#THE FACT THAT HE KEEPS THEM IN MS. BEARD’S HOME

[coldblooded-angel]

The way I completely fucking lost it when I realized that Randy still has Benson’s jacket and actually uses it

And he kept their fucking decorated plushies…

In my head, Randy also keeps Benson’s car. He just collects and surrounds himself with memories of him. Of the man that risked everything because he wanted to save him, because he believed in him and Randy has the responsibility to keep that promise, to be better.

[because-edmund]

Dancing closer to the edge

Part 5?? I think of whiskey and wine 😅💕

As always, raw and ready for human consumption for @agirlinherhead and @the-redheaded-league

Hassan enters his home, prepared to not even see Ali yet, figures he’s still out with his friends. Instead, he finds Ali at the kitchen table, a raised brow on his face as he looks up from some dusty book.

“Have a fun night?” Ali asks with a smirk.

“We should probably talk about that, huh?” Hassan laughs.

“I like her, I think she’s good for you.”

Hassan’s heart swells, a mixture of love and pride. “Thanks, young man,” he says as he ruffles the kids hair. He finally notices the book he’s reading. Hassans brow furrows. “Is that… a Bible?”

“Yeah…. Uh, Ms. Keene was handing them out, you know after the whole miracle-“

Hassan cuts him off, “Misdiagnosis.”

“It was a miracle dad! It had to be, Father Paul is doing such amazing things! And I just wanted, I just wanted to see what it’s all about there-“

“You’re not Christian!” Hassan snaps.

“I didn’t exactly want to be Muslim! You’re not giving me a choice to learn and to decide for my own who God is!” Ali is yelling now too, he stands up from where he’s sitting. Hassan can see how passionate he is, but he still can’t let him down this road.

“Look, I get it. It seems like impossible things are happening, but there’s logic to it. Leeza either healed, or was misdiagnosed. Simple as that, it has nothing to do with God choosing to heal her…”

“Why not? You don’t know that,” Ali states this like a fact, maybe it is.

“Because why would he save Leeza and not some kid with brain cancer on the mainland? Leeza was fine, enjoying her life, why would their god pick and choose who gets to heal? What about your mother… Didn’t she deserve to- to live?” his voice falters at the end. He’s getting choked up again, and really doesn’t want to cry in front of his kid today. “You can’t be Christian, your mother wouldn’t allow it, so I won’t either.”

“Mom is the only reason you became a Muslim! She’s not even alive anymore! Why should I keep doing something that wasn’t my choice in the beginning? In fact, none of this was my choice! Why would I wanna live on some dumb island? Being made fun of at school, the weird kid who believes in Allah and not a real god!”

“Because your mother truly believes this faith and so do I! She died faithful doesn’t say something to you? Mean something? And you’re much safer here than anywhere else on this world, I can tell you that…” Hassan can’t help but yell at his son now, anger blooming in his chest like wildflowers after rain.

Ali is still for a moment, “Why do you even keep bringing her up? It’s clear you’re not in love with her anymore, you got to move on, why can’t I?”

Hassan flinches at the words, a flash of regret hits Ali’s face, before he can apologize Hassan cuts him off, “Go to your room.”

“Dad-“

“We can discuss you visiting that church in the morning, but you’re going to your room right this instant.” Hassan snaps, a few tears have fallen down his cheeks, resting in his beard. “Remember to kiss your mother,” he calls out as the door slams.

Hassan does what he knows is a bad idea, a bad example to his son, and he grabs his coat, heads back to Daphnes. He storms over there faster than his mind can keep up. Trying to remember their date, and not the argument that just happened.

He knocks on her door, waits a moment as he hears her rustling around, she opens the door in her robe. “Hassan?” She asks, “It’s 11 now, you should be sleeping-“

He cuts her off with a harsh kiss, forceful, rough, his hands are gripping her face like she might disappear. He can faintly feel the cold metal of his wedding ring digging into his finger. It all hurts too much.

“Do you have keys to the store?” He asks, panting breath leaving steam clouds in the air.

“Of course I do, why do you ask?” She breathes out, concern not leaving her features.

“I need to do something stupid.”

And so the two ran off, in the middle of the night, after the first date and his fight, to the general store. Daphne opened the doors, making sure to lock it behind them, Hassan really didn’t want to get caught with what he was going to do. Before doing anything, he flicks a few lights on, and walks to the register, he grabs his wallet and sets it there. “Make sure I pay after, ok?” He asks.

“Hassan, what is going on?” Daphne feels dread in her stomach at how her new boyfriend is acting.

“I need to drink, like a lot. I also have some pot in my top drawer on the desk. Confiscated it from that Ooker kid. We can do that too,” Hassan starts walking down the shelves, grabbing random bottles.

Daphne wants to argue, wants to ask him why, she knows he doesn’t drink, but whatever is bothering him is clearly bad, and she can respect he needs to relax. So, instead of speaking, she grabs the weed out of his desk.

They sit together, on the jail cell cot, Hassan gulping his beer like a man dying of thirst, Daphne takes a couple swigs of whiskey before the switch beverages.

Only when they feel warm, a little calmed down, does Hassan speak about what happened.

“He wants to be Christian,” Hassan mumbles, staring at the ceiling. Alcohol hitting him faster than he wanted it too.

“Because of-“

“Yeah,” he cuts her off, they both know. He takes another swig of the burning liquid.

“Grace mentioned Bev Keene was handing out bibles…” Daphne rests her head on Hassan’s shoulder, he kisses the top of her head.

“Fucking bitch. If I handed out the Quran I’d get murdered here.”

“I know, it’s not fair,” she laces her hand through his, content to just support him for the night.

“He- he, um, said some things…” Hassan can feel the tears in his eyes welling again.

“About me?”

“Not really, more of his mother… I worry, am I moving on too fast?” He can feel her fiddling with his wedding ring. Her soft dainty hands touch him so gently.

“That’s only something you know, not even Ali,” she mumbles back, eyes still fixed on the silver.

“I still love her, he said because- because I’m dating you, that I don’t anymore, but I still do, I know I should only love you but-“

She cuts him off, “I never expected you to stop. She was your wife, she was Ali’s mom, still is. I just wanted to wait to ask more about her, I wanted to learn to love her too…” she trails off.

He can’t help but cry now, his wife would’ve loved her.

His wife would’ve loved her. he thinks again.

He breaks into a full sob now. Daphne lays his head down in her lap. He fists his hands on the fabric of her nightgown. She just runs her nails through his hair, other hand resting on his back. She doesn’t say anything, but every once and while he feels one of her own tears drip onto him.

When he finally calms himself down, he drinks more of the bottle, so does Daphne. He watches then as she fiddles with the bag of weed, “I think since you’re already drinking you might as well go all in,” she laughs at him.

He silently thanks Ooker for already having some of it in joints for them. They light one in silence, Hassan taking a hearty breath full of the substance. He can already feel it calming him down more. Head a bit dizzy as he lays Daphne down on his chest now.

They go back and forth, smoking and drinking in comfortable silence. Sometimes Hassan would start crying again, despite himself. Daphne, bless her, would just kiss him, or stroke his beard.

He lets out a shaky breath as he exhales another plume of smoke, “I love you…” he mumbles.

It’s entirely too soon, but he can’t stop it.

“You’re just cross faded,” she chuckles back.

“I thought it outside your house earlier, when I left the first time. God, what a shitty first date this turned out to be…” Hassan laughs bitterly. He wonders if she’ll stop dating him after this.

“I enjoyed it, all of it. Even this part, I feel warm and dazed.” She smiles up at him.

“I really do love you, shortcake.” His voice is raspy, and he’s in awe with how beautiful she looks like this, pressed up against him.

“I love you too, sheriff,” she mumbles in to his chest.

Before he can say anything, she perks up, “We can egg Bev’s house!” She nearly jumps up at the thought.

“I think I should be against that,” he laughs.

“Why?” She groans, she pouts her lips like a child. He could kiss them raw in that moment.

“Conflict of interests, it’s a bit against the law and all,” he leans into her, actually does kiss her, more gently than he wants to.

“Not fair,” she’s still pouting. “We could graffiti sayings from the Quran on her door.”

“That’s worse, I’m pretty sure.”

“Make a good second date, though.”

“You sure you still want to do this? I haven’t scared you off,” he moves his hands to stroke her cheeks.

“I’m not easily frightened,” she moves one of her hands to rest in his beard.

He chuckles, “I want to get fucking drunk, I think we need to up our drinking game.”

So they did, drank like college frat boys, Daphne playing loud rock on her phone. The two had decided to dance in the middle of the store, Hassan had throughly decided he didn’t care if anyone saw them.

“I feel like Uma Thurman!” Daphne laughs as he spins her around, some of her vodka spilling out on the floor. “Fuck! I’m going to have so much to clean up tomorrow!”

“I’ll help,” Hassan let’s put a hearty laugh, as he watches her chug more.

“Your turn,” she tips her bottle in his direction.

He spills some of his whiskey on the floor.

“Not to spill it! Drink, dummy!” She’s laughing so hard she snorts. He wants that sound on replay in his head until he dies.

He chugs more of it, trying not to tip over, he’s a bit too tall and old to be falling in this old store. He looks up at her, hands on her hips, nightgown a bit too thin, he realizes for the first time he can see her nipples through the fabric. He licks his lips.

“I can’t wait to fuck you…” he mumbles.

She walks over to him, a devious smirk on her face. “How you gonna do it, big guy?”

“I want to suck on those tits first, then go lower and lower and-“ he gets cut off by seeing something move in the window. “What the fuck…” he breaths as he walks closer, Daphne left confused and in place, she ties her robe tightly around herself.

“You see anything?” She calls to him.

He leans into the window, he sees something move, something big with a wing. He catches a glimpse of bright yellow eyes and jerks back in fear, ready to cover Daphne.

“What was it?” She asks in a hushed tone, gripping onto the back of his jacket. Hassan looks at the window again, seeing nothing now.

“Must’ve been a bird or something…” he’s not convinced, but he doesn’t want to ruin their buzz either.

They sit back down by the register, drinking again, but only for a moment before someone knocks on the door.

“Shit.” Hassan breathes.

“Should I answer the door?” Daphne asks, trying to stand up, she wobbles and falls right back down, the two burst into laughter. Forgetting about their visitor, Hassan, dreamy in his head, simply kisses her cheeks in fast bursts.

He presses her into the wooden floor, they’re both still laughing as he uses one hand to hold her wrists above her head and the other to tickle her sides, he’s still madly kissing her, the knocks are getting a bit frantic, he doesn’t care.

The door ends up opening, they don’t hear it, still lost in their private reverie.

“Um, sheriff? Father Paul asks, seeing Hassan carded between daphnes legs, hands pressed to her face. The two look up, Daphne blushing and Hassan glowering.

“Why are you here?” He asks, unable to hide his annoyance.

Grace pops up behind him, “Daph, what are you doing?” She’s chuckling, grinning.

“It smells in here,” Paul mumbles, looking around at the half eaten snack and spilled alcohol. “Sheriff, did you drink?”

“What are you gonna do, report me?” Hassan pulls Daphne up to sit in between his lap. In an act of pure possessiveness, he trails his hands down her body, lightly touching her legs, breast, stomach. Daphne is beet red, keeps trying to say something but can’t. Hassan eyes never leave the priests, whose looking just about the same as his girl.

“I-I,” his eyes finally avert from the obscene display. “Ms. Keene called me, said some people were in the store after hours, I brought Grace because- because…” he looks like he’s trying to figure out something to say, an excuse maybe.

“She said one was a girl, he didn’t want to be alone with a woman,” Grace chimes in, with a wink to Daphne. It’s a flimsy lie, collapses in on itself of you think about it too long, but Hassan’s brain isn’t thinking much. All the blood in his brain is actually much lower, and he’s sure Daphne can feel it.

He finally softens his look, looks down at his shortcake, she’s blushing still, eyes blown wide as she looks back up at him. For a moment he’s worried if he overstepped his boundaries with her, take it fucking slow he tries to tell himself. Suddenly, he feels her hand grope him through the fabric, hidden behind her fluffy robe.

“Thank you guys for checking in,” she finally responds. “Grace, I’m a bit drunk, and high, I’m not going to lie, will you walk me home? I think Hassan and Paul will be fine,” she smiles as grace helps her up. They wave bye at the boys, Paul lingering on the two.

“I-I’m not, um, going to report you, I wouldn’t even-even know how…” Paul is fiddling with his rosary.

Hassan stands up, tries to hide his crotch a bit by taking off his coat and holding it lower. “I know I don’t look like a great law abiding citizen at the moment,” he begins.

“Do you have more?” Paul asks.

“More what?” Hassan lifts a brow, head snapping up.

“Um, pot? I think that’s what it’s called.” Paul still won’t look at his eyes.

“Why?”

“I would like to try some,” he mumbles.

The hell? The good little catholic priest boy wants to get high? Surely this must be the substances he’s taken, still he takes the bag out of his pocket and tosses it at the priest, who grins.

“Thanks,” he tries to walk off.

“Do you want my shortcake?” Hassan asks, a bit aggressively.

“Short-shortcake?” Paul asks, genuinely confused.

“Daphne, I mean,” Hassan blushing, forgetting not everyone knew of her nickname.

“Hassan, can I call you that?” Hassan nods. “I am- I am horribly in love with Grace. You kind of, caught us earlier, kissing,” he’s blushing again.

Hassan had forgotten about that. He smacks his hand to his forehead, “Oh my god, that’s right! I’m so sorry, I just- I,” Hassan can’t even justify himself now. Completely embarrassed.

“It’s ok! I-I wish I could… do that. You know?”

“Priests can’t, they can’t have-“ Hassan thinks out loud cut off by Paul.

“They can’t. I really want to, however. I don’t know how,” he mumbles. “I really shouldn’t be with her, she deserves so much better-“

Hassan now cuts him off, handing him a bottle of whiskey. Paul takes a large gulp, grimaces and hands it back. “We deserve to sin today, drink up, get on my level, then I’ll start giving tips,” Hassan takes another swig as the two sit down.

It doesn’t take long for Paul to get drunk, maybe three good swigs of the whiskey. Paul begins telling him things, of how he met Grace, slowly fell in love with her. How he doesn’t think he could live without her, but she deserves someone who could be public with her, the way Hassan had just been with Daphne.

“Have you ever had sex before?” Hassan asks.

“Not really,” Paul mumbles.

Hassan takes that for a no, “Do you want to break those vow things?”

“With her, yes. But I don’t want to leave my god, my life behind. I suppose I’m not sure, yet.”

“Your first instinct was yes, I would go with that. I think you want her, more than just, biblically, you seem to really love her-“

“I do! I do so much it’s frightening!” Paul laughs.

“I feel the same, Ali says I’ve moved on from my wife, don’t love her anymore. I’m afraid of leaving that life behind too, but I guess we both need to just, take a leap of faith…” Hassan closes his eyes, sleep slowly taking him.

“I suppose we do,” Paul responds.

“If my son ever comes to your church you have to tell me. I want him to learn things, but he is not to be baptized, or inducted or-“ Hassan jabs his finger in Paul’s arm with every word for emphasis.

“I won’t, trust me,” he laughs. “I think we should get you home though, it’s almost sunrise and the kid probably knows you’re out.”

“Yeah, he’s too smart, gets it from his mom,” Hassan mumbles, Paul helps him stand and laces his arm abound his shoulders. The two lock up the store with the key Daphne left, Paul saying he’ll give it to Grace.

“I hope you do, go for it, I mean. It’s scary to move on, but I think we have to,” Hassan mumbles.

“I know, I hope so too.”

“And sex is fucking awesome, you’re gonna love it.”

Paul blushes again, “We really need to get you sobered up.”

[riversofmars]

Answers at last! Well, I saw answers... :D

Chapter 7: So We Meet Again

The Library, 52nd Century

“Sorry, am I interrupting something?“ A male figure appeared in their midst. Dark hair and beard, stout frame, he took a twirl, looking around, delighted at the surprise and shock on everyone’s faces.

“It’s can’t be…“ River mumbled, trying to catch up with what was happening. How did he get in here? He was not part of the memory.

“It’s been a while, Professor Song.“ He turned to face her with a wide grin, baring his teeth.

“He’s not the Doctor, is he?“ Anita spoke slowly. She had learned enough about Time Lords during their extensive research to understand about regeneration and River had shown her pictures of all her husband’s faces. That man was not one of them and even on first impressions, he seemed in no way similar to the man she herself had met. He certainly didn’t look at River like someone would look at their wife, he looked at her like she was prey.

“The Doctor? Oh, don’t be ridiculous.“ He nearly burst out laughing as if it was the funniest thing he had heard all day. “Been there, done that, just wasn’t my cup of tea.“ His voice turned to a snarl, it seemed to change ever so slightly; he shushed himself.

“No, this is another Time Lord.“ River said, balling her hands to fists, trying to maintain her composure.

“Of course you get it, you’re clever like that.“ He mused, tilting his head. “I’m difficult to forget, didn’t we have he best of times.“ He interrupted himself, his voiced higher and more excitable. He smirked with a mad sort of glee in his eyes. “No, no, shut up, it’s my turn now!“ His voice turned normal as he snapped angrily. Anita and CAL exchanged confused and worried glances, fearing they might be dealing with a mad man. River, however, already knew for a fact that they were:

“You’re the Eleven.“ She circled around the room slowly, coming to stand protectively in front of CAL and Anita. She didn’t know whether he was really here or just a projection, but she couldn’t take the risk. She had to keep them safe. They had no idea who they were dealing with.

“The Thirteen, actually, but who’s counting.“ He retorted graciously and took a little bow.

“Must be getting pretty crowded in that head of yours.“ River hummed and in response, another personality emerged:

“Long time no see, Ms. Song.“ His face contorted into a grin.

“Hello again, Nine.“ River remained calm. She knew it was the best way to deal with them.

“I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure.“ His voice turned higher, almost feminine.

“Twelve?“ River could only guess, as it was the regeneration of his she hadn’t met before.

“Shut up, the lot of you.“ The Thirteen regained control of his personalities. “Sorry, this is not how I was going to introduce myself, best foot forward and all that, but they’re just so excited to see you again. The Six, in particular, is very eager but we’ll save that for later.“ He smiled apologetically.  

“What are you doing here? How did you get in?“ River decided to ignore the games and cut right to the chase. She glanced to CAL, hoping she was paying attention. If they found out how he got in, they surely would be able to get rid of him as well. She would have to regain control of the computer.

“Seven hacked the system, child’s play really; and now I can see why.“ He smirked at CAL who took a fearful step back and Anita put a protective arm around her. “I’m not really here, of course, just a projection, but I liked the personal touch. Better than talking to a screen, you know?“ River felt a little better for knowing he wasn’t actually part of the artificial world of the Library core but hacking the system was just as bad. Who knew what else he was planning on doing?

“So you’re responsible for this?“ Anita concluded gesturing around to the woman and child that had stopped moving. She hadn’t really followed who exactly he was but it was was blatantly obvious that this scary vision was his doing.

“It’s from the Matrix.“ River stated and the Thirteen grinned:

“Indeed. I didn’t really have the means to play it. I needed a bigger computer, something able to convert it. And I needed someone who’d be able to interpret it.“

“So you used the Library, a computer big enough to handle Matrix data.“ River was beginning to understand. They weren’t her memories that had bled into the artificial reality. It was data the Thirteen had fed into the system. In turn it had helped her unlock her own memories of what she’d seen in the Matrix. “What is that memory? What’s the story behind it.“ She asked, drawing his attention back as he seemed momentarily distracted. Not by his other personalities, for once, but seemingly by something outside.

“A missing puzzle piece.“ He answered briefly and gave a dismissive wave with his hand. “Now we best get going.“

“What?“ Anita asked confused while River remained silent, her mind racing. What was he planning? She knew better than to underestimate the renegade Time Lord.

“The shadows will be back in a moment.“ He explained in an off-hand sort of way. “Get your coat, Professor Song. Oh wait, you haven’t got a body to put it on.“ He laughed, then disappeared.

“River…“ CAL reached out for River’s hand but she grasped into thin air, River was gone as well.

——

Glasgow, 2021

“So this is where you went once the Daleks were gone?“ Ryan asked Jack as they started walking further into the underground building.

“Had to go say hi to Gwen here and she filled me in on what’s been going on. I’ve been out in the universe too long it seems. Time to look after the home front.“ Jack explained with a determined nod and Kate smiled:

“We’re glad to have you, Captain.“

“How many people have you got here.“ Graham looked around, marvelling at the size of the place. It could have housed a hundred easily and there was an erie quality to it with how quiet and seemingly empty it was.

“Not as many as you’d hope. Friends of the Doctor’s it’s quite an exclusive club, but it’s not quantity, it’s quality.“ Kate answered leading the way.

“So how do you know the Doctor?“ Ryan asked Gwen who was walking alongside him.

“Only met him briefly, during one Dalek invasion or another. Honestly, it all blends together.“ She chuckled.

“Ms. Cooper is one of Torchwood’s finest.“ Kate interjected and Gwen sighed:

“And only remaining member…“

“Hey!“ Jack took offence and elbowed her.

“You don’t count, you’re off doing other stuff all the time.“ Gwen slapped his shoulder affectionately and carried on to explain: “I have been trying to rebuild the Torchwood Three hub as well, seeing as it’s closer to home, but it’s slow progress.“

“Torchwood, like UNIT, is like an agency, is it? To ward of aliens?“ Graham asked, trying to wrap his head around it.

“In a nutshell, yes.“ Kate nodded as she lead them down some stairs. “If you come through here, I will introduce you to the rest of the team.“ The steps opened up into a large room. “I know it’s late but they have been waiting up for you.“ They reached a big communal living and working area. There were several tables, desks, computers and such and amongst it all: four people.

“Mr. O’Brien, Mr. Sinclair, let me introduce Dr. Martha Jones and Mr. Mickey Smith, two of UNIT’s finest field agents and former travelling companions of the Doctor’s.“ Kate gesture towards a couple who were lounging on a sofa, currently devouring a Chinese take away with great enthusiasm.

“Nice to finally meet you.“ Martha smiled at them warmly and Mickey, his mouth full of food, couldn’t speak and just gave a wave with his chopsticks. They got up to shake hands as the group approached.

“Likewise, I guess.“ Graham managed an awkward smile as well. During their travels with the Doctor, they had never really stopped to think how many more people had taken trips in the TARDIS before them. It was strange to think that there were other people out there who would understand what it was like, experiencing the vastness of the universe like they had.

“And these are the Osgoods, the scientific hearts and minds of UNIT.“ Kate carried on and gestured to two women, apparently twins, who were sharing a work station. They simultaneously looked up and smiled in greeting.

“I’m Ryan, this is my granddad Graham.“ Ryan introduced them. “We don’t usually do, like, formal…“ He looked around the room awkwardly. This was a lot more official than he was used to. “Like if you don’t mind, first names are fine.“ Graham nodded in agreement.

“Petronella.“ One to the Osgoods smiled.

“Petronella.“ The other Osgood smiled.

“So… you two have the same name? How do we keep you apart?“ Graham asked, confused, wondering what their parents had possibly been thinking.

“You don’t.“ Kate answered in amusement. “That’s the whole point.“

“Right.“ Ryan decided it was best to just accept that. They had just been recruited into a secret organisation to fight of extraterrestrial threats and entered what looked like a very fancy underground bunker… identical twins with the same names really wasn’t top of the weird-list right now.

“Care for some Chinese?“ Mickey offered. They had ordered way too much as usual.

“Don’t mind if we do.“ Graham grinned since they hadn’t had time to eat before setting of on the long drive. He had been eyeing it up, hoping that was where the evening would be going.

“Ma’am, if we might have a word…“ One for the Osgoods demanded Kate’s attention as everyone else settled down to eat.

“What is it?“ The UNIT chief asked and walked around the desk to be able to look at their computer screens.

“We have found another two bodies.“ The other Osgood answered, pointing something out on the computer and Kate frowned:

“Same MO?“ She asked, leaning closer.

“We fine-tuned the algorithm, running through police data bases and found two matches.“ Osgood confirmed.

“Where?“

“Greater London.“ The other Osgood answered. “Pulled out of a lake. It was fortunate that a couple was walking nearby and spotted movement by the water. Otherwise they wouldn’t have been found for weeks probably.“

“Captain?“ Kate looked up to Jack who was currently recounting to Gwen, Martha and Mickey how he had met Ryan and Graham. “Two for pick up.“ She announced.

“On it, will be back in a flash.“ He gave a dazzling and apologetic smile to the others and came to join Kate and the Osgoods. “Just tell me which morgue they’re in and you’ll have them on your slab momentarily.“ He looked at the screen and skimmed the report.

“So… not just people disappearing from time, murders too?“ Graham asked, listening in.

“This is not your garden variety homicide, I’m afraid, Mr. O’Brian.“ Kate retorted thoughtfully. “You’ll see when the Captain returns with the bodies.“

Jack gave a nod and engaged his Vortex Manipulator.

——

Orbit around the Library, 52nd Century

“Here we go.“ Jenny slipped her hand into her wife’s. She had a bad feeling about this but it couldn’t be helped. They had come out of hyper speed a few minutes ago and had fallen into orbit around the Library.

“A whole planet full of books?“ Yaz couldn’t help but marvel at the sheer size of it. The idea of having every book ever written together in one place was overwhelming and beautiful.

“And shadows that can kill…“ Dorium couldn’t help but point out. The idea that a world so beautiful was forever lost made Yaz’s heart feel heavy. What a waste.

“Right, here’s what we’re going to do: your UV grenades, Strax: our best bet would be to send one down ahead of us.“ Vastra looked to her butler who grinned with excitement as he proudly presented the grenades. “We arm ourselves to the teeth with torches and such. We won’t have to stay long. Just contact the Professor, ask our questions, fill her in, and be on our way.“ Vastra gave her wife’s hand a reassuring squeeze and looked around the room into determined faces. “Strax, Jenny and I will go.“

“I want to come, too!“ Yaz insisted immediately, she thought herself just as capable as any of them and she didn’t want to be left behind.

“That’s not part of the plan.“ Vastra shook her head.

“I have been in tight spots with the Doctor as well, I can handle myself.“ Yaz retorted, frustrated.

“I don’t doubt that but someone needs to teleport us back. Mr. Maldovar sadly won’t be able to.“ Vastra pointed out. She had no doubts about Yaz’s ability to hold her own but they needed someone to stay behind. She refused to be split up from her wife and Strax was best placed to handle the weapons equipment. It was the logical solution. “We all have a job to do and we need you to keep us safe from up here.“ She carried on to explain.

“Fine.“ Yaz huffed after brief consideration. “Doesn’t mean I like it though.“ She could see her point but she still felt like she was being sidelined.

“We will be back in no time.“ Vastra assured her.

“Right, let’s get this over with… before I change my mind.“ Jenny sighed feeling anxious. She ran her hand along the hilt of her sword despite knowing it would be useless against shadows.

“Oh, well that’s a surprise.“ Dorium pipped up, drawing everyone’s attention.

“What is it?“ Vastra frowned, confused.

“There is an incoming transmission! Someone in that Library is trying to reach out.“ Dorium explained quickly. He closed his eyes, trying to focus with the help of the communications chip connected to him.

“How do they even know we’re here?“ Vastra asked, worried. That didn’t feel right.  

“Beats going amongst the shadows, doesn’t it.“ Jenny pointed out and Strax huffed in disappointment:

“I have been looking forward to this for hours…“

“Put it on screen.“ Vastra ignored his complaint and turned to the large screen at the front of the ship. Yaz turned Dorium’s box around so he could see as well.

“River! River! Where are you!“ A small girl appeared on the screen, looking distraught. She couldn’t be older than ten years old, taking everyone by surprise. “Who are you?“ She demanded to know before any of them could get over their shock. Her eyes jumped between all of them. Her message clearly hadn’t been meant for them.

“I’m Madame Vastra, these are Jenny Flint, Strax, Yasmin Kahn and Dorium Maldovar. We mean you no harm.“ Vastra raised her hands appeasingly, trying to reassure her. What was a little girl doing in the Library? And why was she looking for River Song? “You were calling for River, I can only presume you mean Professor Song, we’re here to talk to her.“ Vastra carried on, hoping to explain and gain her trust. She seemed scared.

“You’re too late.“ The girl sobbed, getting more upset.

“What?“ Yaz asked, with a frown. They all exchanged confused glances.

“She just left, I was trying to reach her but it drains the power, so much energy…“ The screen flickered. There was a blip in the transmission, it wasn’t stable.

“Hang on, hang on, you’re in the computer?“ Vastra asked to clarify.

“I am the computer.“ The girl answered, taking a deep breath, trying to calm herself. She was not as little as she looked. “I’m CAL.“

“And Professor Song, she’s not with you anymore?“ Jenny deduced and her heart sank. This was the one eventuality they had not been prepared for.  

“She was taken.“ CAL confirmed, nodding, wiping her tears away.

“By whom?“ Vastra gripped the back of the pilot’s chair and dug her claws into the fabric. Wherever they turned, it seemed as though they were one step behind.

“A Time Lord.“ CAL answered, after brief consideration, seemingly deciding to trust them.

“What did he look like? Did he give a name?“ Yaz asked quickly.

“He called himself the Thirteen.“ The girl said quickly, as the transmission stalled again. “I’m sorry, I can’t maintain this much longer. Why are you looking for River?“

“We’re friends of the Doctor’s. There are some terrible things going on out in the universe and we need to talk to her.“ Vastra rushed to explain.

“Please find her, he… “

The connection broke and for a moment, there was stunned silence.

“How is that possible?“ Yaz turned to the others, slowly finding her voice again. “You can’t just, like, download a consciousness onto a USB stick or something…“

“Don’t underestimate Time Lord technology…“ Vastra mused, mulling over what they had learned. This was far worse than facing the Vashta Nerada. They had fallen another step behind in a race in which the goal posts seemed to keep moving.

“We need to find her.“ Jenny said, shaking her head to herself. If only they had been a little earlier, they could have prevented this.

“Who’s the Thirteen?“ Yaz looked around the room, hoping for an explanation. Was this another of the Doctor’s enemies she didn’t know about?

“Doesn’t mean anything to me either, I was hopeful you might have come across them?“ Vastra retorted with a frown as they exchanged confused glances. They had each assumed the other would have the answers but the alias was familiar to any of them.

