in. The entirety of Monet's Water Lillie’s in its massive form. But it wasn’t only that that caused her to blink with disbelief. “Alfie.” She exhales softly as her eyes widen and dilate at the splendor of the view around her. The long and tall Water Lillie’s sit center as smaller paintings take up the rest of the space on the walls, but what covered the rest of the usually white space were flowers. Of every pastel color and variation, all surrounding paintings of similar tones as if the colors were bleeding off the canvas and onto the floor.

“I wanted something special for you tonight love.” He spews softly as her eyes flutter shut and she breathes in the floral perfume that filled the space.

“You’ve already done so much.” Her voice breaks, weak and breathy praise as she grips his arm in her hands unconsciously.

“Always more to be done. Like I said.” He fusses back as he moves her slowly into the room as she looked rather overwhelmed. “I told the florists I wanted the whole room covered, wanted it to look like they were coming to life for you.”

“It does. It is. It’s...breathtaking I don’t even know what to say.”

“That you love it and I kept it a surprise.” He smirks and she gives him a huge smile.

“I love it. Adore it. I had...no clue. Not even an inkling.” She enthuses, impressed. “It’s...like a dream. And such a beautiful and artistic take on an installation Alfie, you brilliant man.”

“I wanted tonight to be about your dreams comin' true. You talk about wantin' to get lost in those paintin’s, and I wanted to give ya that.”

She shakes her head and her mouth stays open and stutters. “I don’t...I just.” She stands dumbfounded. “It’s brilliant. Genius. Perfect.” She holds a hand to her chest now to steady her heart. She had been so caught up in her work and planning she had given Alfie room to plan something himself in her whirlwind of plans and appointments. She stood awe struck and speechless in the glowing light of hundreds of blooms. She recalled no other time in her life she had ever been.

“Since I finally have you alone. I did want to say a few things I couldn’t earlier. Or rather I don't fink you’d want me too.” He chuckles and takes both her hands into his as he holds her attention in the center of an artificial field of flowers. “The first time I had to make an apology to you, I used flowers.”

“I’ll never forget it. Just as I’ll never forget this.” She speaks so sweetly, squeezing his hands. “I remember feeling so much when I kissed you. How I didn’t want to stop.” She sighs and swoons and puts her hand to his cheek. “I do wonder often in my moments of reflection of how we came to be how long it truly has been that I’ve loved you. Ari.” She tiptoes and kisses his lips softly. “Sometimes it feels like I always did. I can’t recall a time in which I didn’t at least find you special.”

“From that first night I met you. In that gaudy golden club sitting next to Tommy. You are even more beautiful to me now than you were then, and I would’ve said that was impossible.”

“You were so handsome. So funny and cheeky.”

“You were full of clever wit and a smart mouth. Bold and fearless to put me down.”

“The brown was fucking awful.” She says with a low turn of her voice and he laughs out loud at her.

“And you’ve never shied from telling me a truthful opinion.”

“You’re a strong man. You can take it. Easy to see from the beginning.”

“Aye, but you are stronger, love.” He kisses her forehead. “And of the things you’ve had to face that prove time and time again that you are tougher and more resilient than I could ever claim to be… I wanted this tonight to act as another apology. For all the bad I’ve brought into your life, whether my own doin' or by relation.”

“We’re here now. We don’t have to dwell on it. Always forward.” She insists. “If it means having you and what we have I know I will always find it in me to forgive you.”

“I’m not worthy of your lovely heart.” He speaks softly.

“Luckily for me that isn’t up to you to decide.” She smiles.

“I am so proud of you. For tonight. For tomorrow and yesterday. In all the company I’ve kept in my life, I have never met someone like you before. No one has your spark, your imagination, and cleverness. Of all the minds I’ve known, yours is my favorite and I never tire of knowing you. I’m always left wanting more.”

She flushes in her cheeks and gets an almost bashful look on her face.

“There’s no one else on this fuckin miserable earth that I love as much as you. No one id rather work with or be with. No one else that keeps me interested and always wanting more from them. You are one of a kind, I truly believe that.”

“Ari.” He voices cracks as she wipes at her eyes with both hands and he shifts his weight.

“Which is why I have an offer to make you.”