“Oh no…“ Dorium mumbled, drawing everyone’s attention.

“Can you shed some light on this, Mr. Maldovar?“ Vastra asked, turning his box around to face them again.

“I’ve heard of a Time Lord that goes my numerical designations… The Nine, the Ten, the Eleven… depending on which regeneration he is on…“ He answered slowly. The reluctance in his voice gave them all pause.

“Stands to reason this is a new regeneration then?“ Yaz nodded, relieved that they weren’t completely in the dark after all.

“Why change the name though with every regeneration? Must be quite… disorienting, mustn’t it?“ Jenny asked.

“He is a very unique case…“ Dorium hummed thoughtfully.

“How so?“ Vastra could already tell she wouldn’t like the answer but she asked anyway.

“From what I have heard, he suffers from a strange affliction… called regenerative dissonance. While the Doctor and other Time Lords retain a sense of self and just change their appearance, he becomes a new person every time and when he regenerates, the other selfs are still present.“ Dorium revealed. He had never actually met them but he had heard enough stories to make sure he never would.

“Like a schizophrenic?“ Yaz asked, unsettled. That didn't sound like the kind of person they wanted to be dealing with.

“Anything else you can tell us, Mr. Maldovar?“ Vastra asked and Dorium gave a wary smile:

“He is a thief, a killer and utterly mad.“

——

The TARDIS

“Do you always leave the door open like that? Anyone could wander in.“ The Doctor found the Master leaning against the console as she reached the control room. Dark hair and beard, stout frame, he hadn’t regenerated, just looked a little worse for wear.

“Master…“ Her voice was barely above a whisper. All sorts of emotions boiled up in her: Disbelief at finding him alive. Worry for having him inside her TARDIS. Hate for all the things he had put her through.

“Hello, Doctor.“ He smirked pushing off the console to step closer. “Nice of you to finally show up.“

“How are you not dead?“ It was the most prominent question on the Doctor’s mind.

“Dying is for other people, dear.“ The Master laughed at how ridiculous that notion was.

“How did you survive the death particle?“ She pressed through gritted teeth as they started circling each other slowly. She was assessing her option for subduing him.

“Did you really think the Cyberium would let its host die?“ The Master’s grin was patronising, as if the answer had been obvious.

“Is it still inside you?“ The Doctor hadn’t even thought about the Cybermen AI that resided inside the Master. She had assumed it dealt with, just like the Master themselves but she should have known they wouldn’t be that easily destroyed.

“Nah… Fizzled out.“ He gave a dismissive wave with his hand. “The effort of creating a force field to protect me was a bit much… Plus, I expelled it and electrocuted it until it stopped moving. I was getting fed up of sharing my memory space.“ He snickered and the Doctor couldn't help but feel a little relieved; one thing she didn’t have to deal with at least.

“You’ve been here this entire time?“ She questioned.

“Where was I gonna go? I destroyed everything! No TARDISes, no space ships left… I did start fixing up a TARDIS but turns out your death particle wiped out the organic components in there as well. I’d have to grow a new one but where to start when every living thing has been destroyed!“ He started rambling in a maniacal sort of way, snapping with increasing anger.

“How long has it been?“ The Doctor asked, hoping he had at least suffered in the meantime. She wasn’t proud of it but after everything he had done to her, she felt he deserved it.

“Oh… a few years, blink of an eye. Ten, twenty? Not sure. Anyway, nice of you to turn up.“ He smirked and his eyes flickered to her reaching for something on the console. “Oh no, you don’t!“ He snapped and pointed the Doctor’s own sonic at her. That’s when she remembered leaving her coat; what a stupid thing to do. And to leave the door unlocked… “So why are you here, Doctor?“ He asked as she raised her hands appeasingly.

“To see if you’re still alive.“ She answered slowly.

“Well I am. What difference does it make to you?“ He snarled.

“And you haven’t left Gallifrey?“ She carried on, hoping to at least get her answers.

“I already told you, are you going soft in the head?“ He snapped.

The Doctor remained silent, unsure how to respond. Should she believe him? Did he have reason to lie? But why would he be back here if he had managed to escape in the meantime?

“And what’s this, Doctor?“ The Master demanded her attention again and held out another item he had found in the pocket of her coat: the green prayer leaf.

“Give that back.“ The Doctor exclaimed, quick to anger. She tried to snatch it off him but he pulled away, putting the sonic between them again.

“Oh, is it personal by any chance?“ He hummed, delighted.

“Give it here.“ The Doctor’s voice turned low and threatening. In her mind, she ran through the possibilities of what the Master could do with her sonic in here. There was so much sensitive technology, a blast at the wrong thing and they could either be thrown into the vortex or explode.

“A prayer leaf from the Gamma Forests if I’m not mistaken… traditional gift for a child… tell me, Doctor, are congratulations in order?“ The Master was quick on his feet as always.

“That’s none of your business.“ The Doctor bit back.

“I take that as a yes. But where is the little devil? And where is the wife?“ He asked feigning surprise. “I presume it is the Professor’s child, isn’t it? Not a little bastard born out of wedlock?“

“Hand that over.“ The Doctor demanded again, holding her hand out.

“No, I think I’ll keep it for the time being. Return it to the little one myself… Like Maleficent taking a gift to little Aurora. Why don’t we go see them.“ He suggested circling around towards the console but the Doctor didn’t move away, instead she stepped right up to him. “Come on, Doctor, I know how much you like your Disney movies. That was funny.“

“Where is he?“ She demanded to know, ignoring his giggling.

“Who?“ The Master frowned.

“My son!“ The Doctor practically yelled, losing her temper at last.

“Ohhh so he is missing? Let me guess, someone took him while you weren’t looking?“ The Master grinned and the Doctor couldn’t tell whether he was pretending not to know anything or if he really didn’t. “Was he getting ice cream across the street and a stranger snatching him away?“

“Don’t play dumb with me, Dorium saw you, you have something to do with this!“ The Doctor wasn’t thinking now. Anger and pain were overshadowing her rational thoughts.

“Dorium? Doesn’t ring a bell…“ The Master shrugged, unimpressed.

“You told him about the Timeless Child, that’s how this whole thing started!“ The Doctor yelled and gave him a shove.

“The Timeless Child? Why would I tell anyone about that dirty secret? Give you all that power? Elevate you? I don’t think so, that secret died with the Time Lords and it’ll die with you.“ The Master spat, suddenly furious as well. They were done doing their dance and playing games.

“You and me are the only people who know about it and I sure as hell haven’t told anyone!“ The Doctor snarled stepping into his personal space again. She wasn’t scared of him anymore. He had no power over her.

“Why would I tell anyone?“ The Master seemed genuinely disbelieving of her accusations. “I killed everyone that could possibly have known about it. And I’m gonna kill you, too.“ He jabbed his finger at her.

“You just try.“ The Doctor pressed through gritted teeth. “Where is my son?!“ She shoved him again and he stumbled backward.

“I haven’t got the faintest idea.“ The Master laughed and the Doctor could tell he was speaking the truth. It threw her for a moment, until a more horrifying idea occurred to her: What if she was just enabling this whole series of events to start? What if she was the reason the Master managed to get off Gallifrey? What if this was how he found out about her child, about Dorium, about the whole thing?

So, just to clarify, the Thirteen (well their previous regenerations), plays a huge part in the Eighth Doctor's audios but you really don't have to know them to (hopefully) follow this story. I fully intend to write it like he's a new character and weave all the information necessary into the plot as everyone else, the Paternoster Gang in particular, learn about him. Originally, I intended to just use Time Lord OCs but as I thought about it, I realised how pointless that would be seeing as there are so many interesting Time Lords in the extended canon. So, if anything is difficult to follow, please let me know! <3

[malarkay]

To Walk With Dreams and Darkness: Chapter One

Summary:  The year: 1982. The place: Brixton, London, England. Piper is a normal 11-year-old kid trying to enjoy the summer holiday with her foster brothers, Aaron and Finn. But when a stranger shows up bearing an acceptance letter to a place called Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, she’s swept away to a magical world, one that is just beginning to heal from a brutal, decade-long war. There she will make new friends and new enemies. And she just might find herself a part of something bigger than she ever imagined.

                                                        Chapter 1:

Minerva studied him with a tight-lipped look of disapproval. "I trust you aren't planning on delivering this letter dressed like that."

 Arygyn made a show of looking down at his outfit, a deep aqua robe trimmed in red, with billowy sleeves and metallic gold feathers embroidered around the cuffs and high collar, "Not colourful enough?"

 Minerva's stern façade didn't crack.  "I see that your time away from us has not granted you any more maturity.  Or humility."

 "I know how terribly disappointed you'd be if it had," he said, grinning at her.  

 She went on as if he hadn't spoken. "Given the circumstances of your resignation, I had foolishly assumed you'd be on your best behaviour to prove to the Headmaster that he made the right decision in inviting you back."

 "Oh?  And what do you know of the 'circumstances of my resignation'?" he asked airily.

 "Need I remind you that I am Deputy Headmistress of this school? There aren't many secrets the Headmaster keeps from me.  Do you think I don't know what prompted your departure?"

 That sobered him up. "Minerva," he began, but she held up a hand.

 "What's done is done.  We cannot change the past.  We can only strive to do better moving forward."

 He felt his face flush.  He wasn't easily embarrassed, but Minerva McGonagall had always possessed the rare ability to discomfit him, even as children.

 "Back to the matter at hand, I took the liberty of choosing a Muggle outfit for you to wear on this assignment."  She nodded to the folding screen that blocked off a small corner of her office.  

 He walked behind the screen to discover a brown tweed suit with a white button-down shirt and matching brown tie.

 "Minerva, no!"

 His protestation was met with a soft noise of amused satisfaction from her.

 Grudgingly, he changed into the suit.  Emerging from the privacy of the screen, he frowned at her as she smiled in open amusement now.  "I think you forget something," she pointed out, her gaze flicking up to his hair.

 He sighed, retrieving his wand from the inner pocket of his jacket and pointing it at his head.  "Colovaria!"  He looked at the mirror she had hanging on the wall, watching as his hair and beard faded from their glorious green and purple to his natural dirty blond.

 "Well, I hope you're happy," he said, carding his fingers through his hair self-consciously.

 "Oh, you have no idea," she responded, holding out an envelope sealed with the Hogwarts crest in red wax.  "I won't keep you any longer.  This letter is already late."

                                                      ~*~*~

 "I'm not sure this is a good idea."

 "Aww, c'mon, Piper!  They're bullies!  They deserve this!"

 Piper frowned.  Finn, one of her foster brothers, had a point.  The gang of older kids had caused them nothing but grief since they'd known them, constantly picking on them for no other reason than the fact that they were younger and smaller than them.  And now here they were, clowning around in the corner shop while their bikes laid unlocked and unattended outside.  Still….

 "I know they're bullies, but we're not thieves."  

 She looked over to her other foster brother, confident that he would back her up.  But he was staring at the bikes with a mischievous gleam in his green eyes. She nudged him with her elbow to get his attention.  "Right, Aaron?"

 "Let's do this!" Aaron said with finality, and Finn pumped his fist in the air, certain that the matter was settled with Aaron on board with his plan.

 "I can't believe you two!" she hissed.

 "What's the matter?  Do you not know how to ride a bike or something?" Finn challenged.

 "Of course I know how to ride a bike! Probably better than you! I…" she stopped abruptly when she noticed his triumphant grin.  "Finnegan Fletcher!  I will not be goaded into going along with your stupid plan!"

 "God, Piper, why do you always have to be such a goody-goody?"

 "I wouldn't have to be if you'd stop being such a screw-up!"

 He mouthed her words mockingly back at her, and she was about to really lay into him when he suddenly grinned.  "Hey Piper, guess what?"

 "What?" she spat at him.

 "Too late," he said, punctuating his words with a pair of finger guns.  She looked to where he was pointing.  While they were busy bickering, Aaron had gone and nicked one of the bikes, mounting it. Finn laughed and ran over to do the same, and she had no choice but to follow or be left behind to deal with the consequences.  

 She glanced through the glass door of the shop as she took a bike, making sure no one had noticed them.  Luckily, the two leaders of the gang seemed to be embroiled in an argument of their own, which wasn't an uncommon occurrence.  They were a brother-sister duo, a pair of upper-middle-class kids in their late teens who tried to cultivate a working-class punk image but couldn't quite pull it off.  Nonetheless, they had managed to amass a following of half a dozen townies who followed them wherever they went.  It was their bikes that she and Aaron had been sure to pick.  She wasn't sure who Finn's belonged to.

 "Let's get out of here before they figure out what's going on," she said.

 "You don't have to tell me twice!"

 With that, they pedalled like mad all the way home. Between their front garden and their neighbour's was a tall privacy hedge with a large hollow spot in the centre. It had made for a great little secret hideout when they were younger, and it was the perfect place to stash their contraband bicycles now.  With the bikes hidden, she began walking up to their house when she spotted the white sedan parked out front and froze in her tracks.  "Um, guys, was Ms Davies supposed to visit today?"

 "No, she's not supposed to come until Monday," Aaron answered.

 "They know about the bikes!" she yelped. She wheeled on Finn and poked him hard in the chest with a finger.  "This is all your fault!  What if she's here to take us away from the Wrights because of this?  We'll be separated and never see each other again!"

 "Whoa, whoa, whoa," Aaron cut in, putting a hand on Piper's shoulder.  "Piper, calm down!  There's no way they know about the bikes.  It's only been twenty minutes."

 "Well, she's here early for some reason, and that can't be good," Piper said, worrying her lower lip with her teeth.

 "What if she is here to take one of us away?" Finn asked, sounding worried now.  "Not 'cause of the bikes, but just because."

 "There's no reason to think that," Aaron said confidently.

 "No reason to think that?  Mate, when was the last time she ever came for an unscheduled visit?" Finn pointed out.

 Aaron opened his mouth to answer, but he must have realized he didn't have a good response because he closed it again.

 "Listen, standing here and worrying isn't going to do us any good," Piper decided.  Taking a deep breath, she marched up the walkway to the front door before she lost her nerve.  Pushing open the door, she was greeted by the sight of her foster mother, social worker, and a tall, suited man she had never seen before sitting in the parlour sharing a pot of tea.  

 "And that," the man said with a dramatic flourish of one hand. "Is how I narrowly avoided getting expelled from H-ah, Saint Cyprian's, myself!"  He had a flamboyant, lilting way of speaking that didn't fit his stuffy appearance.  She and her brothers stood gaping in the doorway as Agatha Wright and Florence Davies burst into scandalized laughter at his tale.

 "Oh my," Agatha said, dabbing at her eyes with a napkin.  "Well, I don't expect our Piper will be getting into such mischief.  She's never been any trouble."

 "Speak of the dickens!" the mysterious man said, eyes falling upon the trio.  Putting his teacup down, he stood and swept over to them.  "Piper Cochran, I presume?"

 She nodded hesitantly, and he gave a bow that was every bit as dramatic as his earlier flourish had been.  "I am Professor Skeelur, and I represent Saint Cyprian's School for Gifted Children."

 Beside her, Finn giggled and nudged Aaron. "Is it just me, or does that sound like something straight out of the X-Men?"

 "You two strapping lads must be Aaron and Finnegan!"

 Aaron grinned, and Finn puffed out his chest. No one had ever called them strapping before, certainly not skinny little Finn.  "Yes, sir," Aaron answered for them.  "If you don't mind my asking, why are you here?"

 "I don't mind at all.  I am here to offer Ms Cochran here a spot at our school.  You see, her excellent marks make her just the kind of pupil we look for."

 Piper's eyes lit up.  "Really?  I've never heard of this school.  Is it here in London?"

 "Scotland, actually.  It's a boarding school."

 "Oh," Piper said, her face falling. "Sounds expensive."

 Ms Davies spoke up from her spot on the sofa. "The school covers tuition, room, and board.  Money's no issue.  And should you choose to attend, you'll receive the stipend the Wrights receive for your care during the time school is in session, for school supplies, and anything else you might need while you're away."

 Piper looked hopeful, "And I'll get to come back here when school isn't in session?"

 "Of course," Agatha said, beckoning her over and pulling her into a hug.  "You will always have a place here.  You know that."

 Professor Skeelur clapped his hands together, bringing their attention back to him.  "Now, there are a few details that need to be discussed before Piper makes her decision.  Is there somewhere that Ms Davies and I can speak to Piper privately?"

 Agatha nodded.  "She has her own room; you can speak in there."

 Piper led them to her room.  The professor shut the door and then, much to her confusion, he pulled a pale, slightly gnarled stick from the inside pocket of his jacket and pointed it at the door.  "Sanctum impervius!"

  "Now then, we can speak freely," he said, turning to her.  "I must confess that I wasn't entirely honest with you back there.  There is no Saint Cyprian's.  I'm here on behalf of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  Smile, kid!  Your life just got a whole lot more interesting!  You're a witch."

 She frowned.  

 "Is this a joke?  Because if it is, it's not funny."  She had actually been stupid enough to believe that she had gotten accepted into a good school.  She should have known better.  

 "Piper," Ms Davies said gently.  "It's not a joke."

 She scoffed, and the professor – if that's what he really was – added, "And I can prove it."

 "What are you going to do?  Pull a rabbit out of a hat?  Saw Ms Davies in half?" Piper asked sarcastically.

 If anything, her mockery just made his grin widen. "You misunderstand.  You're not going to be learning parlour tricks. You're going to be learning real magic. Like this!  Well, not exactly like this.  There aren't many witches and wizards who can do this.  But it'll give you an idea."

 He stepped back, giving himself room, and then…well, then she couldn't quite believe her eyes.  He began to warp and shift until suddenly the man was gone, and in his place was a bird.  It had iridescent blue-green feathers, a red underbelly, and a tail over twice its body length.  It launched itself into the air and flew around the room.

 Ms Davies gasped.  Piper could only stare wide-eyed as the bird landed and transformed back into the professor.

 "Close your mouth, kid.  You'll catch flies," he told her.  "Do you believe me now?"

 "I'm dreaming," she decided.

 Professor Skeelur stepped forward and delivered a sharp pinch to her arm.

 "Ow!  Why'd you do that?"

 "To help you decide if you're dreaming or not. And what d'you know, it looks like you aren't!"

 "So, you're really a wizard?"

 "Yes."

 "And I'm a witch?"

 "Yes."  

 "And is Ms Davies a witch?"  She looked curiously at the woman she thought she had known for half her life.

 "No," Ms Davies said.

 "She's a Muggle."

 "Oh no, what's that?" Piper asked, wondering if her social worker would transform into some strange creature now, too.

 "I don't have any magic," Ms Davies explained.  "But you aren't the first case I've had who ended up being magical, so this didn't come as a complete shock to me.  At least, not until he turned into a bird.  I haven't seen that before!"

 "Does Agatha know?"

 "No."

 "Why not?"

 "The fewer Muggles who know about us, the better," Professor Skeelur explained.  "We have pretty strict laws against revealing ourselves unnecessarily."

 "But what about other people like me?  Don't their families know?"

 "Well, yes.  Most Muggle-born children's immediate families are told."

 "Then why can't Agatha, and Robert, and Aaron and Finn know?  They're my family."

 Professor Skeelur took a moment to consider her words, then shrugged.  "Well, if you consider them family, then I suppose you can tell them if you want and if you think they can keep it to themselves.  I leave that decision up to you.  Oh! I almost forgot."

 He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out an envelope, handing it to her.  She looked at the front, finding her name and address written in green ink. Flipping it over, she saw that it was closed with a wax seal.  Snapping the seal, she pulled out the letter within.  The first sheet of paper was an acceptance letter that rehashed what the professor had already told her.  The second page was a list of school supplies she would need.

 "Work robes, dragonhide gloves, pewter cauldron, a wand," she read aloud before skimming over the rest of the list, eyebrows raising.  "Where am I supposed to get all this?"

 "Diagon Alley."

 "I don't know where that is."

 "Well, of course you don't.  That's part of the reason I'm here."

 "You'll take me?"

 "Yes.  This very afternoon if Ms Davies doesn't mind driving us.  I'd Apparate us there, but you're new to magic.  I don't know how you'd respond, and frankly, I'd rather not have you getting sick on me."

 Piper nodded.  She didn't want to get sick on him, either.

 When Ms Davies agreed, they told Agatha that she had accepted her spot at the school and that they were off to purchase school supplies, and then the three of them piled into Ms Davies' car.  She drove them to Charing Cross Road, and the professor led them into and through a dilapidated pub and out into a back alley.

 Taking out his wand, he tapped a series of bricks and, to Piper's amazement, the wall rearranged itself into an archway, revealing a whole new world beyond.

 "Wow," she breathed.

 Their first stop was to Gringotts Wizarding Bank, where Professor Skeelur and Ms Davies helped her set up an account and get her stipend money exchanged into wizarding currency.  She tried not to stare too hard at the bankers, who the professor told her were goblins, during the transaction.  She didn't want to be rude.

 "Where to next?" the professor asked once they left the bank.

 "Back near the entrance was a shop with a stack of cauldrons outside.  I need one of those."

 The professor nodded and led the way to the shop. He ended up negotiating a reasonable price for a display model that had no flaws other than a darker patina that suggested that it had been sitting there for some time.  

 Next door, they purchased a set of brass scales and a telescope before heading to the apothecary across the street to pick up a set of glass phials.  

 They passed a shop called Quality Quidditch Supplies that had a large window display showing off brooms, an odd assortment of balls, and protective gear.  "What are the brooms for?" she asked.

 "Flying, of course."

 She stopped walking and stared at him before bursting into laughter.  "You're telling me that witches actually do fly around on broomsticks?"

 "All the time."

 "Why haven't we ever seen any, then?"

 "I told you, we're cautious about not revealing magic to Muggles."

 They stopped off at the stationary store, where she purchased some quills, ink, and a pack of parchment rolls, along with some notebooks.  Next came Flourish & Blotts.  Stepping into the store, Piper felt her pulse jump.  It was the most glorious bookshop she had ever seen in her life.  The store was two stories tall, and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves ran along the perimeter of each floor.  Smaller bookcases and tables stacked precariously high with books dotted the first floor, and even more books surrounded the checkout counter. The shop was large but was so cluttered that it felt cosy, warm, and inviting.

 She slowly worked her way around the shop, perusing the books.  There were hardcover and paperback books that were no different from those you'd find in a regular bookshop.  But there were also ones bound in what Professor Skeelur claimed was dragon hide, as well as books bound in silk.  There were giant books she could barely lift and tiny books with print so small she couldn't read it without a magnifying glass.

 Eventually, she came across a section of second-hand textbooks.  She carefully selected the best cared for ones she could find.  In line at the checkout counter, she picked up a copy of a book called The Tales of Beedle the Bard.  She flipped through the pages and asked, "Is this a book of fables?"

 Professor Skeelur nodded, and Piper added it to her pile. "Aren't you a little old for children's stories?" he joked.

 "Well, in the Muggle world, you can actually learn a lot about a culture by reading their fables.  I imagine it's the same with the wizarding world.  And I want to learn about you.  About us."

 The professor smiled a genuine smile and excused himself.  After a moment, he came back with another book, this one titled Hogwarts: A History. "I think you'll like this one, too. I'll buy it for you."

 "You don't have to do that," she told him.

 "Of course I don't, kid.  I want to.  You're welcome."

 She grinned as they paid for her books and reluctantly left the shop.  

 Next, they stopped at the professor's behest at Cranville Quincey's Magical Junk Shop shop.  "All this stuff of yours is getting heavy," he complained. "Even split between the three of us.  And by the three of us, I mean mostly me.  Don't think I haven't noticed that I'm the one doing all the heavy lifting here."  

 He set down the bags he had been carrying, the ones with her books and cauldron, before searching through the small, cluttered shop.  "Luck is on our side today!" he said, as he yanked a battered leather steamer trunk free from where it was wedged between an old wardrobe and an armchair that had seen better days.  He checked the price tag and, satisfied with it, paid the shopkeeper and ushered them back outside.

 Once out in the light of the sun, the trunk looked even less impressive.  It was beyond beat up, with tears in the leather, a sagging lid, and a broken latch.

 "Thanks," she said with as much politeness as she could muster.  

 Professor Skeelur smirked.  "Nothing a little spit-shine won't fix."

 "Please don't spit on it.  It's been through enough."

 "Piper!" Ms Davies said reproachfully.

 But Professor Skeelur just laughed it off. "Watch and learn, Little Miss Sassy Pants!"  He pointed his wand at the trunk and said, "Reparo!"

 The trunk began to mend.  The tears in the leather closed, the latch realigned itself and firmly reattached to the trunk, and the structural integrity of the lid was restored.  

 "Wow!"

 "Oh, I'm not done."  He pointed his wand again.  "Installare rotae!"  

 The trunk rose a few centimetres off the ground. She looked closer and discovered that it was because locking wheels had been added to each corner of the trunk.

 "Capacious extremis!"  Piper watched but didn't notice anything different about the trunk. She looked at him quizzically. "Extension Charm," he explained.  "It gives you more room on the inside.  Now then, what's your favourite colour?"

 "Blue."

 "Colovaria!"  

 The dull brown leather of the chest transformed into a deep, royal blue that really made the brass fixtures pop.  

 "Wow…."  She was getting a lot of use out of that word today.

 "How do you like it now?" he asked smugly.

 "I love it!"

 "Good.  Now pack your things away, and let's continue.  We still need your robes and your wand."

 They went to a second-hand robe shop next, where she found three sets of school uniforms and work robes in good shape for half the price the professor said Madam Malkin's would cost.

 All that was left was her wand.  The professor led them to a little shop toward the end of the street.  "Ollivander," the professor told her, "is the best wandmaker in all of Britain.  If there's one area you don't want to skimp on, it's your wand."  Ms Davies elected to stay outside with her trunk so that things wouldn't get too cramped inside.

 Ollivander's was a small, dimly lit shop. The air was stuffy and smelt faintly of dust. Shelves lined the wall behind the counter, each one stacked high with long, narrow boxes.  

 Behind the counter was a man with unruly white hair. Piper assumed he must be Mr Ollivander. He had his back turned as he searched the shelves, running his finger along a row of boxes before choosing one.

 Setting it on the counter, he opened the lid, taking out a wand and offering it to the only other customer in the shop, a dark-haired girl her age.

 "This one is blackthorn and unicorn hair, 11 inches, fairly flexible. A very loyal combination.  Once the wand bonds with its owner, it's very unlikely to be won by another. Good for duelists."

 The girl gave the wand a wave. When nothing happened, Mr Ollivander took the wand back, setting it aside with others that formed a small discard pile on the counter.

 The man resumed his search of the shelves, choosing another. "Birch and phoenix feather, 12 inches, unyielding. Phoenix feather wands favour your family. Your father and grandmother were both chosen by them. Give it a try."

 Piper looked up at Professor Skeelur. She wanted to ask him what the man meant by the wand choosing people, but he had his attention focused elsewhere. She followed his gaze to where a woman stood silently off to the side. She was an older, aristocratic woman dressed in black, Victorian-era clothing. Her long, sleek hair was either pure white or platinum blonde; Piper couldn't tell which. Her eyes were an icy blue and just as cold as she stared back at the professor with a level of antipathy that he matched.

 "No?" Ollivander's voice drew her attention back to him and the girl. "Let's try this one. Elm and phoenix feather, 10 inches, pliable."

 Again, nothing seemed to happen when the girl waved the wand, and the man added it to the pile of rejected wands.

 Ollivander scanned the shelves, stroking his chin. A full minute of silence stretched out before he chose another box.

 "Yew and dragon heartstring, 12 inches, rigid."

 The girl perked up the moment the wand touched her hand. She raised the wand, and Piper jumped as a shower of silver sparks shot into the air, bathing the room in a ghostly glow before fading.

 "Excellent!" Ollivander exclaimed. "I'll box this up for you."

 The woman stepped up to the counter to pay for the wand, and the girl turned, finally noticing that they weren't alone. Casting a surreptitious glance toward the woman, making sure her attention was elsewhere, she walked over to them.

 Face to face, Piper was able to get a better look at her. She was of a similar height to Piper with a pale, heart-shaped face and, unusually, deep violet eyes.

 "What are you doing here?" she asked the professor without preamble.

 "Hogwarts business."

 "Oh," the girl said, disappointment apparent in her tone. "I thought perhaps..." her eyes cut to Piper, and she elected not to finish her sentence. Instead, she studied Piper, eyeing her from head to toe and back again. "You're Muggle-born." It wasn't a question.

 Piper nodded. "And you're," she hesitated for just a moment, realizing she wasn't sure of the proper terminology, but took a deep breath and ploughed on ahead anyway. "Witch-born."

 Beside her, Professor Skeelur coughed, pressing a fist to his mouth. By the way his eyes sparkled, she could tell his cough was covering laughter.

 The girl laughed outright, not bothering to hide her amusement. She stuck out a hand, "I'm Lark Cyclonis."

 Before Piper could introduce herself, the woman was at Lark's side, slapping down her offered hand.

 "Merlin's beard, Anarchis," Professor Skeelur said heatedly.  “Is she not allowed to make new friends?”

 "Don't be absurd, Arygyn. Befriend a Muggle-born? Out of the question.”

 Piper's jaw tightened. Unlike when Lark had said it, Anarchis' use of the word 'Muggle-born' was filled with disdain. She was no stranger to that tone. She had heard it often enough from people who couldn't keep their opinions to themselves when it came to her living situation or heritage.

 Professor Skeelur narrowed his eyes at the woman, and when he spoke, his voice was as cool as hers. "Why don't you just use the word we all know you really want to use?"

 Anarchis sneered. "Watch your tongue with me, boy. This is precisely why you are to have nothing to do with this family. I don't need you teaching Larkspur how to be a disrespectful blood traitor."

 "Grandmother, please," Lark's voice was tight, her face carefully blank.

 "Not another word," Anarchis snapped at her. She handed Lark the bag with her wand before gripping the back of her neck. "Now come along. We still need your books." Without another glance at either Professor Skeelur or herself, the woman marched the girl out of the shop.

 Piper crossed her arms as she watched them go. "Good to know I'm not good enough for some people in this world, either," she said, aiming for a light tone, but the lump in her throat got in the way.