“An offer?” She asks with soft eyes and an inquisitive voice as she expects papers to come from his pockets, but only a flat and rectangular box held out and presented.

“This.” He opens the box, inside, a bracelet that completes the set of jewels she wears. A row of round and shining Sapphires and diamonds.

She covers her mouth and the stones catch the light and reflect in her eyes.

“An offer of this for a commitment.”

He sees it in her eyes she’s still unsure of everything he was leading up to.

“Genevieve Chanah Lafitte.” He begins with a clearing of his throat. “Would you accept this gift and in return make the commitment to me, Alfred Ari Solomons in the form of marriage?”

He could swear he saw her heart stop for a moment. She choked with surprise. Which admittedly he’d wanted it to be. She blinks rapidly and he sees her mind working behind her eyes in frantic and unexpected chaos. “Y-Yes.” She manages to force out, heart in her throat and frozen there. “Yes. Yes! Of course I would I-YES!” She lets out in an ecstatic expression of joy and laughter as the tears gather in her eyes.

“Then with this,” He puts the heavy stones around her wrist. “You will be Mrs. Alfie Solomons. The other half to my soul, with my promise to love and cherish, to provide for and support you for the rest of our lives.”

She stares in disbelief still. Finally meeting his eyes and looking away from the stones. “Alfie I... this is...it's perfect. I love you. It would be a blessing to be able to join my soul to yours. A pairing no one except God Could tear apart.” Her heart was overflowing, as were her eyes, bless her.  She cries and he holds her, feeling her against him in this perfect moment, acceptance and peace fill his mind. A promise to be joined as one, a partnership that could not be broken, something solid and stable in the life of his that was anything but. She was a constant, a confidant, a friend, and lover and now soon to be officially his other half to complete himself in the eyes of his peers and God. She had him feeling things he hadn’t since he was a boy as she kissed his face and thanked him, whispered of how happy he made her, how perfect the night was.

He dries her tears, a warm smile as she sniffles and gazed up at him with love in her eyes. “Would you like to announce it?”

“It would be a good time to.” She nods. “But could you, I’m a mess.” She laughs and puts her forehead on his chest.

“Nothing would make me happier.” He kisses her head and rubs her back before calming her and heading back toward the stage.

“A final announcement to close out the evening.” His voice books over the room as the happy and mostly tipsy group swung their heads his way. “I must admit my loves bat mitzvah was not the only thing I had planned tonight. And I, or I should say WE now, are very happy and I am very proud once again to announce, that our woman of the evening, Miss Genevieve Chanah here has accepted my proposal and will soon be my wife.” The cheers make her cry all over again. Altar slams his fists on the table he sits and yells in excitement, Aggie and Alma sob into each other’s blouses.  Another wave of love and support wash across the room. “So as we wind down to a close tonight, I would like to thank you all for coming, Thank Genevieve for accepting and being exactly what a man like me needs in a wife and we will be seeing you at the wedding. L'CHaim He raises a glass left on the table and a reply of the same and various mazle tov's jumble in the air.

They are both embraced and congratulated, Altar squeezing Alfie and patting his back so hard he coughed before kissing his head. Gen was certain in that moment, surrounded by happiness and well wishes and those she loved the most that every bad thing in her life had been worth it for this feeling. She’d never known such contentment, such love. And it had all brought her to where she was now, and she felt thankful and hopeful. Knowing this feeling, this love existed made her certain that no matter what life threw her way that she could overcome it. Especially now that she wouldn’t ever be alone again.

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[quickeningheart]

Eighteen

   Charley draped her arms over the back of the sofa, sipping her coffee as she watched her cousin race back and forth, preparing for her first day of school. Vinnie sat beside her on the couch, and Modo and Throttle were in the kitchen, taking surreptitious glances around the doorway as they cleaned up the breakfast dishes. All three mice seemed completely mystified by Alley’s behavior.

    When she headed down the hall, abruptly stopped halfway, and turned around to make a beeline back to her bedroom, Charley couldn’t take it anymore.

    “Alley. Alley!”

    The frazzled blonde screeched to a halt, looking over her shoulder with wide eyes. “What?”

    “Will you please relax?” Charley held up her mug with a grin. “You’re makin’ my coffee very nervous.”