 "Kid," Professor Skeelur said, putting a hand on her shoulder and squeezing. "Anyone here who thinks you're not good enough isn't worth knowing. Now let's get you your wand."

 She nodded, giving him a weak smile.

 He walked her up to the counter. "Mr Ollivander, this is Piper Cochran. She'll be starting her first year at Hogwarts this fall."

 "It's nice to meet you, sir," she greeted him as he peered at her with luminous, silvery eyes. If it weren't for Professor Skeelur and that awful Anarchis woman both having blue eyes, she'd seriously be starting to wonder if odd-coloured eyes were the norm in this strange world.

 "The pleasure is all mine," he replied. He walked around the counter with a tape measure in hand. "Now, let's see what we're working with."

 He released the tape measure, and it went to work on its own. It measured her height, the length of her arms, wrist circumference, palm width, the distance between her eyes, and a dozen other nonsensical measurements. A quill jotted down the information for Ollivander as he asked her about her dominant hand and when, where, and at what time she was born.

 By the end of it, she wasn't quite sure if he meant to sell her a wand, tailor her school uniform, or write up her astrological chart.

 He walked back around to the other side of the counter and searched the shelves, speaking to her as he went. "Each wand has its own unique personality," he explained. "The different wood types and wand cores have certain characteristics they bring to the table, with each individual tree and creature adding their own flair. Length and flexibility each play their parts. And, of course, the personality of the wizard the wand bonds with is the final ingredient. When you put all those pieces together, you get a wand that is unlike any that has ever existed or will exist again. The choosing of a wand is one of the most important moments in a young witch or wizard's life."

 Plucking a box from the shelf, he turned and smiled at her. Opening the box, he offered her the wand within. "Grapevine and dragon heartstring, 11", swishy."

 She took the wand and, having watched this process play out with Lark before her, gave it a little wave. Nothing happened, and Ollivander took the wand back, placing it back into the box before setting it aside. "You see, the wand chooses the wizard. If the wand decides you're not a good fit for it, it will refuse to perform for you or will perform poorly. You can use another's wand in a pinch, but neither you nor the wand will reach your full potential that way. Here, my goal is to match you with the perfect wand. I hate wasted potential."

 "How will I know if a wand is a perfect match?"

 "Oh, it will let you know. Now then, try this one on for size. Alder and unicorn hair, 13 inches, supple."

 Again, she tried waving the wand, and again nothing happened. Nothing happened with cedar and unicorn hair or aspen and dragon heartstring, either.

 As the pile of discarded wands grew, Piper began to wonder if Professor Skeelur had made a mistake. Maybe there was another Piper Cochran out there somewhere who was the real witch, waiting on a Hogwarts letter that would never come because it had been handed to her imposter, instead.

 "Maple and phoenix feather, 12 and a half inches, reasonably supple."

 Piper took the wand, and a feeling of warmth spread through her. She waved the wand, and a glowing ball of blue light shot from it, flew around the perimeter of the shop, and right out the window.

 Ollivander smiled, "An excellent wand! And an auspicious start to your new life as a witch. Both maple and phoenix feather are highly prized. For a wand of such calibre to choose you tells me that you can achieve greatness. But never rest on your laurels. Maple demands an adventurous and innovative spirit in its owner, or it will languish."

 "Really?" Piper breathed. "You aren't just saying that to make me feel better about myself?"

 "Why would I do that? I take my craft very seriously. If I believed you to be a mediocre witch in the making, I'd simply say nothing at all," Ollivander said matter-of-factly.

 "What about that last wand you sold?"

 "Yew and dragon heartstring? Why do you want to know? Taking a shine to wand lore already?"

 "Just curious."

 "Well, it's a powerful combination."

 "More powerful than maple and phoenix feather?"

 Ollivander hummed as he mulled the question over. "I would say so, yes. Phoenix feather will excel at any task you put it toward. But it's also stubborn. It makes you earn its excellence. But I find that those who are chosen by it are up to the challenge. Dragon heartstring possesses more brute strength and is easier to work with, but that isn't necessarily a good thing. You're more likely to accidentally blow yourself up with a dragon heartstring wand."

 She laughed but stopped when she realized neither Ollivander nor the professor was laughing with her. "You're serious?"

 "Quite. There's a reason magic requires so many years of schooling and why underage wizards aren't allowed to use magic outside of school. As for the wood, yew is rare and powerful. Some would say..."

 "Dark," Professor Skeelur cut in, and Ollivander frowned.

 "Yes, some would say that. Yew's reputation has been unfairly maligned over the centuries. I was going to say that yew is bold. It's attracted to the strong, the resolute. It appreciates a certain level of audacity in its owner. None of those qualities are inherently evil. Does that answer your question?"

 "I think so, thank you."

 Ollivander smiled again. "If you're still interested in wand lore after your fifth year, come see me. I might be persuaded to offer you a summer apprenticeship."

 Grinning, she thanked him again. He packaged up the wand as she counted out the money she owed him. "Your wand registration number is printed on a card inside the wand box. Don't lose it. You may need it someday, especially if you ever plan to travel to the states. They have strict permitting laws over there."

 She thanked him for a third time, and Professor Skeelur smirked at her as they left the shop. "Look at you. Your first day in the wizarding world, and you're already getting job offers."

 Her smile didn't fade for the rest of the day. This was going to be fun.

                                              ~*~*~

A/N: Okay, who made it this far?  Really?  Great!  Scale of 1-10, how interested are you in continuing to read this?

[manychocolatefactories]

CatCF Dark Chocolate: Part 2, the tour

Willy Wonka and his factory:

For the Factory in this version, I wanted to give a feeling of the factories of the 19th century. Something between a place where a mad scientist would work and a steampunk fantasy. Willy Wonka himself is based on Jules Vernes.

Willy Wonka himself is a man with an "impressive beard", a solemn but kind air on his face, and an overall feeling of knowledge and wisdom. Wearing a thick and tight jacket, a black top hat and a dark green coat, his appearance actually gives mixed signals: his short hair is fluffy and shaggy, like a man of free spirit, of amusement and not much care, but his beard and mustache are neatly trimmed and cut, like any serious and respectable man. His hair is brown, chocolate-colored, but with touches of white and gray here and there. His eyes are kind and twinkling, but his mouth is a harsh thin line. He is the kind of man that will say the most extravagant things perfectly seriously, but treat serious and common business as a joke. Don't think however that is an extravagant or funny man. Again, he rather gives the feeling of a kind mad scientist.

As for the Factory itself, actually the locals, the people of the town over which the Factory looms, dislike it. Sure, the Factory is admired by people wordlwide - tourists come to see it, painters come to paint it, it is a landmark admired in foreign countries. But the locals do not like it at all. It is a tall, dark, cold and stern building, with no color of beauty, only locked doors, metallic fences, thick walls and high chimneys. The Factory does not employ anyone of the town, in fact no one ever saw the Factory workers arrive or leave. Wonka himself has never left his factory for decades now. Couple that with strange white silhouettes seen at the windows, and the ramblings of the local homeless man who apparently hates the Factory and keeps insulting it, and quickly a bad reputation was built for it. Adults believe Wonka is trying to hide a shameful secret, the kids tell tales of "the haunted chocolate factory"...

In fact, I wanted an air of creepiness for the Factory. I took back the original idea of Dahl that all the workers are regular humans dressed in white, and I pushed it a little further: they are basically so covered in white you can hardly see them anymore. They have white blouses and jackets, white gloves, white masks, white caps, white helmets... After each kid's demise, a mysterious poem is recitated (like in Dahl's original drafts), mysterious voices that could be eithe the worker's or something else... In fact, with each kid demise there is an element of sppokiness which may be the kid hallucinating out of fear, or not (Augustus in the river thinks something is tying to catch him or drag him down  ; Wilbur and Rice in the dark hear and feel creepy things...). And Wonka himself keeps making ominous references to "selling your soul to the devil"...

But in truth the Factory isn't a death trap at all. Behind the scenes, the workers are just normal people with their own life and their usual office routines, and who happent to leave very discreetly the Factory. The Factory is also based a lot on the Menier chocolate factory, which is the "real-life" Wonka factory. I may speak more about it one day.

Anyway... now let's go on with the tour!

# The Labyrinth. Behind each entrance, before each exit of the Factory, is a labyrinth, a maze Wonka designed after the works of Penrose and Möbius. Only he and his workers know the way out of them. This is merely a security measure.

# The Edible Garden. For this garden, I wanted to insist on the idea of it being fake and artificial - Wonka didn't try to create a perfect replica of a landscape. This room doesn't even have any real sense in the Factory, it is merely a piece of art he created so that he could come in here to relax and mediate. There are no windows, all the lights come from spots on the far-away ceiling and the ground is grey stone (because Wonka is revolted at the idea of making grass out of candy, it would be too dirty). There are trees of hard caramel and mint candies, orchards where the fruits are made of gummy, lollipops shaped like flowers and numerous sculptures of sugar - none of this is to be eaten however. At the back of the garden, there is the Chocolate River. The River serves a double use: on one side, it is merely an aesthetic addition to the Edible Garden. On the other, it is a source of energy for the Factory - it used to be a water mill, and Wonka kept the ancient structures but replaced water with chocolate. As such, the production of chocolate actually helps create energy back - and the river ends with a series of different pipes, each one leading to a different room where the chocolate will be used.

This is where Augustus Pottle meets his demise. The competitive  glutton tried to empty the river of its content, and fell into it. Sucked up by one of the glass pipes, he did a long travel through the tubes and pipes of the factory, which crushed and reshaped his fat into a cylindric body - before he fell into one of the boiling vats. There, the heat was enough to have all his fat melt, like in a super-intense sauna. Hopefully, he was rescued before being boiled alive - but Augustus left the factory as a mass of sagging, extra-skin, his wrinkled folds dragging on the ground, like a skeleton wearing a bride's dress made of human flesh.

# At the back of the Edible Garden, there is a long hallway that passes by a balcony. Said balcony allows one to see the "Mosaic room", a place where Wonka makes mosaics out of pralines - and since the room is really vast, he can make giant mosaics.

# The Vanilla Fudge Mountain. While it looks like a miniature mountain kept inside a giant room, this titanic hunk of vanilla fudge is actually a fragment taken out of the Honeylaya mountain range (located somewhere between the great Black Thunder chocolate mines, and the sugar marshes of the Sea of Marmelade). [References to the Himalaya, the Black Thunder coal mines, the Black Thunder chocolate bars, the Sea of Marmara and salt marshes ]. This room is basically a copy-cut of Dahl's deleted chapter of the same name, with workers breaking down the mountain, piling the fudge in wagons and then sending it to the Cutting and Pounding Room.

This is where Wilbur and Rice meet their demise. Unruly, and tired of having all their pranks and "fun" sabotaged by Wonka and Bertie Upside, they decide to ride the wagons. Of course, they are sent down the Cutting and Pounding Room - hopefully for them, Wonka has installed an intelligent wire strainer/net that can catch all impurities detected, to clean the fudge. So the kids are saved, right? Well the thing is that, while waiting on the wire strainer for someone to save them, the kids, bored and gluttonous, ended up eating all the fudge that fell down around them. They ate so much of it, that the machine ended up identifying them as "fudge" instead of "impurity" (since they were basically 80 percent fudge after their gorging Xp). So they where sent down in the Room, thrown on a conveyor belt... ready to be pound and cut into slices. The workers realized this of course and stopped the conveyor belt before the knifes - but the kids still got pounded. Wilbur, who was lying on his side when he got pounded, became tall and thin ; while Tommy, who was standing up, got pounded on the head and became small and large. In fact, when they got out of the Factory, their angry parents ended up mistaking one for another and going home with the wrong boy.

# After the Vanilla Fudge Mountain, the tour goes by another hallway, this one with numerous tall and colorful windows - stained glass made of sugar. Each window illustrates a famous chocolatier or candy-maker, but in the style of saints in churches. You have Philippe Suchard (the grandfather of Milka), Henry Isaac Rowntree (the maker of the Fruit Pastilles and Fruit Gums), the Menier family (the biggest chocolatiers of 19th century and first half of 20th century Europe, and distant relatives of Wonka) ; the Murrie family (creators of Hersheys) and the Mars famly (bheind the Mars bars, the M&Ms, the Snickers and the Milky Ways). "All families" Wonla notes with an air of sadness. Indeed, Wonka always wanted a family - or rather at this point in his life he regrets to not have a family and an heir, isolated that he is in his factory.

# Inventing Room number 3. There are numerous "Inventing Rooms" in the Factory, dedicated to developping, inventing, testing, studying products or just do crash tests. The number 3 is clustered with huge, squat and heavy dark machines, with vats, cauldrons and ovens, and all sorts of other structures dragon-like due to the steam and fire they spill out. It quite a grim and sinister place, but it is also where Wonka tests his most fantastic inventions, like the Rainbow Drops, the Luminous Lollies or the Three-Course Meal Gum.

As you guess, this is where Violet Beauregard will meet her demise. I set myself a rule to avoid all blueberry transformations when dealing with the demises of the Violets, so here I rather use the tomato soup: after chewing (not only did Violet took the gum due to her "talent" but also because she misheard Wonka and thought it was a "tasting" room), her face becomes red and chubby, her skin smooth and glossy, her cheeks puff out, her nose bulges, her forehead bloats, her throat becomes big, her lips thick and her ears thin, pointy, green. Result? Her face looks like a mass of tomatoes. Tomatoes for cheeks, a tomato for a forehead, tomatoes instead of eyelids, a tomato for a nose and two for the lips... Think of the Arcimboldo paintings, how he made faces out of flowers and vegetables. It is the same thing here. And while her parent is furious at first, they end up actually realizing it might be for the better - because now she is truly unique and attention-attracting, and that's what her parents always wanted...

# Follows a long hallway with a series of different rooms: two are taken from the original book, the Fizzy Lifting Drinks and the Squares that Look Round. One I changed slightly: the Chocolate Milk Room, where Wonka keeps special cows that have a chocolate-flavored milk.

# The Heating Room. A room taken from Dahl's deleted chapter "The Warming Candy Room".

This Heating Room looks like the negine room of a submarine or a freighter, filled with turbines, pistons, pipes, wheels and pressure gauges. This is where Wonka creates all of his heat-related products: hot ice-creams to fight chilling days, hot ice-cubes to give back warmth to a cold drink, and finally the warming candies (see the original deleted chapter). Marvin Prune, absolutely outraged by what he perceives as Wonka breaking all laws of science and physics, tries to prove that he is a quack by stuffing himself with handfuls of warming candies. Which results in him over-heating: he becomes red, sweaty, thirsty, removes all of his clothes (save for his underwears) and screams to death.

Wonka will have him put in the freezer, and also covered regularly in water, to avoid him drying up to death or combust. But even as he is leaving the factory, he is still red, sweaty, steamy and in underwears - the falling snow melting as it touches him.

# The Nut Room. Another classic piece of the original factory that I wanted to reinvent. Basically, here the kids do not visit the Nut Room proper, but the Under-Nut Room, or Sub-Nut Room. You've got the Nut Room where the white-clad workers separate good nuts from bad nuts Then the "bad" batch is then in this under-room, where trained squirrels will sniff out any potential "good nut" the workers may have missed. All the nuts are on a conveyor belt, that is getting then thrown down a chute.

Of course, Elvira Salt meets her demise here by trying to take one of the squirrels by force, resulting in a squirrel attack. However, the squirrels do not push her down the chute. Rather, she climbs on the conveyor belt to avoid them and has her fur stuck in the belt. She could have escaped if she had let go of it, but she refused to let it go, so she fell down the chute... and Wonka cannot remember if this particular chute leads to the compost vat he uses to grow his fruits, vegetales and berries   - or to the furnace...

But don't worry, she actually falls down in the compost. Elvira will leave the factory extremely dirty, unbearably stinky, so much not even an entire week of baths and showers can remove it, and probably with one or two diseases, but alive.

# The Television Room. I did not had time to clearly prepare this one, but it will be where Michael (Mike) T-V meets his demise. Discovering he can go inside television, he is more happy to oblige, and is absolutely thrilled to be in his favorite shows. But as soon as he leaves the television, he realizes that he is now as small as a television character! No bigger than the screen! He will be sent back to his home, now only able to play with his toys and figurines, the only things at his doll-like size.

# The Molding Room

This room is also taken back from Dahl's original draft. Basically, it is where Wonka creates many of his chocolate sculptures - he has an entire zoo of chocolate animals, and very recently created a machine able to form men, women and children out of chocolate. And this is also where Bertie Upside will meet his demise.

You may be wondering: Bertie? What has he done wrong? He is kind, gentle, generous, perfect. He helped Charlie on numerous occasions, he stopped the mischief of the brats... Isn't he a good kid?

HE IS NOT. Grandpa Georges was right all along: if he appears better than the others, it means that he twice as worse.

Bertie Upside truly has a heart of gold. Which means a heart of cold and hard metal, not of flesh.

Bertie Upside is a psychopath, a sociopath, an evil little boy. Sure he knows how to put on a nice and gentle facade, but it is just manipulation. If he is orphaned, it is because he killed his own parents, and now that he is left alone with Charlie (Wonka being busy elsewhere), Bertie will try to kill him, just for fun, by putting him in the "Chocolate Boy" mould so that he would be smothered in a chocolate statue.

However (I have to admit this part is a bit blurry), Charlie will resist and Bertie will end up thrown inside another moulding machine... A piñata-creating machine. When Bertie will get out of the machine, he will still be a living boy... but now with a flesh as fragile as papier-mâché, and insides filled with candies. Now he is really a sweet kid inside as he is outside. And  he will have to be really gentle... if he doesn't want to break.

And of course after that Charlie gets the factory, as it turns out that Wonka was looking for an heir with this tour. Happy end!

   Now, as I mentionned a poem forms itself through the story, rhymes being added after each kid's demise (an idea originally taken from Dahl's first drafts of the story). It goes like this:

"Nine little children, in the garden they went,

But one fell, and then they were eight."

"Eight little children, an unruly mix,

Two rode to Chicago, and then they were six."

"Six little children went into a room as busy as a hive,

But one did not listen carefully, and then they were five."

"Five little children, less and less at every door,

One had a fever and then they were four."

"Four little children saw squirrels down the tree,

One fell down the squirrel hole, and then they were three."

"Three little children, and none are new,

One went to play and then they were two."

"Two little children, we are soon to be done,

One got his trickandtreat, and then there was one."

"One little children, everything he won,

He lived ever happily, and now we are done."

[gendercraft]

Outlast: Revisited [Chapter Four: Waylon]

Read on ao3

Synopsis: I’m rewriting Outlast where the first game and Whistleblower are combined, Miles and Waylon are more connected, and also they kiss

Trigger warnings: Sexual assault plus everything already in the game; eye gore

Waylon hopped out of the vent into a tiny, mostly bare room. A Variant sat in the corner, hugging his legs with his face buried in his knees. A metal storage crate barricaded the door. 

“You mind if I move this?” Waylon asked quietly. 

The man shook his head. 

Waylon swallowed and braced himself against the crate. His weak muscles trembled and strained as he pushed. Holding back a groan, he squeezed his eyes shut. When it was finally out of the way he shook his hands out and sighed. 

Poking his head into the hall, he bit his lip. It was empty, the walls covered in plastic, emergency lights still blasting. The rest of the lights had gone out. There were several dead bodies littering the hall, blood smeared on the plastic. One body was completely ripped in half, torso from legs, guts spilling into the floor. 

He snuck into a security room and shut the door behind him. Through the window to a decontamination chamber, a man in scrubs pressed his hands to the glass. 

“Help me, please!” He cried. “I’m a doctor! I need to get home to my…” His eyes widened. He spluttered for a second, then said, “You’re not security. I was… I’m a patient,” he said carefully. 

Waylon stepped closer, brows furrowed. 

“I stole these clothes from a… dead body I found. You gotta let me out of here. Please. Just push the button, open the door. We can get out of here together!” 

Waylon hesitated. He wished he’d recognized the man—if it were really a doctor, he’d leave him to rot, but he couldn’t risk hurting a patient, could he? Fuck. He slammed his hand on the button. 

The doors slid open, and a Variant with a grimace and a red face stepped inside. The doctor/patient gasped and stepped back. 

“No, no!” 

“All of you,” the Variant snarled, grabbing the back of the doctor/patient’s head and slamming it into the glass. Waylon stepped backwards with wide eyes, “doctors and liars.” 

He slammed the man’s head into the glass, over and over and over and over again, thunk, thunk, crack, thunk, blood spurted everywhere. Slipping out of its socket, the eye was crushed against the glass. Blood dripped from his mouth and nose and eyes. Crack! Thin lines stained the glass like a halo. 

Waylon felt sick. Gagging, he backed up until he was pressed against the door. He couldn’t tear his eyes away. 

The Variant thanked him, then left. 

He’d never seen a man die before today. Never seen a dead body outside of a coffin. Dozens in the last few hours, murdered and worse. The look in the Variant’s eyes, the raw anger, as he crushed the man’s skull… There was no real difference between the doctors and patients now. They were all crazy, all sick. 

And what was Waylon? He watched a man die and only thought, it’s not me, thank God. 

He knew he’d die someday. He didn’t want to be murdered. 

Waylon stumbled out of the room and made his way to the airlock. It sprayed him with that awful-smelling green gas, then let him through. The corpse watched him as he left. He crept through to the closest exit he knew of, but it was jammed and blocked. Dead Variants littered the ground. 

A file caught his eye. He picked it up with shaking hands. 

 From: j.blaire@murkoffcorp.us.com

To: h.grant@murkoff.us.com

Subject: Resignation for Mental Health, CC 8208 

Ms. Grant, 

 You may receive requests for information from a Mrs. Lisa Park, of Leadville, CO, in the coming weeks concerning the resignation and hospitalization of her husband, Waylon. If so, please forward them to my personal attention. 

 Waylon’s stomach lurched. Lisa? Oh, God… 

 Waylon Park (former consulting contract 8208) resigned due to previously undiagnosed mental illness. I personally visited Mrs. Lisa Park and her sons and broke the news to them, with the “silver lining” that Murkoff Psychiatric would be graciously providing treatment. 

 Mrs. Park had some less than charitable things to say about myself and the Murkoff corporation. I assured her that with her power of attorney she could try to fight the doctors’ diagnoses of her husband’s illness. 

 However, if it were discovered that he resigned under false pretenses, his insurance would be cancelled and the family would be saddled with not insignificant healthcare debts. 

 The paper crunched in Waylon’s fist. 

 Hopefully she understood. 

But if she insists on making a nuisance of herself, or tries to get around me, please let me know. This is one I want to take care of personally. 

 Yours, 

Jeremy Blaire

 Waylon shoved the paper in his pocket. Please say she let it go. Please let her be okay. 

 Blaire’s voice echoed in his head. 

“Somehow not smart enough to realize that the last thing a fly ought to do in a spider’s web is wiggle.” The laptop cracked on the ground as Blaire dropped it. “Somehow dumb enough to think that a borrowed laptop, onion router, and firewall patch would be enough to fool the world’s leading supplier of biometric security.” He tapped his forehead. “Stupid, Mr. Park. More than stupid. In fact, that was crazy!” A sick grin spread across his face. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to have you committed. Mr. Park, will you willfully submit to forced confinement?” He glanced over his shoulder at the three armed security guards that followed him. “Did you hear that, agent?” 

Waylon’s heart slammed against his chest, his fingertips. The fear burned hot in his abdomen, sweat gathering on his brow. 

“He said ‘yes,’ Mr. Blaire.” 

“Great!” Blaire waved his finger. “Oh, and… did I just hear Mr. Waylon Park volunteer for the Morphogenic Engine program?” 

“That’s what I heard, Mr. Blaire.” 

“That was brave, indeed, Waylon. The Murkoff Corporation and the onward march of science both appreciate your bravery… and sacrifice. Maybe you should administer Mr. Park here a light anesthetic?” 

“Gladly.” The front guard stepped forward and wound his arm back. 

Waylon raised his hands. Blinding pain rippled across his face, and his eyes rolled back into his head. 

Waylon ground his teeth together so hard something cracked. He would get back to Lisa and the boys if he had to tear through the entire asylum. 

The next airlock was broken, so he climbed atop a stack of crates covered in a blue tarp and dragged himself on top. Army crawling across, he jumped to the ground. It was pitch black in the hall. He raised his camcorder and flicked on the nightvision. 

He found himself in the cafeteria. Body parts were strewn across like decorations. Someone hummed and mumbled nearby. Bodies hung from the freezer’s ceiling like cured pigs. Flesh teared in the cafeteria, munching. Hands shaking, he crept into the kitchen. 

Waylon gagged. Blood boiled on the stove like someone was making fucking spaghetti, an arm and a hand poking out of the bubbling warmth. He entered the dining area, and behind the glass of the bar, blood splattered across the copious amount already caked on. Around the corner, then he zoomed in to look through the glass at the naked, bearded man sawing into a corpse. 

Keeping his camera up, Waylon’s eyes watered. He stepped forward. 

POP!

The microwave beeped and the head inside exploded. 

“Oh, God,” Waylon choked out. 

“Don’t you look at us,” the man snapped. “I love him.” He pulled out an organ and dropped it into his mouth. 

He chewed with his lips open, blood spurting, tissue tearing. Waylon stumbled back and hurried out of the room. He doubled over and gagged, choked, trying to vomit but nothing coming up. 

Sitting on the ground, he set the camera down facing him. “Don’t ask to see my body, Lisa,” he choked out. “When I die, when you finish the lawsuits that let you pry this footage from Murkoff’s army of lawyers and corporate hitmen, don’t make them show you my body. Just bury it. Or burn it. Let my sons remember me whole.” He looked away and squeezed his eyes shut. “That man is eating human flesh,” he whispered. “He looks at me and I see anger. A little desire. But more than anything, hunger. Please don’t make them show you my body.” 

He grabbed the camera. He didn’t plan on dying, but he would not risk not warning Lisa. 

He passed through a locker room and into a hallway, towards a grated door. A corpse hung by the wrist to set of handcuffs, looped through the grate, holding it closed. He had to get through there to get to the prison, get to the radio. 

“Fuck,” he whispered, yanking at the handcuffs. He’d have to find the key. There had to be a security guard around here somewhere. 

Across from the grate was a boarded up door. The glass above it was broken. He climbed atop the desk resting there and pulled himself through the broken window, hissing as glass cut across his thighs. 

Keeping an eye out for the key, he crept down the hall. Bzzzz! 

Waylon dropped to the floor as the cook came into the hall. His eyes glowed in the infrared, slowly surveying every inch of the blackness. There was that desire in his eyes, that hunger. Waylon kept the camcorder up and swallowed, his skin crawling. Out of all the people in Mount Massive, he did not want to be in the hands of the cook. 

He thought about turning around and finding an alternate way to the prison, but it would take too much time. He’d just have to be careful, quiet. He crept forward. The hall went forward and then to the left, with a room to the right. As the cook disappeared into the room to the right, Waylon hurried forward, still low to the ground. His eyes were on the corner. If he could just get around the corner, maybe he wouldn’t be seen. 

His foot crinkled on a sheet of plastic hanging off the wall. He froze. 

“I can smell you!” 

Shuddering, Waylon crept further into the darkness. 

“Feed me! Feed me! FEED ME!” 

The saw buzzed, bzzz! 

Just keep moving, Waylon. 

He crawled forward in the hall and turned the corner. The man was still busy in the room to the right. In the turn of the hall, the walls were lined with wooden doors. He crept into the first one just long enough to catch his breath. It was bare with just a stack of mattresses on a metal bedframe, no key in sight. He stood up halfway and peeked open the door. 

The hall was empty. He swung the door open and snuck out. 

“MINE! You are mine!” 

The voice was right behind him. He broke into a sprint, just in time for the buzzsaw to catch the hairs on the back of his neck. 

“Fuck!” He gasped, skidding to a stop at the blocked end of the hall and slamming his fist into the door as he barged inside. 

He ran straight across the hall to the next door, barging through that one as well, leading him into a room full of storage shelves and crosses on the wall. A dead end. He looked around wildly, a place to hide, a place to escape. 

“Feed me! Feed me! FEED ME!” 

Waylon whipped around. The cook grinned, blood glinting on his teeth, white in the night vision. He swung the buzzsaw and Waylon leapt backwards. Tripping over his own feet, his back smacked against the ground. The saw came over the cook’s head, and Waylon rolled out of the way, only for burning pain to rip through his leg. 

“FUCK!” He staggered to his feet and felt frantically at the blood dripping down his calf. 

Another swing, Waylon brought his hand up, a slash down his palm. He whimpered and stumbled backwards. 

Then he saw it—an open vent sat above a desk. He ducked another blow and dashed for the vent. His collar caught and he choked, his eyes watering. The cook dragged him backwards and threw him into a shelf. His chest and knee and elbow slammed into the corners. Wheezing, he made another break for the vent. He shoved past the cook and leapt onto the desk as all the lights flicked on. 

The buzzsaw caught the bottom of his foot as he dragged himself into the vent. He curled into a ball and hissed through his teeth. His blood smelled of iron, it was all he could smell, all he could think. He sat up as best as he could, cramped in the little square space, and looked for a seam to rip with his teeth. The cook grunted and cursed as he tried to get into the vent, only to turn and leave the room. 

“I’ll find another way…”

Waylon found a seam in his pants and ripped off what fabric he could. It wasn’t even or clean, but it was long enough for him to wrap around his calf and tie tight enough to hurt. He ripped off another piece for his foot, and another for his hand. 

He was shaking when he dropped to the ground. His foot burning, he bit back a whimper. 

A Variant stood in the corner. He was dressed, thank God, but bandages wrapped around his eyes. 

Waylon held his hands up as the Variant stalked towards him. “Hey, hey… What’s going on, man?” 

“I have an itch.” 

He cringed. “I can’t help with that. Want me to get those bandages off?” 

The Variant shook his head. What could be behind the fabric? 

Waylon swallowed. “Your clothes… you come from upstairs?” He wasn’t wearing the standard jumpsuit the Morphogenic volunteers wore. His clothes came from the Male Ward. 

“Yes.” 

“So you can get around safely, you know how to not get caught?” 

The Variant hesitated, then continued forward. Waylon stepped back. “I can move around.” 

“I need you to find someone for me. Can you do that? I can switch out your bandage for something cleaner.” 

“...okay.”

“There should be an investigative journalist running around here somewhere—”

“Miles Upshur.” 

Waylon blinked. “Y… yeah. How’d you- how’d you know?” 

“He’s been… talking to everyone. Trying to. In the abandoned sections. Headed to the basement, last I saw. Why do you need him?” 

“Find him,” Waylon begged, “tell him Waylon Park, the whistleblower, is headed to the prison. I’m going to get help.”

He stopped walking. “You’re the whistleblower?” 

“Yes,” Waylon said uncertainly. 

“I’ll find him for you.” 

Waylon found a seam in his shirt sleeve and ripped it free. He carefully pulled the bandages away from the Variant’s face. In the sockets, the eyes were completely eviscerated, nothing but bloody pulp. Waylon felt like gouging his own eyes out with a spoon. He bit back a gag and pulled the new bandage around his eyes. 

“Get those clean,” he mumbled, then patted his shoulder. “I need to go.” 

Waylon was back towards the labs, plastic lining the glass walls and laptop carts clogging up the halls. He wasn’t sure if the handcuff key would be around here, but he was just grateful to be away from the cook. 

He looked around for a tense couple of minutes, stepping quietly and keeping an ear out for any buzzing, before he finally found a bathroom with a dead security guard. He snatched the key from the man’s belt and sighed in relief. 

All he had to do now was get back. 

He found his way back to the main hall and stuck his head out the door. The cook grumbled to himself, peeking inside a room, saw buzzing beside him. Waylon swallowed and crouched. He crept into the hall and around the corner. 

If he comes this way, I’m fucked. But the barred door he originally jumped over was in sight. The cook was not agile, couldn’t follow him. It was Waylon’s only strength here. 

He cursed himself, then broke into a sprint. 

“MINE!” 

His feet slapped the floor as the cook raced behind him. Vaulting over a turned over bed and leaping onto a desk, he scrambled up through the window again, the broken glass making more cuts across his thighs. 

Waylon stumbled to the ground. His vision blurred, his head hot. Panic? Blood loss? Both? Whatever. He got the key. 

Unlocking the handcuffs, the corpse’s arm slipped out and thunked to the ground. With shaking hands, Waylon pulled the handcuffs out of the lock and swung the grate open. 

It led into the crematorium. He headed down a short staircase and crept into the room. His heart was still racing, his legs still equipped to run. Something banged on the nearby door as he passed the ovens. He nearly jumped out of his skin. 

Backing up, he watched the door shake again, then stop. He hesitated. 

I have to go this way. 

He watched his steps, stepping over broken glass and litter. The second he passed the door slammed open. The cook grabbed him by the neck and threw him onto his back. Waylon wheezed and kicked, the wind knocked out of him. The cook hauled him onto a wooden slab and raised the buzzsaw. 

“This meat is mine,” he cackled. 

He brought the buzzsaw to his chest, slowly inching forward until red splattered. Waylon threw his head back and screamed. Then the cook pulled the saw away. 

Grabbing Waylon by the legs, he shoved him backwards. The heat of the oven burned the back of Waylon’s head. 

“You stay there,” he grinned, “and cook!” 

Then he threw Waylon into the oven, and slammed the door. 

@wasnt-hiding-in-cuba-for-7-years asked for waylon torture porn so here’s me delivering the best i can this early in the story. more whump later, hope you enjoyed lol 

[ingravinoveritas]

Hi. I'm new to GO fandom and I love the series. I've been watching interviews with MS and DT and I noticed how Michael looks at him. Beautiful. I also saw the interview where he said David is his lover, also David said "Maybe I should've married Michael Sheen" and much more. I have mixed feelings about their behavior. I'm not sure about David, he's hard to read, but Michael seems like he's in love with him. I know he says these things on purpose, but I don't know what to think.What do you think?

Hi, Anon! Oh gosh, well let me be the first (one of the first?) to say hello and welcome to the GO fandom! It’s a great, big beautiful place bursting with creativity where people are just cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs over our favorite angel/demon duo and the delightful actors who play them...and then there are those of us on the fringes here quietly watching Michael ship himself with David and David not minding one bit.

(For the record, I totally never intended to ship them, and the only reason I still do is because they keep doing and saying things that prevent me from not shipping them. Lovable bastards...)

So, the points you are raising have come up and been discussed before, and it’s interesting to see how they’ve both continued with making these little comments as time has gone on. There have been several examples since the ones you cited (Michael calling David’s hips slinky, Michael saying that he took David home from the set of Good Omens, David saying he likes getting to occasionally fill a Michael Sheen-shaped hole, David describing Michael’s beard as being cuddly, to name a few), and it is challenging to know exactly what to think or where to place these in the pantheon of “coworker/friend appreciation” vs. “deep emotional/potentially also physical connection that may or may not be love.”

While I think you are right that Michael has said a lot of these things on purpose and has fed into the fan realm, it’s also equally probable that he has said these things because he can’t help himself. And the great thing about Michael is that he is incredibly open with his emotions. David plays things closer to the vest, but Michael wears his heart on his sleeve and you can very much tell when he really, really likes someone (and conversely, when he doesn’t). It’s very easy to hear someone say they’re in a relationship or call someone their significant other, but it’s looking at the person’s body language that often tells you the real story. For me, what’s been most revealing isn’t necessarily the things Michael has said, but the way he behaves around David (actions speaking louder than words and whatnot). A few examples:

The first three are pretty self-explanatory (leaning close to David, staring at his lips/mouth while he’s talking), but the fourth is very interesting because it’s from Staged. Michael and David are acting, but still Michael leans in close to David multiple times, despite the fact that he’s not even there. David is on a screen, and yet Michael appears to move physically closer to him more than he does to any other person in the show. It’s as though no matter what version of himself he plays, Michael will always be drawn to David, and want to be close to him.

So, is Michael in love with David? Hard to say for sure. We’ve seen how Michael behaves around people he considers just friends and people he deeply cares for, and I do have a fairly strong opinion of which of those two categories his actions with David fall under. It seems like Michael and David have drawn a line between their public and private interactions, but while David is good at staying behind it, Michael is continuously galloping toward said line at a breakneck pace.

The true nature of Michael and David’s friendship/relationship is something we’re just not privy to, but it is certainly fascinating (and also hot) to think about and be inspired by. Bless them for feeding us as well as they do...

[weclassygirl]

𝐀𝐜𝐭𝐚, 𝐧𝐨𝐧 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐚

Word count: +4.7k

Pairing: santino d’antonio x f!reader

Summary: “They’re already waiting.”

Warnings: none i guess, fighting 

Author’s note: hi! i’m back with another part. the next part may take a bit longer for me to write, cause i’m dealing with something at my uni rn. as always give me your most brutal honest opinion so i can improve. english is not my first language so beware. take care everyone <3

dulce periculum series: 01 / 02 / 03 / ... / 05

Gif credits (x) 

After the plane lands in Rome, both of you waste no time driving to Naples. It's already night time in Italy, almost midnight actually. You drive through the heart of Rome, the car passes by the Colosseum and your eyes linger on it as you drive past it. The whole monument is even bigger and more magnificent than you could ever imagine.

Santino's eyes linger too but not on the ancient structure but on you. Once again he's studying your face, your reaction to the place you're in. Your face is still covered in bruises but they are nearly gone, right now the orange street lights dance on your face as well as the cover of night. 

You sigh softly, not being able to stop a gentle expression taking over your features. For a while you feel at ease, taking in the scenery around you. None of you utter a word throughout the almost 3 hour drive. You believe that it may be due to the long flight, everyone would be tired after sitting in one place for 8 hours. You have slept for almost the whole flight, somehow you still felt exhausted after the event at the Lounge… or maybe it has to do with the bruises still placed on your body.

The car stops before a gate that is followed by a brick driveway. You cannot see the mansion from your seat, the only thing visible is the well tamed grass and some other trees with bushes growing on it. 

You see a few guards placed in various spots, all of them wear elegant suits. The car nears the mansion and your eyes go slightly wide. You expected the mansion to be luxurious and grand, but somehow it feels like that richness collides with simplicity. 

Both of you step out of the car and walk towards the mansion. The two guards placed at the entrance nod their heads at Santino. You follow him as he steps into the building, nerves start to creep up your body as you move further into the mansion. 

"You will have a bedroom here too." he says as you pass the big mirror on the wall. You see your reflection in it for a moment before you move along. "Someone will show it to you later." 

As you keep walking further into the grand mansion you see a man coming up to Santino and whispering to him in Italian. 

"They're already waiting." both men glance at you and Santino nods his head to the guard. You draw your eyebrows together, wondering what they could be talking about. Who's waiting? 

The two of you move upstairs, walking along the wide hallway. There are paintings on the wall and some flowers placed on the tables. Both of you come to a stop and stand in front of rich dark door. You can hear a faint chatter behind the doors and look at Santino. He stares at the door as if he could see who's waiting behind them. Both of you enter the room.

There's ten people sitting at the table. Their discussion dies down as soon as they see you enter. A woman with gray hair sits at the head of it and by her sides sit two man, one dressed in a brown suit, the other in a black dress shirt. All of them look dangerous, the tension is filling up the air and you wonder if walking away now would be a wise idea.

You weren't expecting Camorra to have its own Council, but it does make sense in your mind. Someone has to be there if the head is dead or on the other side of the world.

"It's not proper to keep us waiting, boy." says a man with a nicely trimmed beard.  His eyes sharp and dark. 

Santino changes his whole attitude in a matter of seconds. "Well, seeing as I am the current head of this family I would have thought that it didn't matter if I arrived on time or not." he says with that arrogant grin growing on his face. It reminds you of the same arrogance he showed in front of Winston when he asked for John's membership to be revoked.

The gray haired woman doesn't respond to his statement. She gestures to the seats in front of you with her elegant hand. 

"Sit down, both of you." 

"We'll stand, let's get this over with quickly." Santino says in a hurried tone.

The woman is not pleased with that answer but decides to let it go, getting right into the reason you're all here. 

"What's your name girl?" she addresses you. 

Once again you think if it would be wise to give your real name, but still stick with the one you've been using since you got here. 

"Umm… Jade." you answer hesitantly. 

She can see through your lie as well as the others gathered around the long table.

"Jade." she tastes your name on her tongue, it makes your skin crawl. "Ms. Jade, we’re hearing that you have come from a world where all of this is a movie, correct?" she leans in her seat, her elbows rest on the dark table. 

"Yes." 

"And you stopped Mr. John Wick from killing Santino?" she questions further and you notice a hint of an Italian accent in her statement. 

"That's right." you answer her slowly. Your whole body is tense, all eyes are turned in your direction, the Council and the few of the guards placed in every corner. 

"Tell us then… what is it that you want?" she asks with an accusatory tone. "Money? Power? What would make you save him from the Baba Yaga?" 

You can't believe what you're hearing. Saving Santino could be seen as some kind of deal in the eyes of others, that you've done that only to gain some money for yourself but that's not the case.

You lived in one of the worst conditions possible over the years, your rent was cheap and so was the apartment. It wasn't much but it was home… even if you could call it that. You learned how to live off of scraps, you don't need luxury to feel like someone worthy, respectable even. 

"You're seriously think that I saved him because I want money?" you scoff in her direction, your eyes slightly widened and eyebrows raised. 

"Who wouldn't? Money is the language of the modern world, people with money are the ones that rule it, any world at that." you stare at her, disbelief taking over your features. You look towards Santino and immediately switch your attention to the woman at the table. 

"I don't need to tell you the reason. He lives, that's what matters, doesn't it?" you question, your voice is getting colder and colder with every passing minute. At this point you don't care that you're surrounded by one of the most powerful organization in all of Italy, maybe even the world. "Without him this whole organization would have been gone."

"You think that his death would have changed anything here? Listen to yourself, girl. Even if he were killed, we would have continued as before, stronger even." the woman argues, thinking she has the high ground. You look around, the others at the table watch your interaction like a tennis match. You begin to smile.

"No you wouldn't." you scoff.

"Excuse me?" the woman blinks.

"Jade…" Santino addresses you in a warning tone, but you just shake your head slightly and put your hand up as if to stop him from coming nearer. 

"No." you step closer to the table "If he wasn't alive, then all of this that has been build by his father would have been for nothing. The Camorra line needs to continue and you cannot do it without the heir. His father and Gianna are dead, he is the only person now that deserves that power here. Without a leader… you would all fall." you say, the accusations rise with every breath you take. "And I am pretty sure that any of you here wanted to see him dead,  just so you could have a chance at taking up that seat.” you finish your statement and see the woman put her hand up. 

You hear a soft click before you feel a cold barrel of a gun pressed on the back of your head. You freeze and raise your hands up slightly. You hang your hand down briefly and scoff. The grey haired woman has a look in her eyes that many surely would fear.

“One more word that would come out of that insolent mouth of yours and you will end up  with a bullet in your pretty little head.” she warns you through gritted teeth. Your shoulder tense up, you look towards Santino and his eyes filled with unexplained worry. You turn your gaze to the woman when you hear the Italian speak up next to you. 

“Maybe we could talk about the real reason why I called you all here,” he says with a serious expression forming on his face “rather than pointing a gun at her head.”

The woman at the table narrows her eyes at him, visibly agitated with the situation. 

“So what would be so important that you would call us here, at night with a stranger by your side?” she questions, her voice becoming more and more frustrated. 

Santino just smirks and briefly looks your way. The smirk faintly reaches his eyes that gleam in the low light of the room. 

“I’m sure that you would have her killed the moment she steps outside of this room, that’s why I want to make a proposition.” There’s a pregnant silence hanging in the room, but is soon dropped as the Italian man continues with his offer. “Let her work in the name of Camorra.”

You widen your eyes and look towards Santino who's already looking at you, his expression blank when you mouth to him what?. Your face shows confusion but is quickly replaced by the same calm that he now wears. 

Joining Camorra could help you in getting familiar with this world. If they trained you, you would have some kind of advantage, but also Santino could use it in his favor. The movie never showed how they truly work but from what you've seen you would believe that they do train the best of the best.

You hear a quiet chuckle from one of the other members sitting at the table.

“You think that a scrawny girl like her is capable of joining Camorra?” he questions with an anger and amusement building up in his voice.

“Yes I do, in fact at the Continental Hotel she told us that she has knowledge of multiple languages and of fighting, we could tests it here if you’re all doubtful.” the new Camorra leader responds, his eyes are solely focused on the people gathered in the room.

Before Santino can continue you hear a man speak up in Italian. "That stupid girl wouldn’t even survive the first night here.” he comments with a smirk directed to the man next to him. 

You feel anger and frustration build up inside you. 

"That stupid girl can hear you old man.” you respond in perfect Italian. The man's face quickly turns sour and shocked. You feel like you've made a terrible mistake, answering in that tone to one of the Camorra's Council. You feel the barrel of the gun being pressed into the back of your head with more force. Your eyesight travels to the edge of the table and stays there for a moment before it moves to the old woman. She raises her hand and you fear the worst. 

The guard behind you takes the gun away from your head but still remains in a close distance. Your shoulders seems to release some tension yet it doesn't make you even remotely relaxed.

Another member decides to take up on a voice but this time you hear him speaking in Chinese. “She is not of this world, she has no knowledge of it, it would be better to just get rid of her.” you decide to respond in the same language. “If you’re so worried about my knowledge than I can always learn everything there is to it here, it wouldn’t be a problem.” you look to Santino, he's watching the conversation like a game. 

There's a faint scraping of a chair on the marble floors and the old woman comes up closer to you and Santino. 

“You’ve got some fire in you girl, I’ll give you that.” she says. You don't know if you see amusement or even some sense of pride on her face. She looks towards the table and the rest of the Council gathered around it. “Very well, let’s see if you are capable of surviving here.”

The guard behind you hides his gun and all of you quickly leave for the shooting range placed beneath the mansion. You lock your eyes with Santino before departing to it.

You stand in front of the table, guns splayed across it as well as a set of bullets. You pick the gun up and weight it in your hand. Too heavy. You place it down and grab another one that is not too heavy but also not too light. The Council notices your choice of weapon. 

You look towards the target in front of you, at least 15 meters far. “Any specific point you want me to shoot?” you ask no one in particular but the woman standing behind you responds "Head, heart, mouth and a lower region.” you nod.

The gun in your hands suddenly feels heavy. You look towards the target and aim your gun. A faint breath is released from your lungs as if to calm yourself down and focus. 

You are surrounded by the most dangerous organization in all of Italy but now they don't matter. You imagine that they're not here with you, that even Santino is not here. You shoot. 

BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG.

The sound echoes in the open space. You still hold the gun up as the sheet of paper comes closer for all of you to see. The headshot is there but missed by a few centimeters. Mouth shot hit the jaw, heart was a bit off but very close. As for the lower region, you could hear some of the men gathered in the room wince softly as you shot the target. You put the gun down on the table with a soft thud.

You back up and the Council members come closer to inspect the target. They don't say anything but you see them nodding their heads as if they are impressed with your skill. You turn to Santino and he's wearing a surprised and proud expression on his face.

The thing is, you know how to shoot… vaguely. Your dad thought you how to shoot when you were in your early teens. It was a family trip to a fair, there was a shooting range and your parents saw that you have a good aim and you yourself liked it. They went with you to the shooting range whenever they could. 

The Council turns to you, all eyes burning into yours. They don't say a word just look you up and down. Everyone quickly moves to the gym. It's a simple place, handles placed in their designated area, a ring in the middle and punching bags along with some other equipment scattered around. One of the members, a man with a scar going up the side of his face throws you some gym clothes. Santino follows you as you go to change but lingers behind the slightly ajar door. 

"You don't have to do this." he says, concern lacing his voice.

"You were the one to offer this in the first place." you respond as you strip yourself off the clothing you previously wore. 

You're turned away from him but he still catches a faint scars adoring your arms, legs and back. The ones on the back seem more visible then the others, still red in some places along with some nearly invisible bruises. Santino quickly turns away and speaks up.

"I know that, what I meant was that you're about to face one of the best, here at Camorra." his voice is calm with a hint of that Italian accent. "Are you sure you want to do this?" 

There's a short pause hanging in the air. You want to do this, you do. This is your chance at belonging somewhere and if it's one of the most dangerous mobs in the world then… well, what do you have to lose. 

You step out of the room and face Santino. "I'm sure. If I back down now they'll know that I'm not up for this job. I have to try at least." Santino regards you but nods. He knows that you’re stubborn and won’t go down that easily. It’s one of the few things that made him so intrigued in you. 

Both of you walk towards the ring in the middle of the gym. Members of the Council have already gathered around it. A well build man is standing on the ring, ready for a fight. You look up at him and recognize the man as the same one that held a gun to your head. Your attention goes to the grey haired woman, her expression hard. You step under the lines of the ring and stand in the middle. 

No one utters a word, the only sign of the beginning of a match is a raised hand of the woman. The guard heads towards you. 

You advance at him, trying to kick him in the chest but he slaps your leg away. He swings at you with force that could easily knock you out. You move under his arm and elbow him in the ribs. He buckles down slightly, but quickly recovers and tries to punch you to the side of your head, you block him, but don’t hold for too long, given his strength. Instead you move under his arm again and twist it behind him. He stops for a moment and looks at you with unexplainable expression on his face. 

He uses your lack of attention and kicks his leg under yours, you lose your balance and fall onto the floor. He backs away and smirks at you, challenging look in his eyes. You quickly get up and glance at the Council. They don’t show any sign of approval or even a sign of being impressed. Santino locks his eyes with you before you hear the guard heading straight at you. He lands a punch to your face and ribs. You stumble backwards and hit the rope lines of the ring. 

You hear a clinking sound and see two daggers on the edge of the ring. Both of you quickly reach for them and the guard attacks. He cuts your arms and manages to get a cut in your thigh. You don't yell in pain, instead just run at the guard. He might be strong and much more build than you, but you're much faster. You go for his shoulder but he catches your arm and twists it in front of him so that you fly over his shoulder. Your back hits the floor with a thud, the knife flying out of your hand to the side. You grunt in pain and look towards the Council, still a blank expressions on their faces. 

You slowly get up and hear the guard chuckle. “Don’t you have enough, girl?” he asks. The dagger still in his hand, ready to be used. 

You take the dagger laying on the floor and run at him, he doesn't expect you to get down on your knees to cut his calves. He grunts in pain and turns around with anger behind his eyes. You manage to cut him in the arm and even stab his shoulder. You back away as he pulls the dagger out of his body and throws it to the ground. The man kicks you with a force that sends you to the edge of the ring. You feel the ropes press into your back again but this time the guard holds you by shoulders and punches your face until your lips bleed.

You don't give up, the man earns a nasty kick to his balls. He grunts in pain and you manage to punch him in the neck, cutting off his airflow and then go straight for the jaw. He's disoriented for a moment which gives you a perfect opportunity to wrap your legs around his head and hold him in a choke hold. He tries to throw you off of him but your grip only gets tighter, the man starts to become red. The Council and Santino watch the fight intently before the older woman's voice carries through the gym.

"Enough." Both of you stop your movement, though you feel that the man wouldn't hesitate attacking you if the woman didn't give the order. You pant and raise your hand up to your lips and feel the sting and a pulsing sensation going through your lips. You already feel another set of bruises blossoming all over your body. The woman steps in closer to the ring. "Get down." 

You duck under the rope lines and face the older woman.  She studies your face and dismisses the guard with a wave of his hand. He looks at you briefly with a warning hidden behind his eyes and leaves the training room. 

"Surprisingly you have proven yourself, saviour." She moves her hand up and takes your jaw with a tight grip, tilting your head from side to side. You want to wince in pain but won't show her any weakness coming from you. 

You clench your fists as she leans in closer, still holding your jaw and your freeze momentarily. Santino notices your discomfort at the woman's touch but doesn't move. He knows that if he does so, than he may be facing some kind of consequences. 

The Head of Camorra is the most important organ in this whole family, but some of his decisions depend on the Council's vote. 

The gray haired woman backs away but still holds a strong grip on your jaw. She looks down on you. "You'll spend a year here before we decide if you're worthy." she says in a menacing voice. "If you fail your first task in the name of Camorra, then know that you will never be going back to your world." she releases your jaw with a jerk. Both of you stare at each other. Not going back to your world surely means death in this one. You know that she would have been glad to see you die, preferably at her hands. 

The Council departs from the training room, giving you last looks. Some of it of warning, amusement and even concern. You turn back and sit on the edge of the ring releasing a shallow breath. You hear shuffling of feet and feel Santino sitting next to you. 

You look down at your hands, knuckles bruised and bloody. You feel the pain in your ribs as you take a breath and see a drop of blood fall onto your arm. You raise your hand to your busted lip and hiss. You see a blue handkerchief being offered to you and look at Santino, his expression not showing any emotions. 

You take the soft material and dab it carefully on your cut lip. "See?" you hear the Italian speak up next to you. "I knew you would fit in." 

You look to him with raised eyebrow and start to laugh. The sound echoes throughout the gym and Santino joins you, hanging his head down. You haven't laughed in what feels like years and maybe it's true. It's nice to feel that kind of emotion spreading through your body. Your moment of joy is cut as soon as you feel the pain in your ribs and face. Your hand raises up to your ribs and traces it gently. 

Santino offers you to see a doctor but you refuse, already feeling tired and exhausted after the fight. The only thing you want now is to lie down and sleep. Both of you leave the gym in search for your designated bedroom. 

Santino leads you through the white hallway with rich dark flooring. As you walk he tells you briefly where each rooms are placed, his office is on the same floor as hers at the end of it. When you arrive at your bedroom you stop in your tracks behind Santino. He notices your absence by his side and turns to you. 

You look tired and feel like it. The last 24 hours were the most intense in your whole life… well, at least one of the most. 

The Italian looks at you, his green eyes darker in the low light. There's a reassuring look in his eyes. You stare at him and feel the leftover tension from your shoulders disappear completely. He seems to notice that action cause he smirks lightly your way. 

Both of you turn to the door and open them to reveal a big room. The flooring is just as dark as in the hallway, the pearly white interior adds elegance to the place. There's a queen bed settled beneath the wall and in front of it a small fireplace. You notice a door that surely lead to the bathroom. 

You step into the room and look around. Santino watches you from the door with his hands in his pockets. This isn't the place you would have imagined to be, yet here you are.

"The training starts at 7am, you already know where the gym is." Santino's voice comes from the side. His suit has creased during the day but he still holds that attitude that screams power. You look towards him and a question burns at the tip of your tongue. Santino already knows what it is. 

"If you need anything just tell me. It would be a shame to waste someone like you with this much potential." he says with a smirk. 

"That woman would disagree, like many of them in fact." you say back. You're sure that that woman is already having you in her mind as some sort of threat. 

You don't know if Santino will use you to his needs or not, right now it doesn't seem like it. He's been nothing but respectful towards you, but maybe he's just hiding his true colors. You need to become wary of this world, trust only few and always observe. Adapting to it will take time but you're ready to at least try and not waste your time here. Even if it kills you. 

Santino looks at you one last time before closing the door, wishing you goodnight and good luck. You momentarily keep your eyes on the closed door before moving to the bathroom. You look for the first aid kit in the cabinets and luckily find one. You open it, take out some bandages and put them on the counter. The cut on your arm and thigh are not big, but it’s better to take care of them in case there’s some infection. You pour the hydrogen peroxide onto the cuts and hiss in pain. You put on a fresh bandage on it and repeat the process on the arm. You look at your reflection in the mirror and examine the busted lip. It has gone numb but even the slightest touch hurts. 

You exit the bathroom and go over to the bed. You basically sink into it as the soft material embraces you. You lay in it for a few moment, thinking about what the next day may bring. You’re Camorra now… sort of, you still need to prove yourself here. You know the basics of fighting and surviving, you know how to get by. Right now you can just hope for the best. 

You don't remember when you fall asleep, but you dream about the water and a faint deafening sound that carries through the wind. The sound of the bullets from the gun range still ring in your ears. 

You spend a over two years there before everything changes. 

[johnshelbysgirl]

Honey Don’t Feed Me... PT. 3

Part Two

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All characters, setting, etc. are the property of their respective owners. All original work is my own.

a/n: Been awhile I know, the world’s collectively going through it and I feel it. But I haven't given up on this story so, Enjoy!

warnings: none.

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!) : @xxdearlybeloved @woahitslucyylu​

    ‘Sorry love, I got held up.’   

The ticking of the clock pounded in her eardrums. The ink scribbled messily on the page made her eyes weary. She was trying to focus on organizing Polly’s diary but for every few words she wrote, her mind kept replaying running into John at the Tailors. 

Ella’s eyes widened like saucers, after days of no sightings he appears here of all places. John stood tall in a nicely fitted suit, with a blue vest matching his bright eyes; one slightly hidden behind his cap that was tilted precariously on his head.     

‘You alright?’ he asked, smirk still intact. 

Ella felt her skin prickle at the sight of it.

He’s caught her off guard once she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a second time.    

‘Yes,’ she coughed, ‘I’m just waiting.’

Clara hadn’t been gone long and was surely going to have a fit when she saw them together. 

He tilted his head to the side, ‘On what?’ 

‘My friend,’ quickly looking over his shoulder for Clara. 

‘This friend getting a suit too?’

It was an innocent enough question; Afterall they were at a Tailors, but it sounded odd on his lips. Almost strained even. She focused back on him, though his face showed nothing his shoulders were hunched over and his hand was clenched tight in his pocket creating a crease in the lines.    

“No, she prefers wearing dresses.’ 

A dazzling smile crossed John's face and seeing him relax emboldened her. ‘I’m also waiting for you.’        

He raised his eyebrows, ‘Is that right?’ 

‘Uh-huh,’ she nodded, ‘to explain yourself.’ 

‘What have I got to explain myself for gorgeous?’ 

Ella tried her best to keep from smiling but felt her lips rising at the corners in protest. She quickly looked down to compose herself and pulled an imaginary string from her skirt. 

‘Well for all your big talk, this is the first I’ve seen you.’ 

He grinned from ear to ear, ‘Did you miss me?’ 

She smacked her lips, ‘You see, that’s not an explanation I here, is it?’ 

‘You don’t let up do you?’    

‘I’m just picking up on the slack.’    

‘Well,’ he shrugged, ‘I think I’m off to a good start.’    

‘Oh, really?’ she laughed, ‘And why is that?’ 

John stepped close and whispered, ‘I saw you smile.’ 

Chills ran up her spine as the words tickled in her ear. 

‘I count that as a win in my books, don’t you?’ 

She’d never admit it. 

Ella knew she shouldn’t want to be around him, but she’d be lying if she said that a small part of her wasn’t hoping for him to find her and that she secretly enjoyed the fact that she had his attention; for however long it lasts. So why should she not enjoy it?   

A tight voice called out, ‘Ella?’ 

Startled at the sound of her name being called, Ella unintentionally stepped away from John. She turned and faced a blonde girl probably no older than her she was.    

‘You’re Ella, right?’    

‘Yeah, that’s me.’ 

‘Clara’s helping Mr. Martin finish up some measurements, so she asked me to tell you that she’ll see you tomorrow.’

Relief flooded over Ella’s body and she thanked the girl for the message. Once she left, ‘I should go, Polly’s probably wondering where I am.’ 

‘I can walk you back,’ he offered, ‘just got to pay first.’ 

Ella was about to say yes when a realization struck her. Her cousin was outside waiting for her, she’d almost completely forgotten about him. 

‘No, it’s okay,’ shaking her head, ‘besides I don’t want to be a bother.’ 

He leaned forward and caught her gaze, ‘You can bother me as much as you like.’ 

A grin slowly spread across her face and this time Ella didn’t try hiding it. 

‘It’s alright, really,’ she said sadly, ‘Jeremiah’s waiting for me anyway.’ 

Ella glanced outside to see Jeremiah’s back towards the window, a cloud of smoke from his cigarette circled him. When she turned back to John, his jaw was clenched, and his face was flushed.    

‘Are you okay?’ 

His lips were pressed tight into a thin line, ‘I’m fine.’ 

Ella glanced at him sideways.    

‘Have a nice walk,’ he muttered. 

Before she could say goodbye, John briskly walked away from her; Leaving her stunned.