    Alley blinked, then broke into a sheepish grin of her own. “Sorry. It’s just … I’m nervous. And excited. And nervous.”

    “What’s the big deal?” Vinnie scoffed. “It’s just school. Ain’t that a normal thing around here?”

    “It’s not just school. It’s college. It’s like … like jumping from the little leagues straight into the big ones!” Alley protested.

    “That’s right, boys. Our little Alley has to put on her big girl panties now. She’s playin’ with the grownups,” Charley teased.

    “You, shush!”

    A pair of balled-up socks was launched her way, almost landing in the mug. Charley managed to catch them without spilling too much coffee, and tossed them back. “And why are you taking an extra pair of socks?” she asked curiously.

    Alley blinked down at them, then threw her arms into the air. “I don’t know!” she wailed as she stomped back to her room.

    Charley leaned her forehead against the couch and laughed.

    “Is she gonna be okay?” Modo asked with amused concern.

    “Don’t worry, big guy. First day jitters.” She offered a reassuring grin. “We all got ‘em. College is kind of a big deal, and I think her parents are expecting a lot from her, especially her mom.”

    “Did you attend college?” Throttle wanted to know.

    “Hmmm.” She finished off her coffee; Vinnie instantly got to his feet to fetch her a refill, and she offered a grateful smile along with the mug. “Sort of,” she replied to Throttle’s question. “I graduated high school a few years ahead of everyone else my age, and I took some courses at a local technical school, just to supplement my knowledge and get an official business degree. I’ve always known what I wanted to do, though, and I already had the work experience, thanks to my dad and uncle. So I never felt the need for the whole college thing like Alley’s doing. Still, I do know how it feels, moving out on your own for the first time and all. It is exciting, and kinda scary. Nobody’s there to hold your hand anymore, ya know?”

    “Don’t worry, babe. I’ll always hold your hand when ya need it.” Vinnie plopped down beside her, handing her the mug and taking her free hand to press a soft kiss into her palm. His red eyes glowed with impish humor as she blushed at his charming actions. Throttle and Modo looked at each other knowingly and grinned.

    Alley made a reappearance, dragging a large, rolling backpack behind her that looked a bit like a miniature, bag-shaped version of her van. She set the gaudy pack by the stairway.

    “Are you bringing your entire library?” Charley asked, amused.

    “They’re my textbooks. And my computer.”

    “Do you need all the books? That’s a lot of extra weight to drag around. What classes do you have today?”

    “Lessee … Schedule…” Alley frowned. “Schedule…?” She patted herself down, eyes widening. “Schedule!” She turned on her heel and made a mad dash for her room, much to the amusement of her audience.

    “Girl’s gonna give herself a stroke before she makes it out the door,” Throttle observed with a chuckle, shaking his head.

    She reappeared with a thick yellow envelope and her phone. “I need a favor. Can someone take my picture? Mom demands pictures of my first day. I’ll never hear the end of it if she doesn’t get any.” She offered the phone with a pleading expression.

    Laughing, Charley held out her hand, but Throttle intercepted. “Stand with her. I’ll take one of you together,” he said.

    “Great idea!” Alley grabbed her cousin by the arm and hauled her to the bare wall. “Say cheese!” she teased, giggling at Vinnie’s snort.

    Charley stood stiffly and managed an awkward smile, clearly not used to being in front of a camera. Alley, on the other hand, snapped off a playful pose, flashing a double thumbs-up with a brilliant grin, hamming it up with practiced ease. The flash went off, and she relaxed, accepting the phone from Throttle. “Thanks!” She studied at the picture. “Hey, this thing has a great camera. Charley, why do you look constipated?”

    “Oh, shut up.” The mechanic laughed as she delivered a playful shove.

    “Is someone honking outside?” Modo rumbled, head cocking to the side as he listened. They fell silent, and in another moment, the faint sound of a car horn drifted in through the open window.

    “Oh! That must be Chex.” Alley slipped the phone into her pocket. “She’s giving me a ride to the campus today since we have some of the same classes.”

    “Not Chris?” Charley slid her a coy glance.

    “I think he would’ve, except Chex beat him to it,” Alley replied with a laugh, hoisting the heavy bag onto her shoulder.