Ella closed the diary shut and dropped the pen to massage her temples. She had left the Tailors even more rattled by John Shelby than she was before and it was still wearing at her. The creaking sound of the back-office door opening and Polly’s voice made her straighten up. 

“Now add a few drops before you get into the tub and you should be fine.”    

“Thank you, Ms. Shelby.”    

“Of course.”

The last customer of the night left the shop and shortly after Ella went behind them to lock the door. She was on her way to finishing closing when Polly’s voice stopped her.    

“Leave it,” she said, looking over papers. “I’ll get it tomorrow.”    

“Are you sure Ms. Shelby?” 

She stopped and looked her dead in her eye, “What have I said?” 

Ella grimaced, “To call you Polly.”    

“That’s right,” she resumed, “now go and enjoy the rest of your night.”

Her plans lacked their appeal now, she’d rather stay at home than run into John and his ever-changing mood. Clara would be disappointed, but she’d understand if she told her she wanted to spend time with her mum. She has been a bit lonely since her father passed.    

Ella glanced outside and sighed, “I’ll probably just end up at home, maybe read a book.”     

“Something wrong dear?” 

Polly looked at her with keen eyes. Eyes that could see into people’s souls.    

“Nothing,” looking away, “it’s nothing.” 

She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. “Alright then.” She reached under the counter and found the spare deck of tarot cards that Ella used to practice.    

“Oh, please don’t,” Ella groaned.    

“If you won’t tell me I’ll just have to see for myself.” 

She did want to talk to someone about John, Clara wouldn’t understand, and Jeremiah was Jeremiah. When she first asked him about him hanging out with Tommy and the rest of the blinders, he teased her about becoming one of their groupies. And of course, her mum was completely out of the question, she may be desperate, but she wasn’t going to talk about John with his aunt for Christ's sake. 

Seeing no way out of it, Ella dragged her feet over to Polly. She’s never had a reading before, but she’s seen Polly do plenty of them that she didn’t need any instruction from her. Instinctively she chose the deck that resonated with her. Then shuffled and cut them before handing them back to her. 

Polly raised her eyebrows before taking them, “Someone’s been paying attention.” 

She smiled down at her feet and Polly laid out the cards in front of her and studied them before showing her the first one. The card showed a group of people with weapons in a struggle, in small script at the bottom Ella could see the name, the five of wands. 

“You’re doubting yourself, concerned with other people’s opinions. Let people think what they want and do what will make you happiest.”

Ella leaned against the counter and rested her check in her palm, dubious look on her face. 

“Eh,” waving her hand dismissively, “it’s not my fault the cards can tell too.’ 

She snickered softly behind her hand while Polly moved hers to the next one. A picture of a man and a woman holding out cups, floating above them were two entwined serpents and a lion’s head with wings at the top.    

“Ah the two of cups,” waggling her eyebrows, “you’re interested in someone.” 

Her snickering stopped as dread entered her body. There was no way she could’ve known about her and John. 

There wasn’t anything to know.    

“Don’t fret darling,” squeezing her arm, “he’s interested too, give him an honest chance and it could grow into something more.” 

After how he left things yesterday, she couldn’t be more wrong. When they moved on to the final card without any further comments, she was content that Polly knew nothing and let herself relax; focusing on an image of a bearded man on a throne holding an orb in one hand and the other holding a cross with an oval loop on top. 

“The emperor,” Polly spat, “You must step into your power, otherwise you’ll be stepped on.” 

“Easy,” Ella scoffed. 

“This world was not made for women and its draining,” nodding her head, “And I suspect that its harder on black and mixed-raced women like yourself.” Placing the card down. “But when the time comes,” she continued, “don’t let that stop you because you deserve to become the brilliant woman you’re meant to be.”

Ella found out early on that people never say what they mean, but Polly never minced words and she admired that about her. 

“Thanks, Pol,” she smiled shyly. 

“Anytime dear,” eyes shining, “now go on and have fun!” slapping her palm on the counter. 

After exchanging goodbyes with Polly, she headed home. Pushing down her fear at the uncertainties and mentally preparing for the night ahead. Focusing on the opportunity she had instead. John Shelby owed her an explanation and she was going to get it.

Part Four

[shannonwrote]

Summary: Set five years in the future; Sam, Robin and Olivia’s lives are a lot different than they had planned or expected. Follow their stories from their past and their present.

“The Oneiroi Triplets. The Oneiroi were the immortals who traveled through dreams appearing as certain types of images.”

Morpheus (god of dreams) — Robin Icelus (god of nightmares) — Sam Phantasos (god of fantastical dreams) — Olivia

Characters: Robin Flores, Olivia Schuyler (TNA/MC), & Drew (Ms. Match)

Fandom(s): The Nanny Affair, Blood Bound, Ms. Match

Notes: Thanks, as always, to the amazing and magnificent @txemrn​ (even though she’s probably disappointed at the lack of *smut*). Without her, I never would’ve finished this chapter.

Tagging: (if you no longer wish to be tagged, let me know!) @txemrn @lovelyladyk88 @secretaryunpaid @thefrenchiemama​ @pixie88

PS: Some of you may have read this already. Sorry! I’m in the process of moving my words from the old to the new.

Companion Pictagrams:

Olivia. Robin. Sam. Emily. Cassian. Jenny. Casey. Bryce.

Catch up: Icelus.

Chapter 2: Morpheus

THEN

Robin paced the length of his living room, nervously biting at his cuticles. His thoughts, a hurricane of hope and fear, thundering in his mind. “I can’t do this.”

“Then don’t.” Olivia said from her spot in his oversized chair, not bothering to look up from the book she was reading.

He paused in his pacing, and turned to face her. “What?”

Olivia looked up from her book, her toffee eyes meeting his steel blue ones. “If you don’t think you can do it, don’t.”

His mouth dropped open, as he pointed an accusatory finger at her. “But you said -“

“I know what I said.” She rolled her eyes. “But if you’re too chicken..” She shrugged.

“Don’t!” Robin stated with a shake of his head.

“Don’t, what?” She asked feigning innocence.

“You know exactly what you’re doing, Olivia.” He shook his head again. “And it’s not going to work.”

Olivia set her book down on the table in front her. Resting her chin on her clasped hands, she stared intently at Robin. “What do you want?”

“It’s not that simple.” He huffed out.

“No,” she agreed. “But it can be. You told me once that Dalton Enterprises was your legacy — yours and Sam’s — but you also told me it never really felt like it belonged to you.”

“It didn’t.” He replied, beginning to pace again. “It doesn’t.”

“Why?”

Robin ran his hands through his hair, causing the ends to stick up every which way. “I’m not a Dalton. Not really. Yes, the Dalton’s took me in, and raised and loved me, in their own way, but the Dalton name never really belonged to me. That’s why I went to Tulane instead of Rutgers, and interned at Ahmanet Financial instead of Dalton Enterprises.”

Olivia nodded in acknowledgement. “Then how’d you end up working for your dad?”

Biting the inside of his cheek, he walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows and gazed out at the sparkling city below. “When I finished my internship at Ahmanet, Kamilah asked me what my plans were, and I was honest, I told her I didn’t know. I knew what I wanted, and I knew what was expected of me. In the end, it came down to what felt like family obligations.” He gestured at his blurred reflection in the window. “And here we are.”

Olivia stood up from her chair and approached Robin, sliding into the space between him and the windows. Folding her arms across her chest, her whiskey gaze rose to meet the stormy sea of his.

Robin’s mouth went dry, as the scent of lavender and cedarwood clouded his senses.

“Robin. What do you want?” She repeated her earlier question.

“Olivia.” He rasped, shaking his head, trying desperately to rid his mind of the woman in front of him.

Sliding her arms from her chest, she placed the palm of her hand against the stubble of his cheek. “Stop choosing for everyone else and choose for yourself.”

His eyes closed at her touch, the simple gesture causing his heart to beat erratically in his chest. Releasing a breath, his eyes met hers. “I hate you.” He commented, fracturing the moment.

Olivia grinned, her hand falling to her side. “No. You don’t.” She winked. “Now begone!” Pressing her hands against his chest, she shoved him toward the door. “And don’t come back here until you’re no longer employed at Dalton Enterprises.”

“Technically,” he said raising an eyebrow, “I don’t work at Dalton Enterprises. I work at Dalton-Russo Enterprises.”

Olivia rolled her eyes, “enough stalling.”

Robin caught her hand in his, a soft smile on this face. “Thanks, Olivia.”

She returned his smile with one of her own. “You’re welcome.”

— - — - —

“Trouble with the missus?”

The bartenders scratchy voice rolled over Robin, pulling his thoughts from the depths of his whiskey. “Hmm?”

“That’s the 5th whiskey you’ve tried to find answers in, and your phone’s been vibrating across my counter for the last 15 minutes.” He nodded at the empty seat beside Robin. “Add in the fact that Olivia isn’t in that seat beside you... let’s just say, it’s doesn’t take a genius to recognize lady troubles, my friend.”

“What? I mean — we’re not. It’s not — we’re just friends, Drew.” Robin tumbled through his words.

Drew’s eyebrows rose and disappeared into his salt and pepper waves. “And the whiskey? And the fact that you keep ignoring her calls?” He shot Robin a knowing glance. “I’ve been around the block a few times, kid. The only one you’re fooling is yourself.”

Before Robin could come up with another excuse, his phone vibrated again, Olivia’s name lighting up the screen.

Robin lifted his whiskey to his lips and downed the remaining liquid. Nodding his thanks to Drew as he refilled his glass, he swiped his finger across his phone.

“Olivia.” Robin answered.

“Oh good. You’re alive.” Olivia replied flatly.

“Because you anticipated I would not be?”

“I did think there was a chance you and your brother might kill each other respectively.” Robin could feel her shrug through the phone. “But when I didn’t see anything on the news, I just assumed Sam killed you and Sofia helped him hide your body.”

“Nope. Not dead.” Robin offered, in a voice that didn’t sound anything like his own.

There was a breath of silence, “you’re being weird.”

Robin swallowed his whiskey, tapping his knuckles on the bar for another refill. “I’m not.”

Olivia sighed, the sound almost sad. “Robin...”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he exhaled a breath, the sound loud in his own ears. “Olivia, just -“

“Robin, what the fuck is going on? Where are you?”

His shoulders slumped. He had spent that last two hours trying to chase the memory of lavender and cedarwood from his senses, but at the sound of her voice, everything came rushing back — the thrum his body always felt at her nearness, the gentleness of her touch, the feelings he had been trying to ignore since the day they met.

Closing his eyes in defeat — knowing he wanted to see her much more than he didn’t — he replied, “The Stockyard.”

Drew refilled his glass with a wink, as Robin disconnected his call. “Don’t start, old man.”

Chortling, Drew put his hands up in surrender and disappeared to the other end of the bar.

He sensed Olivia’s arrival the moment she stepped into the bar. His nerve endings suddenly felt electrified, pricking against his skin, begging to be free and to be closer to her. His heart, a steady thump in his chest, matched the pattern of her footsteps. Since the first day they had met, before they had even been properly introduced, his existence seemed to be attuned to hers. It was a feeling he had hated when she was off chasing his brother, now it was something else entirely.

He pulled a hand down his face, fingers scrapping through his beard, as Olivia claimed the empty stool beside him. He felt the wave of her emotions flow over him, lining his veins with her unspoken questions, as she remained silent, stealing glances at him from the corner of her cognac gaze.

Drew appeared, unprompted, and set an Old Fashioned in front of Olivia. He raised his eyebrows in Robin’s direction, and Olivia shrugged in response.

“I thought we agreed you weren’t going to start, old man.” Robin reminded him, rolling his half empty glass between his hands.

Drew’s lips twitched as he tried to suppress his grin. “Right, sorry.” He said, winking at Olivia.

Scowling at Drew’s retreating form, Robin continued rolling his glass between his hands, ignoring the weighted silence that hung between them.

Robin felt Olivia’s inhale, his lungs filling with the same air.

“You’re being weird.” She said softly, her voice echoing through his chest. “Why? What’s going, Robin?”

He released the breath he had been holding since the scent of lavender and cedarwood consumed him, the sound loud and staticky to his ears, but he remained silent.

Olivia turned in her stool to face Robin, resting her hand on the crook of his arm. “You know I don’t care if you actually quit, right?”

Robin’s glass paused, his breath hitching at the contact. His stormy gaze traveled to the press of her hand on his arm. “I did quit.” He answered, finally, his voice scratchy.

“Then what’s going on?” She pressed, squeezing his arm gently. “We should be celebrating! Not doing whatever this is.”

He lifted his eyes to hers, her eyes the color of champagne in the lowlight of the bar. “Didn’t you hear me? I said I quit.” He emphasized.

Her gaze sparkled with confusion, like the bubbles in champagne. “I feel like I’m missing something.” The hand that wasn’t resting on his arm, found a home against the back of his neck, fingernails scratching against the bottom of his skull. “I thought this was what you wanted.”

His head clouded with her nearness, his nerve endings sparking in their desperation to be closer. He silently cursed the amber liquid mixing with his blood, bringing all the things he normally kept bogged down straight to the surface. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing from the effort. “It is.”

Olivia sighed, her breath fanning over his face, a mixture of mint and whiskey and the sweetness of cherries. “Robin.” His name was a question and a demand all mixed into one.

The answer to her question rested on his tongue and poisoned his heart. He wet his lips, the taste of whiskey ever present. “I quit working for Sam, so you’re going to leave.”

Her hand stilled against his skull, her touch against his arm lessened, and a thousand different emotions flittered across her features, settling somewhere between hurt, anger and disbelief. “Robin, I’m -“

“Don’t.” He interrupted. He swallowed down the last dregs of his whiskey. “Everyone always leaves. I knew you wouldn’t be the exception. I just - “ His words caught on the lump forming in his throat. “ - I just wanted you to be.” He pulled himself away from her, the slight distance feeling like lifetimes.

“Robin,” Olivia tried again.

He stood up abruptly, setting a handful of bills on the bar counter. “I’ll just - “ He shook his head. “You were supposed to be the exception.” He ached to touch her, to beg her to stay, but he didn’t — he couldn’t, instead he left her sitting at the bar staring after him.

The walk from The Stockyard to his apartment took no time and all the time in the world. He had always known Olivia had remained in his life as a way to keep the door between her and Sam open. He had been a fool to allow himself to think otherwise, to hope their connection meant more.

The moonlight streaming in from the floor-to-ceiling windows cast shadows throughout his apartment, lighting some corners and darkening others.

Robin tossed his suit jacket onto the couch, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows. Placing his forearm against the cool glass of the window, he rested his head against it, staring down at the twinkling lights of the city below.

A short while later, the hairs on the back of Robin’s neck prickled, causing his heart to go into overdrive, and just like at the bar — and every other time she entered a room — he knew Olivia was in the room.

He squeezed his eyes shut, his fingers flexing at his sides. “What’re you doing here, Olivia?”

“I live here.” She replied, her voice echoing around the silent apartment.

Robin inhaled sharply, the simple reminder causing a rift to open in his heart. Of course she had only came back for her stuff. “I could’ve hired someone to pack your things up and deliver them to you.”

“Why would someone need to pack my things? Are you kicking me out?”

Robin’s eyes flew open at her question, her accusation. “N - no, of course not, I just assumed - “ His words caught in his throat, as for the third time that day, the scent of lavender and cedarwood overtook him.

Olivia again slid into the space between Robin and the windows, causing Robin to adjust his forearm, so it now rested just above her head.

“I���m not leaving.” Her words were a puff of air against Robin’s lips. “I’m here because you’re Robin, and I’m Olivia, and that’s the only reason.”

Robin swallowed. “But what about Sam?”

“Why am I here, Robin?” Her eyes like crystallized toffee. “Is it because I’m something Sam can no longer have?”

“What?! No. Never.” He shook his head. “But - “

“You’re Robin.” She said, placing her hand against his erratically beating heart. “I’m Olivia.” She placed her other hand against her own heart. “And we’re the exception.”

Robin felt like he was on fire as he surged forward and crashed his lips against hers.

[blackfemmecharacterdependency]

27. A Night to Remember

Word Count: 4517, Content Warning for Sexual Themes. Jammed Beychella/Homecoming, This Song, and Used This Video. 

Previous

Grace woke up on her 23rd birthday, on September 23rd with Hazel in her room, wearing a hat and a tie, with a tray of breakfast and a flower, watching her with anticipation. “Oh! Hazel! You shouldn’t have. What time did you wake up today to do all of this?”

“Don’t get too excited. Everything on this tray is inedible, but I did my best, because this is your first birthday as my mom!” Grace collected Hazel to herself and kissed her on the cheek. This was a very special birthday for her. Grace loved the number 23!

Being born on that day might have something to do with it, but she was also very interested in the fact that it had a lot of significance in various belief systems and there were a few instances of people obsessed with it. Now, she was becoming that age (only for a year), but the first day was very important to her.

She wanted inner peace, alignment, awareness, and everything else well wishers would wish to be manifested in her life.

After she got Hazel off to school, she told Simon that she would visit, to collect whatever gift he wanted to give her. He was in New York for the week (she hoped for something other than trying to give her a birthday gift, but he was very vague about why he was there), and since she still wasn’t keen on him knowing where she lived, she told him that she would stop by where he was staying, but it probably wouldn't be until later that evening, or the next day.

She had plenty to do before getting Hazel after school. Spa day with 23 treats, hair and makeup, fashion stylist, and a birthday party with some of her favorite local musicians performing… Well, the spa day at least was during school hours. Hazel was going to spend her first night since she became a Monroe away from home. Lucy's parents were allowing her to stay there a couple of nights, as Grace would be both celebrating and recovering from this time. THEN, she and Hazel were going to spend the weekend going to an amusement park, a wildlife park and animal sanctuary, and a live filming of The Mighty Tuba and Her Musical Friends. (Because Grace felt guilty about taking 3 days to herself, even though Hazel repeatedly promised her that she wanted her to enjoy those and that she deserved a little break).

For Grace, a spa day was "a little break," she might as well be abandoning Hazel in the woods for this! Surely, she knew that was an exaggeration, but she felt really bad and several times considered not doing her birthday plans. When her mother offered to come there and stay with Hazel to ensure she took a few days, she decided to just let herself enjoy the plans. Besides, she was going to be checking in with Hazel and Lucy's parents had her direct phone number in case of any emergency.

Being pampered to the absolute fullest, styled like a swan goddess, and escorted with a dope entourage of fly ladies to her birthday party, she absolutely forgot about Simon's gift. She didn't remember until all the performances were over and there was something similar to an after party in the VIP and one of the staff asked her if she knew a dude named Simon Lawrence. She looked towards the door and saw Simon outside looking extremely nervous and ready to take off running at any moment. "Let him inside," she said, mostly out of guilt. He probably saw her tagged here on someone's posts. She greeted him with a hug, "Hey, I'm so sorry I didn't stop by! The night got away from me!"

"Don't mention it. I just wanted to be able to say happy birthday to your face because you were able to for mine."

"Cool. Umm…" she introduced him around the circle and with one particular person said, "And you probably remember," (he didn't hear the name), "from Julliard." The woman looked just as suspicious of him as she had whenever he stopped by the school. He guessed they were friends now.

"Simon, what did you get Grace for her birthday?" One of the guys asked. He was a Black ginger with a huge pony puff tail and a braided beard.

"Ummm… I got her a few things."

"Like what?" One of the women asked. Simon recognized her as the woman who claimed to be Grace's best friend on social media. (The same that Grace called to talk to about him showing up out of nowhere, but he didn't know that). She had numerous piercings and a tattoo that stretched seemingly over her entire body of a Phoenix.

"Just some… she'll tell you later, I'm sure. You're her best friend, right?"

"Right," she said, her brown eyes cutting into him. Also seated there was Shana, in all black, with a light skinned woman on her lap, dressed in all gold, with a huge blond afro and glittering makeup.

"Is.. this a costume party?" Simon asked.

"It's an autumn gala," Grace said and gestured to an empty seat near the best friend. He sat down and the only other white person with them shifted a little to make room. "Oh, um… Simon, my friend Tulip is an engineer too! She works at a videogame place or something. You two might talk on that…"

"Simon," Tulip said, "What's your favorite Grace Monroe original song?"

Simon tilted his head. It seemed everyone was going to just ask stuff about Grace. "Stingray."

"Okay. Why?"

"Ummm… it's about me," he said and fiddled with his fingers.

"So is Bastard King."

"So is Have At It Bruh"

"So is You Thought…" Grace let out an embarrassed laugh as all of her friends spoke at the same time. "So, all of you really wanna bring up old stuff?" She asked. "Simon and.i are in a good place now." The best friend made a face that seemed to conflict with that.

"Did you come to New York for her birthday?" Ginger dude asked.

"No, I've got a potential career opportunity, and I came to speak with a company about that," Simon said.

"Like an assignment?"

"No, a permanent position."

"You… you might be living here?" Grace asked. She didn't seem very "in a good place* about it, and she didn't wait for an answer before she got up and walked away. The best friend, Shana, Shana's girlfriend, Tulip and another girl who seemed to be Tulip's girlfriend all got up to follow her. Simon ran a hand through his hair and let out a breath.

.

"Moving here? He thinks he can just move HERE??" Grace asked, ready to cry. "Like it's not enough that my parents had him in their space the last time I was there, now his ass is coming here???"

"Good place, huh?" Her best friend asked.

"You know how she is, Damita," Shana said. “Don’t let him get to you. He would love that. Just make him EAT it. Go back out there, have a good time right in front of his face, then never say another word to him again.”

“She wants to say another word to him. That’s why she said he could come in and sit with us,” Damita said. “What you might as well do is have a birthday hookup, get your gifts, get off, and get on with your life.”

“NO!” Shana squealed. “She can’t fuck him! That’s what he WANTS!”

“It’s what she wants too! She can get it out of the way, and not have to wonder if she’s all caught up because of that itch and just… move on from his ass."

“Can I talk?” Grace asked. They all looked at her. “I like all of these ideas. I don’t think I have an itch, though. It’s more like… I just want to be able to do it without being connected. I feel like the last time I was bamboozled. I wanna… I don’t know… bamboozle him. Because, he’ll think it matters to me again and I’ll be like Boy, Bye.” Her friends cheered and applauded. “But first, freshen up selfies…" They helped Grace refresh everything, then they took photos and posted them before stepping back out. Grace came back out and sat on Simon’s lap. He stiffened up and stared at her, but she didn’t glance at him for a reaction. Instead, she just resumed conversation with her friends. Eventually he relaxed and dared to rest an arm around her waist, but she looked down at it and looked at him, so he removed it, confused.

Shana took to the stage and said, “Okay, so we all know that our birthday girl Grace been partying like it's Beychella in here!” People screamed, particularly the ladies with Grace. Simon winced at the loudness. “Well, you all saw me and her dance and you like it and you love it. You heard some great music, but Miss Thang Thang Boo Boo hasn’t sung yet. So, I would like to request a little song called Figures, it’s by Ms. Jessie Reyez and I just know that my good sis knows it and I’ll bet she sounds better. No shade, no shade. Get up here bitch.”

Grace laughed and stood up. Shana tossed the mic and she caught it. “Bitch… You could’ve hurt somebody!” The music started playing and Grace strutted towards the stage, singing, “Figures. I gave you ‘ride or die’ and you gave me games. Love, figures. I know I'm crying 'cause you just won't change. Love figures. I gave it all and you gave me shit Love figures I wish I could do exactly what you did..” Simon stirred as she headed for the stage. He had been looking up the lyrics to some of Grace’s songs and was glad that she wasn’t going to sing one of those, but… this one was as bad. But, she was in the zone and the crowd loved her. Shana was drunk and rocking against her on the stage, sporadically pointing at him and lipsyncing lyrics.

By the end of the song, he felt shittier than he had whenever he first sat down in the clearly unfriendly environment. He had to keep reminding himself, like the song said, this was his fault… But.. she was wrong about one thing. He would change. He HAD changed and he would do anything to prove it.

Grace passed the mic back and Shana said, “Hey, did y’all know that I can sing too?”

“NO YOU CAN’T!” Shana’s girlfriend yelled across the room.”

“I can’t? Watch this, watch this, watch this…” Grace watched as Shana began a terrible, tone deaf, “I was BORRRRRRRN by the river…” Grace quickly caught on. She knew where this was going. Shana was a fool and sent that video to everybody after it was brought up with one of her older friends… As Shana began the short rap, Grace twerked on the stage and Simon clutched the seat. He had never seen her do that in person before. She didn’t used to do that type of dancing, and it was so much nicer than in the already titillating videos. Shana and Grace hugged and then Shana insisted, “Play more Beyonce. Beyonce and Solange, that’s all we need right now.”

That was the alert for all of the ladies in Grace’s party to rush back to the dance floor. Simon realized that there were only two guys there and they got up and left eventually, hugging and kissing the ladies on their way out. Simon stayed at the table. The ladies eventually made it back to take a breather and to have drinks. Grace only had water with lime and mint, but she was really enjoying herself. He was glad that she wasn’t angry about him thinking about moving to New York. He wanted to be closer to her, but it also was an amazing opportunity for his career.

A song began to play and every last one of the women there bent over and began to shake… Even that girl Tulip was dancing like nobody was looking, up against her girlfriend. Grace and Damita’s shaking was almost directed right at Simon. He sat back, unsure if he should maybe move. Damita moved closer to his lap and made eye contact with Grace. He didn’t know what for, but Damita was practically giving him a lap dance. Was… this some sort of test? Because… she certainly was attractive, but how much of an ass would he be to let this be a problem for him in front of Grace?

Grace hardly seemed to mind. She climbed the chair, threw one of her legs on Simon’s shoulder and began a body roll right in his face. By that time, he was certain that they were trying to kill him. He felt faint, but he held on to her, because this seemed unstable, even for somebody graceful and he was worried that she might fall. He wasn’t trying to feel her up… there just was no innocent way of holding her there. She smelled SO good, he was weak. Damita moved away, to dance with Shana and Tulip. By the end of the song, Grace climbed down and straddled Simon’s lap, her arms rested on his shoulders, staring into his eyes. He looked completely infatuated. “Can I come over?” She asked him…

Like he would have said no under ANY circumstance, much less after 3 full minutes of her grinding her business in his face. He was careful not to move his hands to wrap around her as he nodded, trying to stay composed. She might just not want to be home alone on her birthday or something. She most definitely probably was not interested in doing anything with him.

After a few more minutes, the ladies closed out their tabs, Grace grabbed a ridiculously long fur from the coat room and the others were putting on their coats and stuff. Simon noticed some hand signals and facial expressions, and at the end of all that and the walk to the elevator, he noticed that Shana looked mad. Her girlfriend was trying to talk her down. He heard something like, “She’s worked too hard to let this bullshit start up again.”

“What was that?” Simon asked, a bit defensively, unable to hold back. It was still Shana, to him and he had been taking shit off of her all night. But, whenever he spoke, it was like he’d lit a fire under her ass. Shana pushed passed her girlfriend and lunged with her fist at him. Grace squealed and moved out of the way. Tulip’s girlfriend ducked behind her while Shana’s girlfriend just shook her head, Grace steered clear and Tulip tried to stop Shana. She was punching Simon in the head and neck, much like Grace had on the terrace all those years ago. The only problem was that he had apparently not been able to take a punch as well as he used to since his near death experience… or Shana was extremely vicious.

“Shana! Shana, STOP!” Grace yelled.

Shana only stopped whenever the elevator doors opened and she was yelling at him as Tulip and her girlfriend pulled her out. Shana’s girlfriend said, “I’m sorry. She had way too much to drink tonight. Grace has all our contact info for like bills or whatever…”

Simon shook his head and waved a hand, but he was hesitant to leave the building until Shana’s yelling was far enough away. Grace took a deep breath and checked his head, “You okay? She had on rings. She got a lot of your skin off of your chin and neck.”

“It’s my fucked up side, so that’s fine.” She looked at the old scars, including the big one on the side of his head, where his hair no longer grew.

“I can drive,” she said. He nodded and pulled out his keys. She was able to put the address in her maps and get them there no problem. She felt bad, now. For the plans that she had for him tonight… but, she remembered that when he had the chance to hurt her, he didn’t give a fuck what else she had going on, so they’d tend to those little injuries and she was going to ride his face until she got tired and go home… Maybe some other things, if he played his cards right.

Simon was exhausted and felt terrible, but Grace had her little medical kit and was being helpful and gentle, which just made him want her even more. “Hey… thanks.”

“No problem. It was my friend that busted your ass up,” she snickered when she said it. “I was surprised that you didn’t at least get her off of you.”

“It was a small space and you were right next to me. I didn’t want anybody else to get hurt if it could just be me.” She pursed her lips and finished up.

Whenever she was done, she put her things away and finally took off her coat. The outfit looked even better in the closed space of his bnb rental. She kicked off her shoes, as most of the place appeared to be carpeted and she went into the kitchen. “I’m a little hungry. You got anything?” She was looking before he had a chance to answer and he got up to join her.

“I can make you something.”

“Cool,” she said. “You haven’t cooked for me since… Oh. That weekend.” She looked hurt as her mind traveled back to that time.

“I hate me for that, too,’ he said. He pulled out some stuff to cook. “Do… you want me to get your presents while I cook?”

“Oooh, yes, please!” She said, smiling, trying to forget about thinking about that weekend too much. He took off towards the back of the house and she glanced around the place. He had three laptops on the desk in the living room, the dining room table was covered in what she recognized to be the organized chaos of his work, and he had a cat tree next to the couch, which was white leather, and had earth tone throw pillows on it. She wondered where the fracking cat was. Probably hiding somewhere. She stayed hiding whenever they were younger, and probably did more now that she was hella old.

Simon came back in and had a two tier trolley cart with a huge basket at the bottom and a wrapped box and a bouquet on the top. Grace made an excited sound. She LOVED receiving gifts and she always would. But, the bouquet was an arrangement of blues and purples - hydrangeas, asters, large daisies, bluebells and large pink roses, PLUS, she saw from the tag that he had got them from a friend’s shop (that she realized he probably found on her page, somewhere). He asked, “Can I take photos?”

“Sure.” She opened the box first, because it was closer and when she did, she pulled out a few things… The first was a doll of some sort, dark brown skin with goddess locs, pulled up in a headwrap of flowers (like she would frequently wear her hair to school), a halo crown, and a gold dress with jade jewelry and chartreuse accents… “What the fuck is this, Simon? Is this… me… at our dance?”