    “That was nice of her.”

    “Nah. She only offered ‘cause she’s hoping I’ll convince one of you guys to give her a ride on your bikes.”

    They all stared at her. She flashed a hopeful grin. “Just one? Doesn’t have to be far. Around the block, even. Oh, and when I say ‘one of you’, I’m pretty sure she means you, specifically.” She turned her smile on Modo, who straightened at the sudden attention.

    “Why me?” he asked, confused.

    “Oh, I dunno. Maybe ‘cause you saved her life? And she’s got a serious case of hero-worship as a result?”

    He looked flustered as Throttle and Vinnie snickered behind his back. “I’ll, uh, think about it.”

    The horn sounded again, sounding even more impatient. “Alright, I’m comin’!” Alley huffed to no one in particular as she bounded down the stairs.

    The four of them stared after her for a moment, before Charley sniggered. “So,” she began amicably, “bets on how long it takes her to figure out she’s not wearing shoes?

     ~*~*~*~*~

    “You’re such a blonde,” Chex snorted as Alley slid into the passenger seat of the little, silver-blue Accent (after scrambling back up the stairs to retrieve her shoes amid hoots of laughter from the peanut gallery).

    “Yeah, yeah. Just drive,” she grumbled, hauling her heavy pack into the car with her. “Sweet little ride, by the way. I sorta figured you'd drive up in a hearse or something.”

    “Don't I wish.” Chex pulled a face. “The step monster gave it to me. Said I needed a reliable car that’s good on gas mileage.”

    “She gave you a car?”

    “Yeah, she’s the type who likes to buy her way into the hearts of children.” Chex sniggered. “Hey, a free car is a free car. I just make sure I park it way back so people don’t see me in it. It totally does not fit my image.” She was silent a few minutes, before sliding Alley a sideways glance. “Sooooo … did you ask ‘im?”

    Alley laughed. “He said he’d think about it. Keep badgering him; I think you’re wearing him down. He's not the type to turn down a lady's request.”

    “Sweet.”

    “Oh, yeah! I almost forgot. Since we were speaking of step monsters, Chris said yours works a lot with jewelry appraising and stuff. Do you think she could help me and Charley out? We got some antique jewelry and loose gems and wanted to try and sell ‘em, but we need to know the value and find buyers and stuff.”

    “Yeah? What do you got?”

    Alley opened the front pocket of her bag, withdrawing the sapphire and diamond necklace Stoker had left behind. “Here’s an example.”

    Chex’s eyes widened as she took a good look; quickly turned her attention back to the road when someone honked loudly. “Holy shit, is that thing real?”

    “As far as I know.”

    “Where’d you get it?”

    “It was a gift from Stoker.”

    “Some gift! And you say there's more?”

    “Yeah. I guess precious gems and stuff aren't worth much to the mice. Stoker got what he needed from 'em—like the gold and most of the diamonds—and handed the rest over. Good thing, too, 'cause Charley could really use the money they'd bring in.”

    “She in trouble or something?”

    “Or something. Can't really talk about it. But do you think your step-mom could help out?”

    “Yeah, sure.” Chex shrugged. “I guess you can try and arrange a meeting with Victoria. I’ll give you the number to her office and tell Chris to let her know you’ll be calling. She'd probably be more open to helping if the request comes from him. She doesn't like most of my friends.”

    Alley didn't quite know what to say to that. “Well, thanks, that’ll be really helpful. I'm sure Charley and the guys'll be grateful, too.”

    “Cool. Think it’ll earn me some points toward scoring a ride?”

    Alley laughed and rolled her eyes.

     ~*~*~*~*~

    Chex showed Alley the most direct way to get to the main campus through Chicago, warning her to leave at least two hours ahead of time to avoid any potential delays such as mid-town traffic jams. Most of the professors did not take kindly to tardy students, and wouldn't let her into the class if she arrived late, no matter what sort of excuse she had. Luckily, they had no such issues and made it to the campus with plenty of time to spare. They parted ways in the parking lot with promises to meet for lunch, as their first classes were in different buildings. Alley used the opportunity to give herself another lightning tour of the campus; now that the maps had all been switched back to their proper places, it was much easier to figure out where she was. She also made a mental note to check out the secondary campus in the middle of the city, where her first business classes would be held the following day.

    However, it shortly became apparent that she wouldn't be taking those business courses any time soon. Or any of her other courses, for that matter. No sooner had she signed in on the roster and chosen a seat, the young student assistant taking attendance called her back to the desk.

    "Sorry, Miss Davidson, but your name isn't on my list," he began, his bored tone suggesting that this wasn't the first time he'd had to make this announcement to a new pupil. "This is Music Composition 101. Check your schedule."

    Alley clenched her teeth, annoyed by the insinuation that she'd gone to the wrong class. "No need. I know my schedule," she replied with as much politeness as she could muster. No need to take it out on him; he was just doing his job, after all, and she didn't doubt he'd already had to send other students on their way to the correct classrooms. But she wasn't one of them, darn it!

    At his obvious skepticism, she pulled the thick envelope from her bag and riffled until she found her schedule, handing it over with pursed lips. "Right there.” She tapped the page. “Music Composition at ten o'clock. Room 317."

    He glanced over it, handed it back with a shrug. "Must be a scheduling error. You'll have to take it up with the office." He went back to his roster, a clear dismissal.

    She stared at him. "What, you mean … now? But class is about to start!"

    He shrugged again. "Sorry, but the rules are if you're not on the roster, you can't attend the class. Better get it figured out and make sure there aren't any other conflicts." Seeing her expression, he softened. "Look, Professor MacDougall is running late today. Her kid has an ear infection or something and her nanny just quit on her. I'm taking over for her until she can get here. The class lasts two hours. You can probably get it sorted in more than enough time. Come back with a note from the office, and I'll let you sit in the remaining time. If Professor MacD shows up, I'll explain the situation."

    "Yeah, okay. I'll do that." Alley wasn't very happy with the solution, but at least he was trying to help. She hoisted her heavy bag and started for the office, grumbling to herself. What a way to start off her college career!

     ~*~*~*~*~

    "What do you mean my scholarship's been revoked?"

    Alley gaped at the secretary, wondering if she'd started hallucinating for some reason. Delayed effects of Stoker's miracle cure, by chance? She would skin that mouse alive when she saw him again!

    The secretary—Her name was Mary, Alley recalled—was clearly uncomfortable with the conversation, tapping away at the computer and nervously adjusting her wire-framed glasses. "Um, you see, there has been some discrepancy with your SAT scores—"

    "What kind of discrepancy?" Alley growled. "I passed those tests with more than enough points to earn my scholarship! I studied my ass off to get those scores!"

    "Please lower your voice, Miss Davidson." Looking distressed, Mary adjusted her glasses again. "You see, I am very sorry, but there appears to be some … concern over how you … acquired your high scores."

    Alley's eyes narrowed. "I. Studied."

    "Are you certain that is the only way you passed?"

    She felt like she'd just been kicked in the gut. "Are you actually accusing me of cheating?"

    Mary cleared her throat. "Please, lower your voice," she repeated, more firmly. "The fact is, through most of your academic history, your scores have always been … less than spectacular." She adjusted her glasses yet again; Alley was sorely tempted to rip them off her face and stomp on them. "Yet you managed to pass your SATs with scores that put you within the top fifteen percent of the entire country. That is no simple feat. You must realize how … suspicious it all looks."

    "Slacking off does not make me a cheater," Alley hissed. "I was just lazy. I never cheated on anything in my life! And I'll have you know that in my last two years, I completely turned it around, got As and Bs in all of my classes. Or does that not count for anything?"

    Mary pursed her lips, then calmly swiveled her computer monitor until it faced Alley. Puzzled, she gave it a cursory glance. And then her jaw dropped as what she was seeing registered.

    It was her permanent school record. Only it wasn't. All four of her high school years were displayed clearly on the screen, except that for two of them, the high scores that should have been there seemed to have been replaced with grades that could only be described as abysmal. Even her art and writing classes—her favorite subjects in school—barely covered passing ground.

    "Are you kidding me?" she screeched, ignoring the secretary's glare. "With scores like that I wouldn't have even passed high school, much less made it into college!"