He smiled, “Sort of. That’s the prototype of the Idol Princess. I’m going to have dolls manufactured.” Grace didn’t know if she wanted to reach into the box again. The doll was beautiful. The likeness was uncanny and the attention to detail on the dress… she couldn’t even remember that damn dress, but looking at it, everything looked exactly as her brain seemed to be piecing together. “You hate it.”

“I don’t hate it. It’s beautiful.” That was just… a little bit much… a lot much, actually. She set it aside and found a scroll with her name’s meaning, with the backdrop of artwork of her face. Beautiful and sweet. A Libra crystal collection in a very nice box with beautiful accompanying cards. She wasn’t a huge mystic, but she did love the idea of having things that might shift energy or help to feel certain ways near her, so she definitely loved those. There was a book that she had mentioned wanting to buy (officially letting her know that he was stalking her pages again), but she didn’t mind. It felt like old normal but with her new self awareness. It didn’t matter, because she wasn’t doing anything to provoke or tempt him or encourage him… though as she kept pulling gifts out, she missed this. She missed being given so many nice things at once. She missed being given tribute. She missed gifts from Simon. “You paid for all of this, right? I don’t want the police to come snatch it up.”

He frowned, being reminded of things he did always stung, but he knew that she was only joking, making light of one of the things he did to hurt her so that she wouldn’t feel so awkward accepting presents from him. “Everything is legal and belongs to you.” He forced a smile, behind a pained expression.

Grace didn’t notice and he was extremely relieved that she wasn’t looking at him right then. She let out a long gasp and looked at him, her eyes sparkling now… “Did you… did you order ALL of my things from places that my friends and familiars own?”

He smiled brightly, “I knew you’d notice!”

“Did you tell them that this was stuff for me?”

“I did. Everyone was very eager to make sure that an order for you was perfect. I’m smart sometimes.”

“Always have been. Thanks for sending business their ways,” She gave him a hug.

At the bottom of the trolley was a huge basket of natural beauty products and an elegantly decorated bag of treats… stuff she knew he used to like to watch her eat. “Oh my God. Are you still into that?” She asked, knowing she didn’t have to be more detailed.

“I will turn on those videos for hours while I work. I follow several pages that are just that. Which reminds me. I gotta get back to cooking.” he called out while she opened stuff and smelled it or just admired her gifts, “I’m thinking lamb, maybe some couscous and beets?”

“It’s like 3 am, Dude. You don’t have anything quick?”

“Ummm… no. I cook, but I spent most of the night at the party at the club. You… seemed to have a great time.” He smiled, thinking about her performance towards the end of the night. Not the song. He pushed that part from his mind. The other part. He could still smell her if he thought about it. “It’ll take less than an hour for me to do everything. Is that okay?”

“Yeah. I haven’t eaten since brunch,” she said, holding her rumbling belly. She grabbed a honeycomb and some soft cheeses from her bag and posted up on the island. They talked casually about work and holiday plans. She and Hazel were going to be hosting Christmas at her house because trying to bring gifts across the country was going to be stupid. Her parents would mail any gifts and visit if they wanted to see her. “What about the Laurents?”

“I don’t fuck with them. I know that you said the thing about forgiveness or whatever, but the time that I was stuck there, trying to recover was enough stress for me from them… well, from Dad. She wasn’t there. She went back to Grandma’s. Her problem now. I did get to see one of our dad’s boxing bouts though. That was pretty entertaining.”

“Our what’s whats?”

“They took up boxing, seemingly just to be able to punch the shit out of each other every week. It was one of my few pleasures being stuck there." Grace almost choked on her cheese thinking about both of their fathers getting into a ring to fight.

Dinner was served around 3:30. Simon look absolutely exhausted but Grace didn't care about that, that much. He wondered, "After dinner do you want to head home because I can take you or of course you're welcome to crash here if it's just too late?"

"I was thinking that I was going to go home tonight but it's almost morning and I really feel like the trip will be super tiring."

"You're always welcome wherever I am."

"That's a nice thing to say. I'll just figure out what I'm going to do depending on how I feel after the cunnilingus." It was Simon's turn to choke now. Grace smirked as she chewed her food, watching him struggle to get to his water. "I hope that's not gonna be a problem. It IS still my birthday celebration."

He barely got the words out, "Not at all gonna be a problem." He drank more water. "I'm just surprised. Thrilled… but surprised."

"Don't be too thrilled. I'm not looking for love. I just want to get off. I think I deserve it."

"You do."

"I guess I should wash up first," she said, not really wanting to.

"No!" He blushed when she looked at him. "It's good. It's great. You put it right in my face earlier, remember? It was extremely palatable…"

She smiled, "You're nasty."

"You want me to be tonight, right?" He raised an eyebrow. She just smiled and continued eating.

Even with the promise at hand Simon definitely still cleared the dishes, washed them, and put them away before acknowledging what she said was about to go down. Grace grabbed him by the color of his shirt and looked him in the eyes. "I'm in charge tonight. It's my way or nothing,you understand?"

"Yes ma'am," he whispered. "On your knees!" He quickly followed the order. She hadn't bossed him around in a while, and even before it had never been like this. She held out her hands and he offered his, which she slid up her dress to her underwear. "Take them off." He was extremely eager to. "Follow me. Crawl." Simon did as he was told and when they reached the bedroom, she turned and put her foot on his chest, "Your hands don't go anywhere that I don't put them. You'll only be kissing one set of lips tonight, and when I'M satisfied, you'll need to draw me a bath and clean me off, then rub my feet until I fall asleep. And, I'm taking the bed. Understood."

"Fully."

She grabbed his hair to guide him to stand then shoved him onto the bed. "Keep your hands where I can see them," she told him as she crawled up on him, gaining her balance on the headboard. She shouldn't feel guilty for this and she wasn't going to let herself.

Next

[something-tofightfor]

Ink II

Pairing: Logan Delos x Reader

Word Count: 5225

Rating: M (Language, implied smut, drug use, drinking)

Author’s Note: Continuing Ink (found on my Logan masterlist) has been on the radar for months, but I wasn’t quite sure what I wanted to do with it... Until now. 2020 might honestly be the Year of Logan Delos, and I can’t say that I’m mad about it. 

Summary: Picking up a few months after Logan makes an admission to you in the Mesa, you’re faced with a big shift in your relationship (whatever that may be): going to your first Delos event as his date. 

Ask if you want to be added or removed, please!

General:

@the-blind-assassin-12 @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @obscurilicious @sweetybuzz25 @suchatinyinfinity @lexxierave @gollyderek @poindexted @ificouldhelpyouforget @elanor-of-imladris @thesandbeneathmytoes @luminex3 @geeksareunique @weallhaveadestiny @mfackenthal @thesumofmychoices @yannii04 @beautiful-thinking @drinix @agentlingerie  @blah-blah-fuckit-shit  @dreams-with-thoughts  @wangmangagavroche @traeumerinwitzhelden @jigsawlover10​

Logan Delos:

@nananananananananananabatman @damalseer @chibiyanai @life-is-a-melody @songtoyou​

Uncategorized: 

@banditthewriter @padfootagain @madamrogers @ethereal-heavcns @editboutique @marauderskeeper @ilkaeliseb​ @delicatelilyflower​ @king4thesirens​ @ymariejp​ @mr-robot-x​ @rageshots​ @introvertedlibrary​ @writing-for-a-chance​ @yesixoxo @ilikebeachessushiandsmallanimals​ @likeorions​ @swiftyhowlz​ @dylanobrusso​ @malik-payne​ @lynne1993​ @ladyblablabla​ @dreamwritesimagines​ @audreychaz​ @tc-elliot @kind-wolf​ @honeyydippaa​ @binbonsadoration​ @ms-delos​ @jeanettexkillian​ @avengerswhore @elioelioeli0​ @projectcampbell​ @giggleberts​ @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes​

“Are you ready to go?” He was standing in front of the mirror, adjusting the collar of his shirt - the top two buttons undone, sleeves rolled up to his elbows - and you watched from across the room as he rolled his neck, using both hands to smooth his hair back. “We’re gonna be later than usual.” With a laugh, you stepped toward him, hands behind your neck as you knotted the the straps of your dress. 

“Tie the bottom for me, Logan?” He turned from the mirror and toward you, dark eyes moving from your face to your neck, his hands already reaching out. “I can reach, but I figured you’d want to…” He placed his hands on your shoulders, gently turning you and you let him, facing the direction that you’d just come from. 

 “Everyone’s gonna…” He dropped his hands, fingers skimming the skin of your back until they reached the gentle inward curve only a few inches above your waist. “They’re finally gonna see all of it.” Biting your lip and looking down, you took a breath as Logan pulled on the thin strings, tightening them. “We picked the right dress.” He leaned in, teeth grazing the shell of your ear. “I’m not gonna be able to keep my hands off of you.” Isn’t that the point? In the months since you’d taken the trip to Westworld with him and Logan had admitted that he wanted more than to simply fuck you, things had changed a great deal. 

 You’d been out in public with him, out for dinner and drinks and dates; days and nights spent next to Logan, learning more about each other outside of the confines of the office or a bedroom. It was strange for you at first, to know that it was what he wanted, that his words hadn’t been for show at the Mesa, but every minute of time you spent with Logan made the reality of it seem more possible. He wants me. “Logan, are you sure that -” He cut you off, spinning you around to face him, and the smile that Logan gave you stopped your words immediately. He kept one hand at your waist, his touch light over the thin fabric of the dress you wore. 

 “Yes.” He leaned in, one of his hands rising, a finger stretched out to trace the curve of your cheek. “I’m sure.” Logan leaned in, lips close to your ear. “You look incredible.” You shivered at his words, knowing that he could feel the movement of your body, and Logan’s grip on your hip tightened slightly. “No one’s gonna say shit to you, I promise you.” It wasn’t that you didn’t believe him, but you knew that he was partially wrong. They might not say it to me, but they’ll think it. 

 In the months since you and Logan had started spending time together not only actively undressing each other, you’d heard the rumors, watched as people started looking at you in a slightly different way. You were used to the staring, used to people judging you for the choices you made when it came to your appearance, but people raising their eyebrows and whispering behind your back because of who you were dating? That was different - but it wasn’t any less disheartening. 

 You hadn’t mentioned it to Logan, because there was no point. Sarah from HR rolled her eyes as Logan slid into a seat across from you in the cafeteria? Anna in marketing muttered about your reputation as she dropped off printouts? Kyle in IT made a snide comment about it not taking long for you to fall into Logan’s bed … it was all a part of the scenery for you, because you were used to brushing off people’s comments, but you knew that if Logan knew, things wouldn’t turn out well for the people saying them. It wasn’t that you needed or wanted Logan to fight your battles for you, but you knew that he would, simply because he cared about you and was no longer pretending otherwise. 

 The trip to Westworld had gone as planned - the two of you visiting to experience a new narrative before it was opened to the public - before even the Delos board members got a chance to experience it - but Logan hadn’t remained as distant throughout as he typically did when you’d worked together previously. The two of you talked - freely and openly - while in the park, and though you’d focused on the experience (that was your job, after all, to document the offerings of the park for informational purposes as well as park records), you’d focused on each other, too. Logan asking about your tattoos had truly been an opening for him, and while he tried to remain respectful, he wasn’t shy. 

 By the time you arrived back stateside, you felt as if you and Logan were friends instead of just acquaintances that slept together. The dates had started almost immediately - meeting him for dinner at his place or inviting him to yours, going out to a movie, spending time with Juliet … Logan had done many things with you, but he hadn’t introduced you to the lifestyle that you knew he often indulged in, and you’d kept yourself busy for hours trying to figure out why. 

 He’d said that he wanted you with no one else, but even months later, you still couldn’t find a way to repeat the sentiment to him without feeling pushy. “How far away is this thing, Logan?” You leaned closer to him, turning your head to kiss his bearded jaw. “And when do we have to leave?” There was a pause before Logan answered you and during it, he changed the way he was holding you, the hand at your hip sliding around to your back and the one that had been touching your face going around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his chest. 

 “Gotta leave in about fifteen minutes.” He took a deep breath. “And it’s about an hour ride there, plus an open bar, so I called a car.” Hmm. You pulled away, glancing up at Logan with a raised eyebrow and one side of your lower lip caught between your teeth. “Don’t get any ideas.” Logan’s eyes shone brightly, but his expression was serious otherwise. “This is…” He swallowed. “The first time we’re goin’ to a Delos event together, and I don’t want either of us to get out of that car looking like we just got redressed.” He straightened up, putting space between your bodies and you reached out, running a hand down the front of his shirt to smooth it down, stopping at his waist, where the dark blue material was tucked into a pair of fitted white pants. “Besides, I’ve got a lot of things to tell you about the people you’ll be meeting, so…” Logan shrugged. “Another time.” 

 “Yeah, like on the way home?” You tugged on the front of his pants for a second before stepping away, your hands dropping to your sides. “I mean, we will have an hour…” Logan laughed as you turned away, heading toward the guest bedroom, where all of your things were. Though you slept in Logan’s room with him when you stayed, your toiletries remained in a different bathroom, along with your overnight bag. Turning the corner, you shook your head, unable to keep the smile from your face. It’s getting easier to joke with him. 

 Stepping in front of the mirror and rummaging through your bag, you picked out a lipstick shade that would compliment your makeup and was ideal for the late afternoon event, giving yourself a final onceover while you brushed your teeth and then applied the lipstick. Your debut with Logan would be at a yacht party with many of the Delos department leads and managers - a late summer event that was meant to recognize achievements and provide an afternoon and evening of celebration, and one day while laying by his pool, Logan had sprung the invitation on you. Following that, he’d told you that there was no one else he wanted to go with, and that he wouldn’t take no for an answer. 

 So there you were - wearing a dress that - at Logan’s request - showed off your entire back, but was otherwise modest. You’d selected it while staying mindful of the fact that there’d likely be a breeze on the water, so it couldn’t be short or have a side slit, choosing a color that could handle a little ocean spray without becoming indecent, and picking something that you felt comfortable in, yet wasn’t inappropriate to wear while surrounded by people that had more money and influence than you’d ever know what to do with. He wants you there. You took a breath, pressing your lips together on a kleenex to blot your lipstick, and nodded. You’ll be fine. “Hey!” You heard Logan calling your name. “Car’s pulling up, you ready?” I guess so. 

 --- 

 By the time you pulled up to the marina’s entrance, you were equal parts nervous and excited, and the ride over hadn’t done much to sway you in either direction. Though you knew many of the people that would be on board, you found that your heart was beating quickly as Logan helped you out of the car, his long fingers closing around yours. It was cooler by the water, the air fragrant with the scent of the ocean, and you couldn’t help looking around as the two of you walked toward the large vessel that was waiting for you, Logan handing over the invitation to the man waiting at the end of the boarding ramp, the fingers of his other hand still loosely holding yours. 

 As you crossed the short distance to the deck, Logan’s grip tightened. “Shoes off when we get across.” You looked up at him, confused, and he smirked at you, but it wasn’t an unkind expression. “The deck wood is really easily scuffed, so…” He shrugged. “Either you go barefoot on board, or …” He grinned, gesturing to a stack of small boxes that were stacked neatly to the left of the ramp. “Boat shoes.” You laughed, stepping to the side and taking your shoes off, Logan doing the same. A crew member was waiting, and when Logan gave his name, the man turned away, returning only a few moments later with a basket containing two pairs of shoes. What? “They’re one of the gifts,” he mumbled. “Jules’ idea.” Of course.

 Trading your shoes for the new ones, you slipped them on and waited for Logan to do the same before he steered you toward the stern of the ship, nodding to a few people as you passed them. “Have you rented this before?” Logan shook his head as the two of you passed through a doorway and into the yacht’s interior, Logan focused on the bar. “It’s nice, I -” 

 “Oh, wow.” You heard her voice before you saw the woman, and even though Logan kept moving toward the bar, you stopped, turning. “That dress looks great on you!” Smiling, you squeezed Logan’s hand to stop him. “Logan, you’re not even going to -”

 “Hey, Juliet.” Logan turned back to you, his tone clipped. “Going to the bar before it gets too busy.” You glanced over at him, watching as he fought to keep his eyes on his sister, avoiding the blonde man standing next to her. “Good to see you.” Logan took a breath. “What do you want, your usual?” Giving him an understanding look, you nodded in agreement, feeling his fingers slip out of yours as he turned back toward the bar, stepping away. “I wasn’t at the last summer party, I’d just had Emily, and was in no shape to…” She waved her hand. “Drink or enjoy myself or…” 

 “Yeah, it was a good time, though.” The blonde man spoke, and you watched his eyes moving around the room. “We weren’t on the water, but…” His jaw twitched and you watched him shrug. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced.” He held out his hand, the look in his eyes appraising. “I’m William, Juliet’s husband. You are...?” Be nice. Logan had told you the bare minimum of what had happened between himself and William, and had warned you that he was working on payback, working on exposing William, but wasn’t quite there yet. Telling the man your name as you extended your own hand, you forced yourself to meet his eyes, smiling. Don’t. “And you’re here tonight with Logan?” You nodded, pulling your hand away from William’s. “That’s a surprise, usually -”

 “Why a surprise, Billy?” Logan stepped back next to you, a cold glass passing from his fingers to yours, his free hand again settling on your back, this time somewhere near the middle, his thumb moving back and forth. “Hmm?” The blonde man didn’t say anything, instead looking between you and Logan for a few seconds before he turned to his wife and forced a smile. 

 “I’m going to go and see if Joseph and Lan are here yet, Juliet.” He cleared his throat, eyes moving back to you. “It was… Have fun tonight.” With a nod, he turned and walked away, disappearing out the door that you and Logan had entered through. Asshole. You spoke with Juliet for a few minutes and then you and Logan kept moving, headed through the room and toward the steps, taking them up to the top level of the yacht, which was set up with small couches and tables, another small bar area and a few potted plants. This is… You frowned as you looked around, letting Logan lead you to the front of the ship with a hand on your back, trying to listen to what he was saying, making note of the people that he was pointing out. 

 “We’ve got another twenty or so minutes before we cast off, so it’s gonna get more crowded.” You and Logan were standing next to the rail, facing the open ocean. “You alright?” Taking a breath, you thought. Am I? 

 “Logan, I -” You took a breath, tilting your head upward and looking at the sky - mostly blue, a few small clouds here and there - still unsure. “I’m…”

 “Hey.” He used one arm to turn you toward him, his head shaking back and forth quickly. “Look, I know this isn’t something that you’re used to.” You nodded, staring into his eyes. “But it’s just a few hours, and…” He swallowed, wetting his lower lip with his tongue quickly. “And I never bring anyone important to these things, but I want…” He swore under his breath. “I know how that sounds.” Logan pressed his lips together and you saw his nose twitch before he pulled a hand up and ran it over his face, then drained the remainder of his drink in one long swallow.  

 “Logan, what -” He let a breath out, words rushing after it. 

 “I’ve never brought anyone sober to a Delos party before.” Your eyes widened, but he continued. “We’re both sober right now, and I brought you here because I want to introduce you to people, not because I want them to keep their distance.” Oh, Logan. “Not that… not that I don’t want you to drink, I -”

 “Logan.” You reached out, squeezing his right forearm. “I get it.” He stopped speaking, watching you. “This isn’t…” You glanced around, returning your gaze to Logan and deciding that since he’d told you the truth, you’d do the same. “I’m a little uncomfortable here, just because…” You shrugged. “These people don’t know me outside of work, and they’re meeting me and seeing…” You smiled, tilting your head. “Seeing me and me with you? It’s a lot, and I know that they’re going to…” Your hand moved up his arm as you stepped closer to him. “I don’t even know what to say when people ask what…”

 “You’re with me.” The words were simple enough to understand, but the matter of fact tone that he used was at odds with the way he’d just sounded and it shocked you. “That’s what I’m gonna tell anyone that asks, that we’re together.” Are we? You opened your mouth to question him, but Logan cut you off, his eyes warm and bright. “Unless you’d rather tell ‘em something else?” You shook your head and Logan ducked his head, his lips finding yours for a moment before they moved to to your cheek and then to your ear. “Good.” 

 He pulled away from you and stood straight up, turning his head to look at the dock before focusing on you again, much more relaxed than he had been previously. “You were right, Logan.” Raising one eyebrow you gestured to the deck below you, which had filled up quite a bit. “A lot of people boarded in the last few minutes.” Logan reached out again with his right hand, pulling you to his side before raising his hand to trail his fingers over your back, touch light but there. The two of you stared out over the water until the boat’s horn sounded once, and you felt the deck beneath your feet begin to vibrate as it pulled away from the dock. Here we go. 

 The people around you were talking to each other, their voices carrying to your ears, but you were focused only on Logan, on the way it felt to stand next to him among your peers and his, nothing shy about his touch. This is too good to be true. As you navigated down the channel and toward Balboa Reach, Logan turned his head toward you, looking down. “You’re stuck now.” What? “We’re on this boat for the next seven hours.” He nudged you with his hip and laughed, his eyes darkening. “Too bad we’re not alone.” Yeah, Logan. It is too bad. Your eyes returning to the open water seconds after his did, you tilted your head to the side, resting it against his shoulder. 

--- 

 An hour and two drinks later, you and Logan were seated at one of the rounded tables for dinner, waiting to be served. Though there had been appetizers passed around, and you’d caught a glimpse of more being prepared in the galley as you walked past it on the tour Logan gave you, you were hungry. Eating is a distraction. You’d been introduced to more people than you could remember, men and women reaching out to shake your hands, their eyes filled with curiosity as you spoke with them a few minutes at a time. Managers and supervisors, team leads and executives, Logan talked with all of them with a practiced ease, making sure that you were part of the conversation, never left out. He rarely stopped touching you, a hand on your back, an arm wrapped around your waist, fingers curled between and around yours. It was comforting, but at the same time, you couldn’t help but think that Logan was using you as a buffer, daring someone to make a comment as they walked up or before they walked away. 

 They won’t. You realized this as a beautiful redhead eyed you while her husband spoke to Logan, her gaze darting between the two of you as if she was trying to figure out how you’d ended up with someone like Logan when you weren’t the typical, flawless floozy he was often linked with, and whether or not she could easily slip the diamond off of her finger and into the ocean if Logan more than glanced at her with curiosity. They’re all the same, you realized as you moved to a different group, Logan shaking the hands of the men, and giving the women polite nods before he introduced you. They see him and want him because they think it’s easy, they don’t care… it’s because he’s a Delos. There were exceptions to the rule, of course, and even your limited interaction with the other guests was enough to tell you which employees valued Logan as a person and a businessman and which of them didn’t, wanting only to use him or let themselves be used. 

 He let this happen, though. You reminded yourself that Logan wasn’t dumb - that he knew what people saw him as, what he’d let them expect, and wondered why he’d done that, even as you dropped into your chair, Logan sitting next to you and the other seats filling in slowly. Juliet and William were also at your table, along with a woman named Annie and her wife Jess, as well as a single woman named Diana, who was a little younger than you. Everyone at the table was friendly - aside from William - and as you ate, you let yourself relax, enjoying the company and getting lost in conversation with Diana, who’d been invited to the party based on finding a way to program the Hosts in a much more concise manner which allowed their code to be more successfully encrypted. Annie and Jess worked with Juliet, and William worked directly beneath Logan, and you were stunned at the way they accepted you, even though Logan had told you that it was what would happen. 

 Much more at ease after the final course, you excused yourself to the bathroom, feeling Logan’s eyes on your back as you walked. You stepped into the small room, pausing to look in the mirror and check your hair before entering the stall, locking the door behind you. Even though it was only a few minutes, the relative silence and isolation of the bathroom was a welcome break, and while you were washing your hands, you took a moment to daydream about the car ride home with Logan. Just as you were turning to leave, the door pushed open, two women walking in - one blonde, the other brunette, their eyes on each other as the brunette spoke. 

 “I don’t even understand why he invited her. This party is for people that have done something important at Delos. What’s her achievement, catching Logan’s eye for fifteen minutes?” The second woman laughed, tossing her long blonde hair as she replied. 

 “These events are a death sentence for the people he brings, remember the holiday party tw-” You watched in the mirror as her eyes widened when she saw you, words dying on her lips. “Shit.” 

 “Finish that thought.” Suddenly angry, you crossed your arms, narrowing your eyes. “A death sentence? As in ‘he brings me here and it’s the last you’ll see of me?’ Is that what you mean?” The dark haired woman was silent, but the blonde stepped closer. 

 “Yes.” She drew herself up to her full height, which was a few inches taller than you, even in flat shoes. “That’s how it works, he brings people to parties and no one ever sees them again… at least not with him.” She scoffed. “You should know what you’re getting into, you know?” I do. “Prepare for the -”

 “What, are you waiting for your turn?” Speaking without thinking, you heard the anger in your voice. “Do you even know how hard it would be to work with him after -” 

 “You’ll be able to tell us in a few days, I’m sure.” The first woman finally spoke again, raising a hand to point her finger at the mirror, where your back was visible. “He doesn’t even like tattoos, that’s what he told...” She stopped speaking, her grin growing. What? “You must be -” She laughed, her full lips pushed out once the sound stopped. “He must not have known about them when he took you to bed the first time, but I don’t understand why he let you wear that here, in front of...” 

 “You don’t even know him.” You shook your head. “I don’t need to …” You glanced at the mirror, closing your eyes. “Logan picked this dress out.” Neither woman spoke, and you continued. “And he’s an adult, and so am I.” You smoothed the fabric down over your hips, debating over whether or not to be petty toward them. Fuck it. “And between you and me?” You leaned in, winking. “Logan has no problem with my tattoos whatsoever.” Without another word, you turned and walked out of the bathroom, back toward the room where you’d eaten dinner. Logan was still sitting at the table with Annie, Jess and Diana, but Juliet and William had disappeared. Get it together. Don’t let him… But Logan saw you as you crossed the room and you watched as he excused himself from the table, standing up and walking to meet you. 

 “Hey.” He tried to keep his voice even, but you could hear the worry in his tone. “Everything good?” Logan pulled you to his chest with one hand. “You were gone for a -” 

 “Everything’s fine, Logan.” You turned your head, taking a deep breath. “I just…” Closing your eyes, you let it out. “Face to face with some truth, you know?” You pulled away from him and looked up, trying to smile. “I’ll be fine, I’m…” You felt his hand grip yours, and then the two of you were walking back toward the table, Logan’s steps sure and quick. 

 “Ladies.” Logan’s voice smooth, he dropped your hand and instead wound an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. “I hate to cut this short, but we need to…” You watched as he glanced down at you, meeting your eyes. “Something just came up, and we need to go talk.” Jess waved him off with a smile and Diana laughed, telling the two of you to go, which Logan wasted no time doing. Instead of going back upstairs, you followed as Logan walked toward the front of the yacht, guiding you out of the small doorway and onto the deck, which was filled with people talking and drinking, the light beginning to change as the sun started to set. 

 “Where are we -”

 “Just come with me.” There was a young woman dressed in uniform standing near the bow of the ship, blocking access to the more secluded area, but when she saw Logan, she smiled and stepped aside, allowing you to pass. “Shoes off, though, it might be slippery, and I don’t want you to fall.” He waited as you took yours off and then followed suit, nodding once at the woman as you stepped through the opening in the railing. What is he doing? The deck wasn’t slippery, but as you looked around, you realized how right Logan had been. There was little to keep you from falling over the side if you slipped, especially near the small seating area at the very front, which is where it seemed you were going. “Figured we could talk up here.” Logan gestured to the cushioned seat. “Only ones allowed up here tonight are me an’ Jules, and she won’t bring Billy up here, so…” 

 Logan sat and without warning, pulled you down onto his lap, arms tight around your waist and his nose buried in the crook of your neck and shoulder. You sat in silence, the wind blowing gently around you and your focus on Logan’s hold on you. It was easy to forget the words and intent of the two women in the bathroom, of the redhead on deck, of William  when he was holding you, but he couldn’t have his hands on you at all times, and that was the problem. “Logan…” You sighed, feeling as he paused before pressing his lips to the thin skin of your neck and then pulling back, letting you shift so that you could look at him without leaving his lap. “Logan, I -” 

 “Are you having a good time?” He swallowed, eyes serious. “I know that this probably seems like a giant circle jerk, but…” You laughed, shaking your head. “But this is … this isn’t everyone, you know? It’s the people that are … that have…” You got what he was trying to say, nodding. “You might think,” he continued, tilting his head down to kiss you on the shoulder before slowly moving his chin back and forth over the bare skin. “That I’d want…” Logan paused, swearing. “Look.” He swallowed, straightening up. “We haven’t really gone out together, and I know that’s probably… something you’re wondering about.” Yes. “But I don’t… I don’t want to associate this thing we have with just that part of my life.” He stopped speaking, eyes moving past you and out over the water, the ocean flat and calm in front of you. “This is what I want you to think of when you think of me, not… not the booze and the drugs and the sex.” Logan brought his eyes back to yours, pressing his lips together and shaking his head. “We’ll get there  .” You nodded, unconsciously reaching out to run your fingers along his jaw. “But I didn’t think we should start there.” 

 “No.” Your words carried by the wind, you agreed with him. “I know… I’ve heard a lot about you, Logan. About what you’re like and who you’re friends with and what you do when you’re out, but…” One hand  was resting on your hip, the fingers of the other curled over the top of your thigh. “But up until earlier today, I didn’t even know what…” You gestured between the two of you. “This was, and…” He smiled, waiting. “You’ll take me out like that when you’re ready, Logan. I want to get to know you, I want you to show me what you want me to see.” He blinked slowly, disbelief written on his face. “I have no right asking for things fr-”

 “You have every right.” Floored, you stopped speaking, your hand frozen against his skin. “Whatever you want, wherever you want to go, whatever you want to do.” Logan swallowed again, leaning in to rest his forehead against yours. “Just ask.” Shocked by his words and the almost brutal honesty that he was showing you only ten yards away from more than a hundred of his employees, you couldn’t do anything but nod, taking a deep breath. You knew that it was hard for Logan to be open with people; honesty wasn’t an issue, but showing vulnerability was, and it was something that you knew he wasn’t used to. Oh, Logan. I had no idea. 

 “Ok, Logan.” Tilting your head to kiss him on the mouth, you agreed with him. “I hear you.” You turned again,pressing your back against his chest as the two of you sat and watched the water for a few minutes, the interaction you’d had in the bathroom fading further away as you moved across the surface of the water. You weren’t just seeing Logan, weren’t just one of the people in his life at the present time, weren’t relegated to his bedroom or the occasional date, but what did that make you? Girlfriend? Lover? Neither of those sound right. He’d said that you were with him, and from what he was saying, that seemed to mean exclusively, but still… do we need a title? Do I need a title? 

 “Hey.” Logan’s voice was quiet in your ear. “Now that we’ve talked about that…” You smiled, waiting. “You need to tell me what happened when you were in the bathroom before we go back to the party.” 

---

[orderoftheavengers]

Hufflepuff Rescue

Summary: Only a true Hufflepuff could put up with a Slytherin like Tony for all those years!

House: Hufflepuff

Species: Human/Salamander hybrid (formerly Human)

Blood Status: Muggleborn (sans one possibly magic uncle)

Wand: Hazel, 10 inches, jackalope antler

Broom: the Rescue Mark-7

Patronus: Giant flaming rabbit from Hell

Specialties: Charms, practical magic, Defense Against the Dark Arts

Sorting

Pepper would've made a fine Ravenclaw, but her most defining traits are Hufflepuff ones. She's a workaholic; insanely (some would say literally) loyal to her friends and employers; empathetic and sensitive; and has an almost superhuman ability to tolerate damn near anyone. The fact that she would accept whatever House the Hat chose for her only increased her candidacy for Hufflepuff.

"You're all I have too, Tony."

When Virginia Potts received her letter from Hogwarts, her Muggle family did not outright disown her; but they distanced themselves from her, and made their disdain for her magic clear. She was miserable at home, and took every extra job and class she could to stay in the magical world over the summer and holidays. (Though American, Pepper's family had recently moved to the U.K. for business related reasons.)

Virginia Potts was extremely skilled at charms, and her wand frequently rained excess sparks when she wielded it. Friends joked that she had the "hot-pepper wand," leading to her Hogwarts nickname Pepper. Ms. Potts was more than happy to keep this new identity, and took to using her Muggle first name only for legalities. Early into her first year, Pepper was ecstatic to get hired by a rich classmate, for a summer job at

Stark Castle

When Pepper wrote to her family explaining that she wouldn't be home for summer break, they wrote back politely implying that they preferred it that way.

Her fellow Hufflepuffs laughed, fretted, or had nervous breakdowns when they learned who Pepper was going to spend the summer working for. They all assumed that Tony Stark would either discount Pepper immediately for being a "mudblood," or would hire her only to troll her mercilessly. Neither was the case. Howard Stark himself had been a muggleborn Slytherin, who'd worked his way up the wizard social ladder from nothing, and the Starks had never bought into prejudice of any kind. (Howard worked with a female auror Peggy Carter in the '40s, and was married to a Ravenclaw named Maria; Tony's two best homeboys Happy and Rhodey were both Gryffindors.) Pepper's Muggle background actually contributed to her hiring, as Tony had an affinity for Muggle cars and food, and one of his best friends, Happy Hogan, was a Muggleborn.

Tony was, however, every bit as much of a headache as he was infamous for. But Pepper was made of much stronger stuff than even her best friends credited her for. Tony's Slytherin-to-the-max traits run amok were tempered by Pepper's Hufflepuff patience, grounded focus, and sensitivity. She established herself quickly as someone neither Tony nor his Veela dancers could screw around with, and took great pride in her job.

Things changed in forth year, when Tony was captured by Neo Death Eaters and has a magical amulet implanted in his chest.

Despite her love for her job, and the chance to see Tony Stark's bare chest, Pepper was not enthused to help change his chest amulet. ("There's puss!" "It's not puss, it's just poisoned basilisk venom mixed with phoenix tears, calm down.") She was understandably upset to find Tony working in his dungeon lab on a dangerously experimental broom, for missions that could get him killed. She reminded him, "You're all I have too, Tony." She eventually came to except Tony as a vigilante; but still freaked out when he attempted to drive a Muggle race car and set himself on fire.

Proof My Slytherin Has a Heart

....is what Pepper had magically inscribed on Tony's Christmas present: his old chest amulet, framed in two silver snakes forming a heart.

The entire school squeed at the unlikely Hufflepuff/Slytherin hookup. Fortunately, the pair did not have to face as much antagonism as a Slytherin/Non-Slyth couple in "Harry Potter's" day might have. Any negativity they did face was met with Tony's wrath. But everyone knew Stark's best friends were comprised almost entirely of non-Slytherins, and most people weren't dumb enough to hassle him about it.

Night of the Flaming Lepus

After Loki's attack on Hogwarts, Tony developed PTSD and became paranoid about protecting everyone, especially Pepper. He taught her as much Defense Against the Dark Arts as he could, but she really struggled with conjuring her Patronus. The tiny wisp she managed to squeeze from her wand resembled a very nonthreatening looking bunny.

That Christmas, Tony surprised Pepper with a giant rabbit he'd bought on the magical black market, thinking bigger = better. She didn't like it, as it had a tendency to eat chunks out of furniture, block the fireplace, and eat all of the magical plants around the Hufflepuff commonroom. They all got fed up, and Pepper magically teleported the eleven-foot rabbit down to the Slytherin commonroom, causing some awkwardness for Tony, who was already getting on his fellow Slytherins' nerves.

Shortly afterwards, the Slytherin commonroom was obliterated by Tony's enemies. Fortunately no one was killed--except, sadly, the giant rabbit.

But it lived on in spirit...

The villain who'd tried to kill Tony turned out to be Pepper's ex boyfriend, a Ravenclaw named Alderich Killian, whom she'd dated back in first year. Killian, once a regular human wizard, had transformed himself and several henchmen into Salamander hybrids, granting them fire-shooting and regeneration powers. Killian captured Pepper, and subjected her to a painful transformation that made her too part-Salamander.

While trying to rescue Pepper atop the Astronomy tower, Tony failed to catch her, and saw her seemingly plummet into an inferno below. Suffering a sudden attack of amnesia regarding Pepper's new powers, Tony thought she was dead, and in a Heroic Blue Screen of Death, went for Killian's blood. But Tony didn't have his wand or his broom with him, and was no match for the fire-breathing lizard man. 

Killian prepared for the killing blow, when he was interrupted by an a voice screaming, "Expecto Patronum!" He and Tony both turned to see Pepper, glowing red with her new Salamander powers, aiming her wand at Killian. Flames traveled up her arm to her wand, mixing with her patronus as it emerged. An eleven-foot-tall rabbit made entirely out of fire charged at Killian, barring fangs with flaming eyes straight out of "Watership Down." Killian died screaming like a teletubby, just before the bunny from Hell leaped across the roof and bit his head off.

Staring up at his lover, Tony quipped, "I got nothing."

Tony offered to cure Pepper of her condition, to which she replied, "Why in the name of Merlin's facial hair would I want to lose these kickass powers? I like being a Hot Pepper!"

Tony then apologized for the sh*t he'd put her through, and blew up all of his brooms, creating a shower of fireworks for her and Hogwarts. (And an excuse for himself to build new brooms.)

Lovers Divided Get Reunited... Then Divided Again

After going through all that hell together, it seemed nothing was going to break Pepper and Tony up. Then Tony accidentally created a super-annoying gargoyle villain that destroyed Durmstrang, and Pepper declared it time for them to "take a break." That Halloween, she went home for the first holiday in years. After half a week back in the Muggle world, Pepper remembered why she'd left, and hurried back to Hogwarts.

She was not surprised to learn that Tony had been involved in a violent drunken Quidditch game. However, she was shocked to hear he and Rhodey were both at St. Mungo's, for physical and psychological damage respectively. Rhodey had been transformed into a merman, with Healers unable to restore his legs. Tony meanwhile had undergone an experience that would have broken far more stable people than him. Pepper did not have nice words for Steve Rogers after she learned the whole story. She did, however, have an eleven-foot-tall, hopping-mad, flaming Patronus ready for him. Rumor has it Steve grew the beard in the hopes of disguising himself from the Hell Bunny.

Pepper saw Tony emerge from the sh*t pile that was his life with a shocking new maturity. Well, mature for Tony; he was still snarking like a petulant child to Stephen Strange.  But otherwise, he was more sensible and stable than she'd ever seen him. He devoted himself to mentoring a cute little Ravenclaw with spider powers, and building more magical shields and gadgets to protect the world from Titan invaders. At graduation, Tony gave Pepper the most awkward proposal in history. She wrinkled her nose at first, but came around and said, "What the hell."

Then a new kid with a cape resembling Ming the Merciless stole Tony from Pepper, and took him for a ride on a giant flying donut.

Not An Entirely Muggle Family?

Shortly before Strange arrived to steal Pepper's boyfriend, Tony related to her what he'd seen in the crystal ball in Divination class that morning (after several eye-rolling innuendos about "balls," naturally). In the crystal, he saw them have a baby together, and named the child after Pepper's "eccentric uncle," whose name happened to be Morgan. (Note: That's canon.)  Uncle Morgan was one of the few relatives who didn't shun Pepper after her Hogwarts letter, though he was extremely strange. Pepper didn't see him perform magic, and Uncle Morgan wouldn't elaborate on the subject--or, more precisely, he would elaborate, exaggerate, and then truncate. Tony speculated that Uncle Morgan may have been a Muggleborn who'd somehow gotten himself expelled from Hogwarts.

A Hufflepuff Rescue

After the Snap, Tony and Pepper eloped, and Pepper indeed gave birth to a baby girl, who they named Morgan. Determined to protect his family, Tony built Pepper a new upgraded broom, wand, and impenetrable robes. She loved the color purple, but Tony chose royal purple and gold for other reasons as well. Sick of seeing his queen underrated and often dismissed as "Tony Stark's mudblood servant," Tony wanted to make sure no one mistook his wife's role in his life ever again. Pepper wore and wielded these accessories in the final battle against Thanos.

At one point in the fight, a man with an old-fashioned camera interrupted the battle to request that all of the females in the Hogwarts army gather at one area, and strike badass poses. The man was Denis Creevey, and explained that this photo was for the Daily Prophet's issue on Witch's History Month. The Avengers, Thanos, and all parties sighed and begrudgingly put their epic battle on hold to meet Creevey's request. Creevey then hurried off the battlefield, and the fight resumed. Weeks later, the Prophet's front page featured an undeniably smashing (somewhat literally!) moving portrait of all the witches fighting for Hogwarts, plus Deadpool in drag.

Pepper was horrified when Tony used the Infinity Wand to seemingly sacrifice himself and dust Thanos and his army. But even then, her Hufflepuff loyalty and compassion prevailed. She accepted Tony's sacrifice, and told him, "you can rest now."

She was of course, overjoyed to have her husband resurrected. She was less happy the following year, when Tony took a potion that allowed him to talk to animals, and adopted a number of very talkative exotic creatures, but that's a story for another day.

Wand, Patronus

Rabbits and jackalopes are known to be soft and maternal, yet tricksy and clever. And anyone who has seen "Watership Down" knows not to be fooled by their cuteness.

AN: A lot of people peg both Pepper and Tony as Ravenclaws, and I get it. J.K. herself would likely sort them there, if not straight into Gryffindor like most of the important characters (sigh). But I'm basing the Sorting partially on the characters' roles in the series. Pepper is brilliant, but her role is that of a loyal workaholic and empathetic lover, while Tony's is that of a genius who just. Never. Quits. Plus, the Hufflepuff/Slytherin dynamic was impossible to resist.

[labyrinth-runner]

Children of the Revolution

The Greatest Thing, Chapter 4

Moulin Rouge fanfic

Christian x OC

Read the rest here

Estelle stifled a chuckle as he grinned up at her from below.

"I'll be down in a moment!" she softly called down.

"I'll be waiting, darling," he winked.

She shook her head as she blushed. She gently picked up her shoes from next to her door and crept out into the hall. Carefully, she peered around to make sure the rest of the lights were off in the house. Her foot stopped at the top of the stairs. They would creak. They always creaked. It would give her away in a heartbeat. Estelle let a soft sigh pass through her mouth before letting her gaze fall on the railing. It wasn't proper by any means. She hadn't done it in years. But, desperate times called for desperate measures. Estelle bunched up her skirts in her hand before swinging her leg over the side of the railing. Then, she tucked her shoes under her arms and let go, sliding down the railing until her back gently hit the newel post at the end. A childish smile formed on her face at the sheer rush she felt from doing such a silly and small action. She'd been prim and proper for so long that she had almost forgotten what it was like to have fun. Christian truly did bring color back into her life after having seen the world in black and white for so long. She'd forgotten what it was like to dream. Estelle leaned her weight to the side that was on the outside of the railing before swinging her other leg over and landing soundlessly on the floor. She smoothed her skirts out before moving on towards the front door. Slipping on her shoes, she snuck out the door and ran around the corner into Christian's waiting arms.

Despite the fact that he had just seen her a few hours earlier, he hugged her close and spun her around. In the dark of the night, they could just be themselves. Hidden in the shadows, they could leave society behind.

"What did you want to show me that I couldn't see in the daylight?" Estelle asked curiously, resting her hands on his arms as he held her.

"Well, I wanted to show you some like minded people," Christian replied with a blush.

"Then lead the way," she smiled.

Reluctantly, he let go over her waist, offering her his arm instead to escort her through the streets. They walked in a calm silence until they were a few streets away.

"Earlier... after the dinner. You seemed upset," he ventured. "Did something happen?"

"Oh, not exactly," she murmured. "I suppose it was something the ladies said after you all left. We were discussing your song and questions turned to our relationship and something that they said sent me into a world of my own devising."

"They say that thinking is a dangerous pass time," he teased.

"They may be right," she chuckled.

"What did they say?"

"They seem to think I could anchor you," she replied. "But, I think they're wrong."

"How do you figure?"

"I would never anchor you. Not when you've taught me how to fly," she smiled. "I'd sooner fly with you than ask you to be anything you were not."

A funny smile came over his face as he looked down at her. "You are everything one could ever want."

"About that song earlier," Estelle started.

"What about it?"

"Did you pick it for a reason?" she asked, blushing furiously.

"Of course, darling."

"Which was?" she asked turning to face him.

"Sometimes when you feel a certain way, you can't bottle it inside," he murmured, reaching out to cup her cheek.

She leaned into his touch as his thumb rubbed along her bottom lip.

"You are so beautiful," he replied, skimming his eyes down her face.

"Would a Bohemian ever write about me?" she teased.

"Volumes," he replied earnestly.

She shook her head at him slightly and they started walking again.

"Where are we going, Christian?" she asked when they didn't seem to be stopping.

"Right... here," he said as they stopped in front of a building. "Darling, welcome to Grub Street, home to London's Bohemian scene."

Estelle looked around the street. It was lined with shabby looking buildings. Across the way was a coffeehouse, and next to it was a brothel. Well, at least a man didn't have to go far to satisfy all his basic needs, she thought with a smirk.

Christian made his way across the street to the coffeehouse. Estelle followed him, curious. She had never been to a coffeehouse before. She wasn't quite sure what to expect. However, she didn't get to see much since she was stopped at the door.

"No women allowed," a man gruffed as she entered.

"Excuse me?" she asked.

"I said what I said, lass," came the man's reply as he scratched his head. "This isn't the place for a lady. Run along now and get back to your sewing circles."

Estelle bristled at this comments. "Are you insinuating that I'm not cultured enough to keep up with the men in here?"

The man stood and towered over her. "I'm saying that you aren't welcome. Now get the hint and bugger off!"

She turned to Christian and he looked at her. "I just need to see if a friend is here, and then I'll be out."

Her face was hot with rage as she turned to wait outside for Christian.

"They kicked you out, Miss?" a woman leaning against the building next door asked.

"They said I wasn't welcome," she huffed.

The woman spat on the ground. "Lousy blowhards, that's what they are."

Estelle cracked a smile and went towards her. "You could say that again."

"The man with you ditched you to wait out here?" the woman asked.

"He's just looking for his friend and then he'll be out," Estelle murmured.

"If you don't mind me saying so, you seem to be in the wrong neck of the woods, Miss," the woman smiled.

"Estelle Devereux," she corrected. "And... perhaps? But, if we all belong to the Earth, then I don't think there could be a wrong place to end up."

"Spoken like one of the Bohemians in there," the woman chuckled. "Shame they didn't let you in. You could've taught them a thing or two."

"What's your name?" Estelle asked.

"Poppy," she replied.

"No last name?"

"Ms. Devereux, when you're a whore, no one cares for your last name. It's too much for them to scream when they're having a good time," she teased.

Estelle blushed. "I suppose so, Poppy."

Poppy gave her an appraising glance. "Someone like you could make a lot of money doing the work of someone like me."

"Y-yes, well, I..."

"You wouldn't have the first clue as to where to start," Poppy smirked.

Estelle cleared her throat. "I've never... I've never even kissed a man."

"I didn't mean to make you feel bad, sweetheart. I'm just teasing you," she said, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Although, if you ever wanted to learn things... I wouldn't mind talking to you about it."

Estelle blushed even harder. "I... appreciate your kind offer."

Christian came out of the coffeehouse and called out to her.

"Well, some other time, then," Poppy grinned graciously before returning to her own building.

Estelle walked over. "That man was the rudest man I have ever had the misfortune of meeting. How dare he think I couldn't keep up with them?"

Christian let out a sigh. "I should have realized that. The only ladies in this area are the women who work next door, and they have a tendency to steer clear of the coffeehouse."

"Now what?" she asked.

"Well, my friend wasn't in there, so he must be home. We'll just have to go call on him."

"Christian, isn't it too late to call on someone?" she asked as they started to walk again.

"Nonsense. William is always awake. In fact, he's probably hosting people tonight since it is a weekend," he grinned. "Come on, darling. This will be fun."

Estelle shook her head as he led her away and further down the road. The house was dilapidated, but the light was on in the upstairs windows. Without any pause, Christian entered the boarding house and up the stairs to his friend's home.

He knocked on the door and a gruff, "I don't want any tonight, Delilah!" came back.

"Well, I'm not Delilah," Christian called back.

The door swung open and an older, rakish gentleman came out. Estelle figured he had to be in his 30s. His shirt was half open and his waist coat hung open off his chest, suspenders hanging off his pants. His hair was a mop of sandy brown on his head, but his beard was well groomed.

"Christian, my boy! It's been a bit," William grinned. His eyes then fell to Estelle, sizing her up. "Who's your friend?"

"William, this is Ms. Estelle Devereux," Christian said before turning to Estelle. "Ellie, this is William Cavanaugh."

William nudged Christian out of the way to take Estelle's hand and kiss her knuckles. "So this is the little star you used to go on about back in school. I can see why."

Estelle raised a brow at Christian who was blushing.

"Please, come inside," William grinned, "my house isn't much, but the company isn't half bad."

"The gang is all here?" Christian asked.

"More or less," William shrugged.

Estelle and Christian followed William back into his smoky parlor. A small crowd was seated around the room. William pointed around the room to introduce them.

"The Abraham Lincoln imitation in the corner is James, the blonde woman in his lap is Luise, the man on the piano bench is John, and the woman next to him is his mistress, Jennifer. Everyone, you all remember Christian. This is his friend, Ms. Devereux."

James cackled, causing smoke from his cigar to puff out of his mouth. "Ms. Devereux, your reputation proceeds you."

"So I've gathered," Estelle smiled as she settled on a chair.

"What's the topic tonight?" Christian asked as he sat next to her.

"We haven't chosen one yet. Do you have one in mind?" John asked, leaning forward on his knees.

"Well, our dinner party had some thoughts on Paris," Christian said with an amused smile.

"All of them wrong, probably," Luise snorted.

"More or less," Estelle grinned.

William settled into his tall-backed arm chair. "Alright, my lovely ones and unfortunate bastards, the topic on the table is Paris. Unleash your floodgates."

Estelle did her best to keep up with the conversation as it bounced around the room. Everyone had thoughts, and they weren't the simple, polite thoughts that she had encountered at the Harper's. No, these were rich with ideas and dense with knowledge. While the dinner conversation would have been splashing around in the shallows, this was diving into the deep. Things were muddled until you could work through them and see the bottom. Nothing was off limits. However, she noticed the men were still dominating the conversation mostly. Whenever she contributed, they would look a bit startled, except for Christian, before taking her thoughts and running with it, expanding and building. Nothing was tangible. Disagreements were commonplace, but never heated. She had never felt more alive, yet, as they left, it was almost like coming up for air.

"Hold tight to that one, Thompson," William smirked as they were going out the door.

Christian looked over at Estelle, a smile on his face. "She is quite special."

Estelle blushed softly as they walked off into the night.

"Well, how did I do?" Estelle asked when they had left Grub Street.

"Splendid, darling. You kept up a lot better than I did my first time there."

Silence settled for a moment before Estelle bit her lip and formulated her question.

"Christian, do you talk to them about me often?"

"W-well... when it was relevant to the conversation," Christian murmured.

"What did you say?" she asked curiously.

"Nothing terrible, I promise," he grinned.

"Alright," Estelle blushed. "Keep your secrets."

"I'll tell you someday," he replied, nudging her shoulder with his.

"Write it in a book," she teased.

"Perhaps I will!" he laughed.

"So when do we go back?" she asked.

"Perhaps next weekend?" he suggested as they came to a stop in front of the servant entrance to her house.

"I'll be looking forward to it," Estelle smiled.

She heard the clock in the distance chime two in the morning.

"I should get going," she murmured, losing herself in his eyes.

A gravitational pull formed between them as they drew closer. Her eyes fluttered closed as she felt his breath against her face. His hand came up to cup her cheek. His lips were warm against hers. She wanted to melt into him, and that's nearly what she did, slipping her hands into the hair at the nape of his neck to pull him closer. His arm wrapped around her waist in response, pulling her flush against him. She'd never been kissed before, but she hadn't pictured the first one to be like this. She always thought it would be awkward, or that they would bump noses, but this was nothing like that. This was perfect. This was right. Her lips voiced thoughts that she wasn't ready to express with words, and with the way he was kissing back, she hoped that it meant that he reciprocated them. If they were in public, and not in front of the servant entrance by the garden, one might have considered it indecent. Her heart was hammering as she pulled away ever so slightly. He ran his thumb gently along her cheek as he smiled down at her.

"I would write volumes for you."

"And I would hang onto every word," she smiled.

"Good night, Ellie."

"Good night, Christian," she whispered.

Slowly, they entangled themselves from each other, distancing themselves into what was proper.

"Until next time," he smiled.

She nodded slightly and went in through the back door. Carefully, she took her shoes off and then snuck through her home and back to her room. Swiftly, she got ready for bed and settled in to sleep, but she couldn't stop replaying their kiss in her mind.

[seasonofthegeek]

It’s About Time

This drabble is a ko-fi request from the outstanding @astrangetypeofchemistry featuring Marinette and Nino with the fanfic mash-up tropes: time travel and accidental virgin. :D

___

Nino blinked and he was suddenly watching Ms. Bustier as she explained an upcoming group project. Either he was having a very realistic dream of his past self or something had gone very, very wrong. He glanced to the side and Adrien’s smile shifted from pleasant to concerned. 

“You didn’t hear anything I just said, did you?”

“Huh?”

“Hey, are you okay?”

“I’m...not sure.” He stared at his best friend who was at least a decade and a half younger than he’d been when Nino saw him at dinner only a few hours ago. He turned enough to look back at Marinette in the hopes that she knew what was happening but seeing his wife as her fifteen year old self was too jarring to comprehend in the moment. He turned back and stared down at his desk, ignoring Adrien’s worried glances.

This wasn’t right. This was the past. He shouldn’t be here, not like this. 

Alix. This was her fault. He was going to kill her.

He glared back at her but she was just as young as everyone else in the class and seemed completely oblivious to his staring.

“Okay, so maybe not,” he muttered.

He looked down at his wrist and the Turtle Miraculous was missing from the grouping of bracelets he hadn’t worn in years. He swallowed hard. The scars he’d grown accustomed to seeing on his hands were no longer there and the pink glittery nail polish his daughter had sloppily applied before bed was missing from his middle and ring finger. He wasn’t just seeing the past, he was his past self. 

He thrust his hand into the air. “I need a hall pass please!”

There were chuckles from around the room but Ms. Bustier nodded, though he could see the confusion flit through her eyes. Younger Nino would’ve never interrupted her like that but he was too freaked out to play pretend at the moment. He grabbed the pass and escaped the classroom as quickly as he could.

___

In another time...

Nino groaned at the incessant beeping of an alarm. It couldn’t be time for school already; he was too tired. He felt like he’d only just fallen asleep. He reached out to where his his phone should’ve been on his nightstand and his knuckles bumped something that clattered to the floor with the wail of an electronic siren. Nino bolted upright, heart pounding, and saw a toy firetruck laying upside down on the floor in front of the nightstand, lights flashing.

Had Chris snuck that into his bedroom at some point? He didn’t remember seeing it before he went to sleep.

“I thought you were kidding about making me wake up this early too,” a voice mumbled from the other side of him. “I don’t wanna go to the gym. ‘m a sleepy bug.”

As if in a horror movie, Nino felt like he was turning in slow motion towards the voice. In the dim morning light coming in through the curtained windows, he could make out a mop of dark hair and the rest of the person was hidden under a pile of blankets. He jolted away and fell out of the bed. He yelped as he landed on the firetruck and the sirens started all over again. A plastic pony and a toy cat tumbled from the nightstand as it shook from his fall and landed in Nino’s lap. The alarm on his phone finally snoozed and he struggled to catch his breath.

“What in the world?!” The blankets rustled and a familiar face was looking down at him with wide eyes. “Are you okay?”

Nino felt what little air he’d gotten back in his lungs rush out again when he recognized who was on the bed, though she didn’t look quite right somehow. “Marinette?!” His voice cracked and he scrambled backwards, belatedly realizing he was only wearing a pair of boxer briefs. He tried to cover himself awkwardly as she reached over to turn on the lamp on the nightstand. 

“What just happened? You’re going to wake up Violet.” She rubbed her eyes and Nino took in the shorter hair. The mussed ends were tipped in red just above her shoulders. When had she changed it and why was she in his bed?! 

She stretched and Nino felt his face heat up when he realized she was wearing a very small, very thin tank top and little else. This is not how these dreams usually went. That thought reminded him that he’d had a certain type of dream about Marinette, many dreams in fact, and it made his skin flush hot and he tried to look anywhere but her and ignore the way his body was reacting. The familiar feeling of guilt edged in to dampen his teenage hormones and he latched onto it as he tried to find his bearings.

“What...you can’t...why are you here?” He looked around the room wildly and didn’t see anything recognizable. “Where am I?”

Marinette eyed him worriedly before turning her head towards the closed bedroom door. “Wayzz, Tikki, I think we need you!”

“Wayzz? How do you know about Wayzz?” Nino looked down at his wrist to see the Miraculous in place where he wore it whenever Ladybug called on him. He’d never gotten to take it home though. Nothing made sense in this dream. He stood up shakily and spotted a robe draped over an armchair in the corner. He grabbed it and pulled it on, realizing belatedly it must belong to this Marinette who wasn’t quite the Marinette he knew. The pink ruffles tickled his neck and he pushed them away and felt a scruffy beard along his jaw. What the hell was going on?

The kwamis appeared through the door and Wayzz immediately circled Nino.  “Oh, this isn’t right at all,” he murmured. 

“Little dude, you have to help me. I don’t know how I got here but this isn’t me,” Nino pleaded. He cast a sideways glance at Marinette and felt his skin run hot all over again at the thought that they’d been in bed together with very little on.

Wayzz frowned. “There’s something surrounding him that...hmm, perhaps? But no, that would be unwise; however, not impossible. Nino, how old do you think you are?”

“I’m fifteen.”

“Oh.” Marinette’s eyes went round with surprise. “Oh! No wonder he’s so freaked out. I’m going to kill Alix.” She pulled the blankets up around her shoulders self-consciously. “I thought she was joking about being able to do this!”

Tikki fluttered over to Nino but quickly went back to Marinette when he flinched. “Oh no, is Fluff up to her tricks again?”

“When we were at dinner last night, Nino and I were joking about wishing we knew how we felt back when we were younger since we wasted so much time not being together. She said she could fix that with one little portal and we all laughed but...” Marinette scrunched her face. “This doesn’t make sense though. Why send younger Nino here? Does that mean...” She trailed off as realization set in. “Oh no...”

____

In the past...

Now that he’d had time to freak out, Nino was feeling better. He couldn’t be stuck here. His Marinette wouldn’t let that happen. He just needed to get somewhere that might help with everything.

He decided to skip going back to class and went to the park so he could still watch when everyone left school. He needed to catch Marinette and talk to her. Maybe they could go to Master Fu and figure out how to get him sent back to his time. He wasn’t enjoying being fifteen again, though it was nice not to have a constantly aching lower back. 

Maybe he shouldn’t tell younger Marinette at all. It would probably freak her out. He couldn’t believe they’d just been talking about this at dinner with everyone. It seemed too much of a coincidence and he would definitely be having words with Alix and Fluff when he returned to his proper self. They were punks, the both of them.

He started off towards Fu’s and was surprised to hear Marinette calling his name. He turned back to her and the smile he’d forced into place became genuine as he watched her stumble over her own feet trying to catch up to him. She managed to find her balance before she fell and made it to him with a self-deprecating laugh. 

“You didn’t happen to see that, did you?”

It wasn’t that he’d forgotten how cute she was when they were this age, but things had been so different between them then. She’d seemed off-limits, even after he and Alya parted on amicable terms. Alya... 

He strained to try to remember if they were still together right now. They might be. He’d need to be careful. He didn’t want to risk changing anything for the worse if he could help it.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he winked. “Graceful as always.”

Marinette blushed and ducked her head with another laugh. “Sure, sure. Are you okay? You didn’t come back to class. Adrien was really worried.”

“Oh, uh, yeah.” He adjusted his hat on reflex and had forgotten about the nervous gesture of his youth. “I just need to go see someone about a problem I’m having.”

“I don’t want to keep you then. I’m actually on my way to see someone too.”