    "Yes, that is exactly my point," Mary replied primly.

    Alley massaged her temple, where a headache was steadily forming. "And you seem to be completely missing mine," she growled. "Those are not my grades. I've been … set up or something!"

    "Why would anyone set you up?" The secretary looked more than a little skeptical.

    "I don't know!" Alley threw her hands into the air. "Maybe some bored student decided to play a mean prank and picked me at random. It happens, right? That thing with the maps? And it's not like computers can't be hacked or anything!"

    "Our system security is top-notch. Not just anyone can break into it." Mary looked offended at the very suggestion; Alley decided that mentioning how easily her cousin could probably break in wouldn't really help her case at the moment.

    "Then it's some bizarre glitch in the system," she muttered, struggling to think of any answer. "I took those tests a year ago. If I'd really cheated, wouldn't someone have figured it out way before now? I mean, I was in here with the dean's kids last week filling out forms! Remember? Why didn't you bring up this situation then? It sure would've saved me a lot of hassle now."

    Finally, a hint of doubt in the secretary's eyes, before her expression firmed. "I am very sorry for all of this trouble, Miss Davidson. I promise I will look into the matter and see if it can be resolved in a satisfactory manner."

    "And what am I supposed to do in the meantime? Can I go back to class?"

    "I'm sorry, but that just isn't possible at this time. As I said, your funding has been revoked. All of your classes have been canceled. Until this situation is resolved, policy states that you cannot attend this school."

    Alley started to panic. "But keeping my scholarship depends on me maintaining my grade point average! If I can't attend those classes, I'll flunk out by default, and I'll lose it all anyway, even if I manage to get it back! It could take weeks to get it all sorted. It'll all be for nothing!"

    Mary was sympathetic but unwavering. Alley realized she would be getting no more help out of her, turned and trudged from the office as the churning mass of dread, confusion, and defeat sat like a sick lump in her gut.

    All she could think of was how in the world she was ever going to explain this to her parents.

Next

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One Good Turn ch. 1

[Read on AO3] | [Next Chapter] Rating: T Story summary: Angel’s clean streak is broken when Val forcibly calls him back to the studio. On principle (and not at all out of concern for Angel's wellbeing), Alastor takes it upon himself to free Angel from Valentino's control. But what started as a simple favor becomes something much more complicated, all because of an innocent thank-you kiss.

— — – 

Despite having been in business for a matter of some months, the hotel still had few committed residents—other than its staff, of course. Still, Charlie was dedicated to the cause, treating their seven hopefuls with as much care as 70. Alastor still had little to no faith in her intentions, but observing and ‘aiding’ her efforts was turning out every bit as entertaining as he’d expected. He was even growing used to the company of their merry band of misfits. Some more than others, maybe.

During yet another group rehabilitation session, Alastor stood by at a distance to watch. Their ‘patrons’ had all gathered into a conference room just off the lobby, everyone seated in a circle of chairs while Charlie and Vaggie led a conversation on the reasons each demon was drawn to sin, the voids they might be trying to fill and how they might find ‘healthier’ ways to do so.

“Hey, if you’re lookin’ for ways to fill holes, I’m your guy,” Angel Dust said with a devious grin. “I got ideas for days, princess; you just say the word and I’ll be more than happy to share. Might even give ya a demonstration if you’re lucky.”

“Angel, we’ve talked about this,” Charlie sighed, dragging a hand down her face before replacing her usual kind smile. “You’re doing so well with cutting back on drugs and alcohol. If you could tone down the lust just a tiny bit—”

“Hang on,” one of the other patrons said, eyes locked on Angel and wandering up and down his lissome body. “I wanna hear what he has in mind.”

“Oh, I bet you do, baby,” Angel purred, ignoring Charlie’s reprimand altogether. Alastor remained where he stood, tilting his head slightly to one side, observing the exchange thoughtfully. Angel had his faults, that was for sure, but—at least when dealing with weaker-willed demons—he clearly had a certain charisma as well. It was a bit boring how transparent he was about his intentions. But then, he’d already identified his preferred form(s) of entertainment and spent his time pursuing them, which was understandable.

When the conference room’s door slammed open, everyone in the circle jumped at the sudden sound, but Alastor simply raised his eyes in that direction, looking over the large, musclebound demon who had just entered the room. Only a split-second later, he saw the nervous tension that had filled Angel Dust’s body at the sight. Interesting.

“Angel,” the new arrival said as if no one else were present, watching him through a pair of dark sunglasses. “Boss wants a word.”

“Uh. Yeah, sure,” Angel said, brushing off his discomfort and replacing his nonchalant façade as he got up.

“Hang on,” Charlie called, getting up to follow him toward the door and explain to the other demon, “We’re kind of in the middle of something here. Could he—”

The new arrival ignored her completely and turned to leave now that Angel was following. “Sorry,” he muttered quietly, giving her an apologetic grimace. “You can keep goin’ without me. I was just makin’ this harder for everyone anyway.” Even the racy tone of that last comment seemed weaker than usual.

“But Angel…” Charlie frowned and watched him go, realizing her words weren’t reaching him. For some reason, seeing the crestfallen look on her face bothered Alastor, and his smile slipped.

Striding across the room to meet her, he rested a hand gently on her shoulder. “The others need your guidance, dear. Leave this to me.” Without waiting for an answer, he followed after Angel and walked at his side, twirling his microphone through one hand. “Where are we off to, my friend? Here I thought you were dedicated to improving yourself. Is this someone you know?” He nodded to the hulking demon leading them toward the hotel’s entrance.

“Yeah, you could say that,” Angel muttered noncommittally, his body language uncharacteristically muted. “This is just somethin’ I gotta do. I’ll be back later.”

“And is there a reason you have to do it now?” As they stepped outside, Alastor found a long, shining burgundy-painted limousine waiting in front of the hotel. The windows were so darkly tinted he couldn’t begin to see inside, but he sensed the presence of a powerful demon. All the more interesting. “Who is this ‘boss’ your associate mentioned?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Well, it’s a little late for that. Charlie does have expectations, you know,” he pointed out, “whether she’s willing to press you on them or not. I’m sure you’re aware of how important this is to her. She needs you to you—”

“Will you get off my back?” Angel snarled, rounding on him, all four fists clenched. His entire body was fully tense, his face set in a vicious glower tinged with fear. “I don’t have a choice here, all right? It’s got nothin’ to do with you, so just mind your goddamn business!” Alastor raised his eyebrows, silent, unsure of what could be going on that would frazzle the usually-flexible Angle Dust into panicking so.

“Angel!” A deep, smooth voice called out from inside the limo, and Angel flinched. Letting out a low, slow breath, he drew his shoulders back and strolled over to enter the limo as if nothing were wrong. Once he was inside, the large demon slammed the door shut, then sneered at Alastor and went back to the driver’s seat.

Alastor stood by and watched them leave, his smile fading more and more with every passing second. Perhaps they hadn’t known each other for too terribly long, in demonic terms, but in the months since their meeting, he had seen Angel’s person be threatened with physical harm several times—yet not once had Alastor seen him so frightened, so visibly uncomfortable as in these past few moments. Whoever sat in the darkened interior of that limousine must have had some considerable control over him. Yet who could, how, and why?

“Damn it. I thought he was done with this,” Vaggie muttered, materializing at his side, frowning hard, arms crossed.

“Oh? You know what’s going on here, then?”

“Unfortunately,” she said, disapproval written all over her face. “I’m pretty sure that was Valentino. Angel’s pimp—or ‘manager’ or whatever you want to call him. Ever since he came to stay with us, I really thought he’d cut things off with Valentino, but I guess old habits die hard.” Something in her frown was less irritated and more concerned. Unusual to see from her.

“And…?” Alastor prompted. “Somehow, I’m getting the impression that there’s more to it.”

After a moment more of hesitation, she admitted, “He’s only told me a little about Val. He obviously doesn’t like talking about him or their relationship. But what I’ve heard is… I don’t know, it makes me nervous.”

Well, Alastor didn’t much care for the sound of that either. “Come on, now, don’t leave it there; you know I can’t resist a good story,” he said, his mouth still smiling though his eyes had turned cold. “And I’m sure Charlie doesn’t appreciate her star pupil being stolen away! So tell me, what else do you know about Valentino? I’m all ears.”