“Master Fu?” Nino regretted the words as soon as they came out when he saw Marinette’s reaction. “He’s who I’m going to see too,” he winced. 

“Are you getting a massage or something?” Her voice had risen an octave and there was a strained edge to her smile.

“Not exactly. I, uh...” He looked around to make sure they were relatively alone. So much for not changing anything. “I think something happened with the Miraculous because I’m not supposed to be here. I’m Nino from the future.” He looked down at his bright blue shirt. “Well, at least in my head I am, my body, not so much.”

Marinette took a step back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’ve chosen me to be Carapace at this point, haven’t you? I’m not exactly sure when I am but I know it has to be close. This feels about right.”

She blinked. “You’re serious.”

“Of course I am.”

“Who else is from the future? Alya?”

Nino shook his head and did a quick glance around again. “I haven’t talked to her, but I think it’s just me.”

“You were just talking to her before class started.”

Nino frowned. “I think whatever happened was during the lecture. I was suddenly just in my younger body and in the class.”

“This is so weird.” She covered her face and groaned and then dropped her hands. “Okay, let’s go see what Master Fu has to say.” She set off in the right direction and Nino quickly fell into step beside her.

“So you believe me?”

“I’m finding it hard to, but you wouldn’t joke about something like this. I’ve seen some really weird stuff at this point and I don’t think I should question it too much. And the Nino I know definitely doesn’t know I’m the one who gave him a Miraculous.”

“Someday you’ll even let me keep it,” Nino grinned.

“Really?”

“Mmhmm, but I probably shouldn’t say too much else. I don’t know what could change.”

They made it to Fu’s building and started up the steps when Marinette made a thoughtful noise. “Do you think you’re in your past or a past dimension? Those could exist, right? I started looking into it with all the time-hopping stuff with Bunnix. You do know about Bunnix, don’t you?”

“I’m pretty sure Alix has something to do with why I’m here actually,” Nino scowled. “As for that though, I’m not sure. This feels like my life was. Wouldn’t another dimension be different?”

“Not necessarily but it wouldn’t be exactly the same, I guess.” She perked up. “Of course, now it isn’t your past if you don’t remember this happening to you, right?.”

“I didn’t think about that. That’s...worrisome.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

They stopped in front of Fu’s door and Nino was suddenly reluctant to go inside. “I have a really great life,” he said. “I wouldn’t want anything to change that. I married an amazing woman and we have a beautiful daughter and we’re still heroes. It’s kind of great.”

Marinette clasped her hands together with a happy squeak. “You and Alya get married and have a baby?!”

“What? No.” He caught her shocked expression and grimaced. “I mean...I shouldn’t have said anything, I guess. I just don’t want any of that to go away.”

He turned away from her and knocked on the door but could still feel the weight of her gaze on his back.

___

In the future...

“Are you going to keep staring at me like that? Do I really look that different?” Marinette tugged on the ends of her hair. “I mean, this is new, but to be fair, it’s new here too. Kagami talked me into it when she was getting hers bleached. Do you like it?”

Nino wrapped both hands around the warm mug of coffee she’d given him as if it were a security blanket. “It’s, uh, it’s really pretty.”

She flashed him a bright smile. “Thanks. Are you hungry? I can make something for breakfast while we try to figure this out.”

“I’m not sure I could keep anything down at this point,” he admitted.

“That’s fair.” She faced him and hugged herself. She’d thrown on a large hoodie and Nino couldn’t decide if he was disappointed or relieved. “I’m really sorry this is happening to you. Just know that you’re safe here with me, I promise.”

Nino felt a better than he had since he’d woken up in the strange place. “I know, Marinette. Thanks.”

“Daddy! Daddy!” There was a commotion of banging and the sounds of claws tapping against the hardwood floor and a small girl with wild hair accompanied by a large gray dog rushed into the kitchen. The girl jumped up and Nino caught her out of reflex from his younger brother doing the same thing so many times.

“We’re going to the park today!” she announced and smashed his cheeks with her tiny hands. “And the zoo too!” The dog bounced around them happily.

“Sweetheart, we may have to wait to do that. Daddy isn’t feeling well today.” Marinette sent Nino an apologetic look as she gathered the little girl from his arms. 

Nino stared at the small child with dark hair and big golden eyes. She stuck her bottom lip out and it took on a slight tremor. 

“How about you and Daisy go turn on some cartoons and I’ll bring you waffles?” Marinette suggested brightly. “Then we can talk about the park and the zoo.”

The little girl considered it, looking between her parents and her dog, and then her pouting lip was replaced with a smile. “With chocolate chips,” she instructed and then turned on her heel and patted her dog’s head. The dog faithfully followed after her, tail wagging.

“Sorry. I thought we’d have a little more time before she woke up.” Marinette moved around the kitchen, getting the things she needed to make waffles.

Nino stared after the girl and then looked back at Marinette dumbly. “Is she...”

“Yours?” There was an amused glint in her eyes. “Did you see her? It doesn’t even look like I had anything to do with her and I’m the one who had to carry her for nine months. Unfair if you ask me.” She faltered when she saw his expression. “Goodness, sorry again. It’s...we joke about it a good bit. I wasn’t thinking.”

He nodded and looked down at his hand. There was a titanium wedding band on his ring finger, along with sparkly pink nail polish haphazardly painted on two of the fingernails. “We’re married,” he said slowly.

“Yes.” Marinette kept her back to him as she worked.

“And that’s our daughter.”

“Violet,” she offered.

“Violet.”

“Yes.”

“How?”

She did turn back to him then and a delicate eyebrow rose as a smug smirk played along her lips. “How?” she echoed. “Did you want a play by play of the night it happened?”

Nino knew he was dark red from the tips of his ears to the tips of his toes as he sputtered in response. His virgin mind was all too happy to immediately come up with possibilities. “That’s not...I didn’t mean...I’m with Alya!”

“Right.” She took in a deep breath. “Look, don’t worry about it. For all we know, you’re a Nino from a different dimension. You and Alya could have a really beautiful future together. I just want to get my Nino back and I’m trying not to freak out about it.”

An awkward silence settled over them, punctuated by the sounds of Marinette preparing breakfast. 

“What’s he like...or I’m like?” Nino scrunched his nose. “I’m not sure what I’m trying to ask really.”

“My Nino is my best friend.” Marinette poured a handful of chocolate chips into the batter she’d just started. “We’ve been friends since we were young and apparently both had feelings for each other on and off and then, I don’t know, one day it just clicked for us.”

“Did he date Alya too?”

She pursed her lips. “Why do you want to know?”

“Just curious.”

“He did and they had a really great relationship. We’re all still close. She married a web guru so they pretty much rule the world together. They’re ridiculously in love.”

“Oh.” He absently scratched at the nail polish. “What about Adrien?”

Marinette smiled then. “Adrien’s a stay-at-home dad to five kids and he’s trying to convince his husband that they can adopt more.”

Nino matched her smile. “So he’s happy too then?”

“Very.”

“That’s good to know.”

There was a pause and Marinette set the mixing bowl on the counter to give him her full attention. “You know you shouldn’t tell anyone about all this when you get back, right? It could really mess up people’s lives. I’m hoping that somehow you won’t remember it but I’m not sure what’s going to happen.”

“It’s kinda just making my head hurt right now.”

“That’s understandable.” She returned to her task and gave him her back so she could start working at the stove. “We can talk about whatever you want if it makes you feel better though. It’s still pretty early but I’ve sent texts to everyone so hopefully we can all put our minds to it and figure things out.”

Marinette jumped when two strong arms wound around her middle. “Aww, babe, you called the calvary for me.”

She pulled away enough to study him. “Are you you?”

Nino laughed. “I’m guessing younger me had a very interesting trip then?”

“Oh!” Marinette turned so she could fully pull him into a hug. “I was so nervous something bad was going on. What happened?” She only released him enough so that she could look up at him and Nino fondly moved some of her hair behind her ear.

“I have no idea. I went to bed with you and then suddenly I’m sitting in Ms. Bustier’s classroom in mid-conversation with Adrien when he had that floppy hair and wore those awful orange shoes.”

“What in the world?”

“Not sure, but I’ll be asking our local time-hopping rabbit first.”

“Mmm. So how’d you get back?”

Nino gently pulled himself from her grasp and grabbed a handful of chocolate chips. “I honestly don’t know. I’d convinced younger you that I was from the future and we’d just gotten to Fu’s and then I was sitting here watching you make waffles.” He popped the chips in his mouth with a hum. “I’m starving.”

“You talked to me?! Why’d you do that? Things could be all different now!”

“I don’t feel different. Do you feel different? Oh man, how did younger me survive after waking up beside you?”

Marinette frowned. “Well, I--”

“Dadddddddddy!” Violet called as she entered the kitchen. “Daisy and I were talking and if you’re sick, we can just stay here today. That’s okay.”

Nino raised his eyebrows and Marinette gave him a helpless shrug. He moved forward so he could scoop his little girl up as she giggled. “Well, lucky for you, Miss Vi, I’m feeling all better now and I can’t think of anything more fun than going to the park today.”

“And the zoo!” Violet added with a laugh.

“And the zoo!” Nino agreed. “Why don’t you go get ready while Mommy finishes making breakfast?”

Violet let out a triumphant whoop of joy and ran down the hall as soon as her father set her back down. 

Marinette hugged herself. “What do you think our past selves are doing now? Doesn’t this kind of mess things up?”

Nino closed the distance between them and kissed the top of her head. “I don’t know. I think this might’ve done them a favor. And as for us, I might love you even more than before.”

“But you don’t feel any different?” she fretted.

“Not even a little. Do you?”

She considered that. “No, I don’t think I do.”

“Then let’s go get ready and have a nice day at the park with our daughter and just accept that our past selves are fine because we’re fine.”

“You know I’m going to be worried about this for weeks,” she warned him.

He laughed and pulled her into a kiss. “Yes, dear, I’m very familiar with you,” he teased.

Buy me a cherry coke?

[misswarmnights]

The Tickle Aliens

In space, no one can hear you scream...with laughter.

Deep space. Seven crew members. One cat.

At some point during the mission, Mother the computer picked up a distress signal from a unknown source, but something humanoid. The crew jumped into action. There were no moons, planets, or planetoids nearby. So, they switched on all the viewing monitors to see if they could spot anything.

On a monitor, Ellen Ripley watched the goingson outside and soon she saw it on the screen...a crudely-build little shuttle spinning out-of-control through the expanding darkness.

"Captain, I see it."

"There's a spaceman in there," Brett remarked. "And he's in trouble."

Dallas nodded, calling out to Mother. "We need to rescue it and bring the astronaut to safety."

Mother released a net-shaped force-field from a special section of the ship and caught the runaway shuttle inside. This held the vessel safely in place.

"Bring him aboard, Mother."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Ripley asked, always a cautious one.

The male officers ignored her and went about their business. The doors opened and the visitor was brought inside.

Lambert joined the rest on the deck, and tried to get a glimpse of the rescued spaceman. But her male colleagues crowded around him and blocked her view.

"Who is he? What is he?" Lambert asked.

"It's a little green man," Parker told her.

"Don't give us that crap," Ripley retorted.

"No, really. I'm serious, we got a little green guy here." Parker stepped aside so the two women could see the tiny visitor.

The person stood just barely four feet tall, with skinny limbs and very long fingers. His spacesuit glistened with silver and his oversized helmet seemed to weigh down his slight body, a green face visible through the dark glass.

"I can't believe it...," Lambert breathed.

"We just saved an alien life form, you can believe it," Ash said, folding his arms.

"And what a cute little fellow," Kane quipped.

"Right," Brett mumbled.

"Who the heck are you?" Parker asked, bending lower to see the creature's face better.

The small humanoid stood motionless for a second, probably still reeling from his wild ride on the shuttle. The little guy needed a moment to get used to his new surroundings, not to mention those seven curious strangers looming over him.

Dallas got down on his knees to be at eye level with the alien, to help him feel more relaxed. "You're aboard the Nostomo. Nobody is going to hurt you. Can you speak? Have you got a name?"

The little alien reached up to unfasten his bulky helmet. Then, the helmet slid off and revealed his narrow, shiny, green head. The creature's facial features were very human-like. A yellow tongue strayed from his mouth and licked his dry, cracked lips.

"I apologize, my friends, for I must have misplaced my manners," said the green alien. "I thank you exceptionally well for rescuing me from such peril. I am unsure what went wrong, but I lost control of my vessel. I cannot imagine where I would be now if you kind souls had not saved me. My name is Garg A. Lesis. My home is Erutrot-Elkcit; that is a planet somewhat far from here. I am pleased and charmed to be your guest in this delightful Nostomo."

The crew couldn't believe their eyes and ears.

The alien spoke perfect English. He had a quirky voice and a friendly little smile.

"I must find a way to repay you lovely persons for rescuing me. We can start with breakfast. I will treat you to these doughnuts."

With that, the alien slid his boney hand into a pocket and, somehow, produced a white rectangular box.

"These doughnuts are from my very own private stock and there is none better in the galaxy. I realize this is not nearly enough to repay your great kindness but it is the very least I can do. Once you have finished breakfast, I will have found more ways to repay you. If there is one thing I pride myself on, that is showing the utmost gratitude."

Kane smirked in amusement. "Talkative little sucker, isn't he?"

Ripley wasn't buying any of this. She marched over to the alien and kicked the box out of his hands as if it were a rifle. The doughnuts scattered on the floor.

"I hate doughnuts! And if you think we're eating anything from you, then you're out of your puny green skull," Ripley said, after disarming the little man of his doughnuts.

The alien picked up all the pastries off the floor and refilled the box. "Madam, I wish you no harm. All I wish is to show my gratitude."

"Let's give him a chance, Ripley," Dallas said. "He seems harmless enough."

"What did you say your name was?" Lambert asked, timidly.

"I am Garg A. Lesis from Erutrot-Elkcit, a distance green and pink planet. It's such a lovely place to live, you should all visit there. That would be most charming. My species is known as Erutrotians. My friends call me...Spin."

"Why do they call you that?"

"Because I cannot fly a shuttle without whirling and twirling and spinning," answered the alien, merrily.

When all the doughnuts had been collected from the floor, Kane took the box and thanked him properly.

"Well, Spin...We accept your gracious offer of these delightful, slightly dirty doughnuts and we hope you will join us so we can enjoy your charming presence at our table," he said, mocking the alien's style of talking.

Spin was apparently blind to this joking around, and so he just smiled and accepted the invitation. "Why, it would be my pleasure to grace you with my charming presence while you enjoy breakfast!"

Everyone found this humorous, except for Ellen Ripley.

"Dallas, I have a bad feeling about this," she warned him, when the alien was out of ear-shot.

The bearded man assured her everything would be fine. "I wouldn't let him remain on Nostomo if I thought he posed a threat. The safety of my crew means everything to me, Ripley. You know that."

Ripley sighed. "I just...have a bad feeling about this guy, ya know?"

"He'll join us for breakfast, we'll eat his doughnuts, then we'll find a way to send him home. Okay?"

Ripley still wasn't thrilled with the whole idea, but she nodded in consent.

Soon everyone gathered around the table for breakfast. They munched on the doughnuts and drank hot coffee. Ripley, however, slipped away while the others were eating so she could do some research. She did a search for 'Erutrotians' on her computer.

A hazy picture of a planet showed up on the monitor, along with a picture of their suspicious guest. There was a list of facts and information available.

Ripley read quietly to herself:

"Erutrotians are a civilized race of alien from the planet Erutrot-Elkcit; they are fluent in over fifty languages and exhibit human-like characteristics. Erutrotians are religiously well-mannered and tend to be overly grateful when someone does them a favor. This race is mostly harmless and peaceful, if treated respectfully. While he may seem eccentric, the Erutrotian has been known to befriend other species, including humans. If you are visited by a Erutrotian and wish him to leave, he will do so. However, there is something you must be cautious of when dealing with a Erutrotian. They love to tickle, and they are devious, relentless ticklers. If you happen to be ticklish, then you must be very careful not to let the Erutrotian discover this. Or else, he will stay for weeks and months and perhaps even longer. Do not let him find out about your ticklishness for your own safety."        

When Ripley finished reading, she breathed a sigh of relief. That's the worst he can do? Tickle? she thought, amused. She wasn't worried because she wasn't ticklish at all.

Meanwhile at the breakfast table, the crew continued eating the doughnuts. Even though there was only one box, the supply seemed endless. The doughnuts were baked perfectly, soft and moist on the inside, coated with sweet glaze. Each pastry oozed with a different kind of fruit jelly or cream.

"How did you make these out here in space?" Lambert asked, losing count of how many she had eaten.

Spin smiled. "All of the ingredients are from my home planet, Ms. Lambert."

Ripley entered the room, looking in disgust at her companions as they made pigs of themselves.

"Hello there, Ripley. Have a seat," Kane said.

"You can sit next to Spin there," Parker said, pointing to the empty place beside the alien.

"I don't wanna sit next to Spin," Ripley mumbled, but then remembered she had to be polite. "Oh. Oh, yes...I would love to sit next to Mr. Spin."

"Would you like a doughnut, Ripley?" Dallas asked. "There's plenty left."

"I told you guys, I don't like doughnuts. They're too sweet."

Then, Ripley remembered again to be as polite as possible. "Oh, alright...maybe just one."

With that, she picked up a doughnut and took a small bite. She winced as the sweet blackberry jelly gushed into her mouth.

"I am immensely pleased that you gracious people are enjoying the doughnuts I have prepared with my own little hands," Spin quipped.

"You're a pretty damn good cook," Brett commented.

"I never knew aliens cooked," Lambert said.

"You would be surprised at all the marvelous things we can do," Spin explained. "You refer to me as an alien, but keep in mind, aliens are people too."

"The little green guy has a point," Parker said.

"Right, he does," Brett added.

Ripley set down the remainder of her doughnut and drank some bitter coffee to wash away the sugary sweetness from her mouth.

"What's it like on Erutrot...Elkcit?" Lambert asked slowly to pronounce the name correctly.

"Oh, it is the most delightful planet to live on. No crimes, no cruelty, only delightful people like myself so there is no need for weapons or cages. Of course, being such a peaceful world there is always time for play."

"Do you have a hobby?" Ripley asked quietly, not wanting to seem rude by avoiding the conversation.

"Oh, yes indeed," Spin replied cheekily. "I have many hobbies: meditation, dancing, singing, baking, whistling, drawing, embroidery, star-gazing, wrestling, reading, hiking, calligraphy, tickling...to name just a few."

"Did you say 'tickling'?" Lambert asked, confused. "That's not a hobby."

Spin chuckled a bit. "My people very much enjoy tickling. Unfortunately, many of the humans we have encountered were not sensitive to the tickle sensation. Our attempts to tickle these people were unsuccessful. Quite odd, don't you think?"

"It would have worked on me," Kane said, with a sheepish smile.

Spin looked at him. "What do you mean, Mr. Kane?"

"I'm very ticklish on my feet," Kane admitted.

"Really? Me too!" Dallas said, grinning.

Ripley's eyes filled with terror. "You guys...shut up."

Spin gazed at the human crew with an odd little smile on his face. He casually picked up a cup of coffee and took a very long sip. Ripley glared at her colleagues and shook her head as a way to warn them but the guys didn't get it.

"Such a splendid breakfast," Spin sighed happily, patting his small mouth with a napkin. He then slid down from his chair and yawned, stretching his boney arms high over his head. "Good Heavens, I suddenly feel so tired..."

"Must have been that rough tumble you took out there, little guy," Dallas told him, "You should get some sleep. Ripley, you show him where he can rest."

Ripley rolled her eyes, pushing herself off the chair and taking hold of the green alien's little hand. "Come with me," she mumbled, yanking on the alien as she walked briskly down the corridors. She led him into a closet several yards away from the chamber where she and the crew slept. "You can stay in here, where you'll hopefully be far enough away from my crew…so you won't be disturbed if anyone snores." She added that last part to avoid sounding rude.

"I thank you for your generous hospitality, Ms. Ripley. May I also have a pillow and blanket?"

"Yes." Ripley went and brought him everything he needed and then watched as Spin prepared a little bed for himself inside the closet. He made himself very comfortable. Surprisingly, the closet space was just big enough for a cozy bedroom for the four-foot-tall humanoid. So Ripley left him there, leaving the door open.

Nobody heard anything from Spin the rest of the day. The green man just slept and slept until finally, it was bedtime for the crew as well.

Everybody ate dinner, brushed their teeth, and went about their usual nighty-time routine. They removed their uniforms, leaving themselves in nothing but white underclothes and bare feet. Ripley was very concerned about dozing off with a strange alien on their ship…especially since she knew exactly what Spin's intentions were. Since Kane and Dallas had foolishly admitted their little weaknesses…she knew something was going to happen. So, she told everyone exactly what she had learned and what Spin intended to do with them.

"Ripley, are you positive about this?" Dallas asked.

"I know it sounds bizarre but you heard Spin say it himself…he loves to tickle people."

"This is a very serious thing, Ripley," Lambert scolded.

"Why didn't you tell us sooner?" Parker inquired.

"Because I didn't know any of you morons were going to blurt out that you're ticklish! That's why!" Ripley barked, glaring at Kane who looked down at the floor in shame.

"Well, what do you think we should do now?" Ash asked, calmly pushing a stick of chewing gum into his mouth.

"There are seven of us and only one of him," Dallas spoke, pacing nervously in front of his crew but trying to sound confident. "Plus he's a small guy…no way he could overpower any of us."

"Right," Brett responded.

"Got a good point there, Captain," Ash complimented him. "Now I say we all just forget about our jolly green midget and get some shut-eye."

Thump!

Everybody froze.

Thump thump!

"What was that?" Ripley asked, wide-eyed.

Thump thump thump!

Lambert gasped, throwing a hand against her mouth. "What the hell is that?!" she shouted in fear.

Whoosh! The door slid wide open and Spin poked his head into the room, smiling. The crew stared at him. "We have company," said the alien, "Some dear friends of mine decided to stop by for a visit."

"Um…what?" Parker said in shock.

Suddenly, another little green head popped into the room. Then came a third one…and then a fourth. Lots of green people who resembled Spin marched into the room single file, until the room was flooded with about thirty of the diminutive humanoids.

"I hope you don't mind, I invited them over to meet the heroes who rescued me from that perilous situation," Spin explained to the baffled crew.

"No, no parties…not on my ship," Dallas was having none of it. "Spin, this has gone far enough. I want you…all of you...to leave before things get out of hand."

"No thank you, Captain Dallas," Spin replied, as if being ordered to leave was merely a friendly offer. "My people have journeyed here to enjoy the spoils of human vulnerabilities." An eerie smile crossed Spin's face at that point.

"W-what do you mean?" Lambert asked in a frightened tone.

All of the Erutrotians started smiling like mad. They could tell these people knew…

"It is time for a joyous and marvelous time, my dear people!" Spin announced with glee.

And so it began.

"Get the captain first."

Spin's people attacked Dallas and went for his exposed feet.

"No, don't," Lambert protested, shielding her eyes in horror.

Dallas howled with laughter when his bare feet got tickled. He doubled over and fell to the floor, at which point five aliens jumped on top of him. They pinned his legs to the floor so he wouldn't kick and so they could tickle him easier. Spin scratched all over the soles of his feet and was overjoyed by the man's beautiful reaction!

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! STOP! PLEASE STOP!" Dallas laughed, writhing around and trying in vain to get away.

Spin laughed merrily. "My, what is so funny, Captain Dallas? Do tell me what amuses you so!"

"IT TICKLES! TIHIHICKLES!" Dallas screamed, tears forming in the corner of his eyes. Spin laughed happily and continued tickling both his feet, never giving the poor captain a break.

"No, no, no! Not the feet!" Kane pleaded as they surrounded him also, about to give him the same treatment. One of the green people tripped him over backwards, causing Kane to fall right on his butt. Three aliens rushed over and began tickling his exposed soles. Kane exploded with laughter and threw his head back.

Lambert covered her ears. Everyone else watched the scene in shock.

"OH SHIT! Don't tickle me…NO! STOP! HEEHEHEHEHAHAHAHAHAHA!" Kane shrieked, his face already turning red from laughter.

Spin wanted a crack at Kane too, so he lifted Kane's undershirt and poked his index finger right into Kane's bellybutton. As if having his feet tickled by three other aliens wasn't bad enough, now Spin's long-nailed finger was tickling in his bellybutton! This drove the man even wilder than before. His stomach quivered and tears started glistening his eyes. His arms would have lashed out to push away the ticklers had they not been restraining him so well. The Erutrotians worked very well as a team.

"Good Heavens!" Spin exclaimed with a huge grin. "Two human males who are both very, very ticklish! This is our lucky day, my people."

Ash leaned against the wall, calmly chewing his gum as he witnessed the chaos. Lambert sank to her knees in a corner, shielding her eyes from it all.

Kane and Dallas squealed like a couple of little girls when the aliens tickled between all their toes. The two men arched their backs and laughed so hard that they started to convulse. Tears of mirth streamed down their red faces. They writhed around, their legs and ankles reddening as they struggled to pull their feet away from the horrible tickling. Spin's team was too powerful however…there would be no escaping and no relief for their poor bare feet.

"Hey, stop it! That's enough!" Parker said, taking pity on his friends. He stormed over to confront the aliens.

The green people ignored him. Parker whirled around when he heard a scream of terror from Lambert – she was being chased around by a single alien, grabbing and poking at her sides. Parker abandoned the other two men and rushed to Lambert's aid.

"Hey, quit it! Stay away from her!" he yelled, but an alien tripped him before he could reach her. Parker screamed out as he flipped through the air and landed on his head…ending up sprawled out on the floor, unconscious.

"NO!" Lambert shouted.

Spin placed a pillow under Parker's head. "He will be perfectly fine, do not worry…but he will wake up with a bump on his head."

"This CAN'T be happening!" Lambert cried.

"Don't give up," Ripley told her, "We'll find a way to stop this."

Brett gasped when he noticed what had happened to his buddy Parker. He ran over and knelt beside the unconscious man. "What the shit happened to him?"

"It is nothing to be concerned about, Mr. Brett," Spin said, in his usual polite tone. "He simply tripped and fell down, but it was not our fault and I can assure you, I did not intend for him to get hurt."

"He'll sleep it off," Ash added, in his icy cool demeanor.

The little green boss stayed right next to Brett. The engineering technician didn't move away or say anything. He just took a drag of his cigarette while staring down at the alien with his dark brown eyes. Spin continued to gaze at him and started doing his odd little smile again.

"You don't scare me," Brett scoffed. "I'm not ticklish."

Spin's smile faded. "Aww, I am truly sorry to hear that, Mr. Brett."

Another Erutrotian crept up behind Brett and jumped onto his back. The alien attempted to straddle him, tickling his stomach in the process. Brett yelped, nearly jumping out of his skin! The cigarette flew from his mouth as he erupted in a fit of giggles.

Spin laughed. "Well, my word! It seems we have a tickly tummy, don't we, Mr. Brett?" With that, Spin started tickling his stomach as well.

Brett sank down to his knees, hugging himself in defense as they continued tickling. He tried to control himself but he couldn't stop giggling. "Okay! Ohohohakay! I lied! Heyehehehehehe! I admit it! I'm ticklish!"

Four more green people rushed over to help. They straddled Brett and forced him down flat on his stomach. His arms were pulled forcibly behind his back so he couldn't defend himself while all those long green fingers attacked his torso from all angles. They yanked his shirt all the way up and ruthlessly dug their fingers into his sides, stomach, and armpits.

"Aaaahahahahaha! Hehehehey! CUT IT OUT! Parker…PARKER! Help meeee!" Brett called out for Parker to save him, somehow forgetting that Parker had recently been knocked out cold.

Those alien hands moved to his ribcage, scratching and digging gently between each of his ribs. Spin tickled Brett's neck with both hands.

Brett let out a shrill girlish scream as he burst into louder, more hysterical laughter.

"GYAHAHAHAHAHA! DAMN YOU! HEEHEHEHEHEHEE! STOP TICKLING ME!" Brett screeched, his face pressed against the cold floor as he laughed. With his hands pinned behind his back, he could not protect himself or get up. His legs were free so he could kick but that didn't help him.

Spin's people were experts on finding the most ticklish spot on a person's body. Then they focused mainly on that particular spot. Kane and Dallas were most ticklish on the soles of their feet. For Brett, it was his ribs and neck.

"HOHOHOHOHOO! AAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! I CAN'T STAND IT!" Kane shrieked, tears of laughter pouring down his face. His usually pale white skin had turned the most beet-like shade of red.

"S-SOMEBODY HELP US! HAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! PLEEEEASE!" Dallas screamed, tears and sweat soaking his entire face and beard.

Ripley knew she HAD to do something. She had to find a way to end this mess and get rid of those little bastards. Ripley then fled the room, sealing the door shut behind her to keep the Erutrotians contained in one place. It's not like any of her friends were going to be escaping anyway…

Lambert stood frozen in the corner. Her huge blue eyes rimmed red with tears as she fearfully awaited her turn.

Ash had disappeared from the room.

Ripley sprinted through the corridors, black hair bouncing as she ran. The screaming laughter and pleas for mercy from the male crew echoed throughout the ship, following her like a curse as she continued running.

Suddenly, Ripley heard feminine laughter. The aliens had started their tickling assault on Lambert. She was crying out things like 'STOP IT' and 'NOT THERE'. Wherever they were tickling her, it was obviously a pretty bad spot.

As Ripley turned a corner, she slammed right into Ash. "Oh!" she gasped, stumbling over backwards and falling on her butt.

"Ash!"

"Where are you going?" he inquired.

"What do you mean 'where am I going'?" Ripley said, standing up and staring at him in shock. "I'm going to find a way to get those green-assed bitches off the Nostromo. By the way, how did you escape from them?"

"There is no possible way for a ticklish person to escape the Erutrotians, but if you aren't ticklish then they won't bother keeping you around."

"So how did you manage to get away?" she asked.

Ash shrugged. "Not ticklish."

Ripley inwardly kicked herself for asking a stupid question. "Okay, but how are we going to save the others?" she asked hopefully, assuming Ash would have some valuable ideas or even a plan.

"Ripley, I honestly don't get what the big deal is," he complained.

"What?" Ripley said in surprise. "Ash, don't you realize what's going on back there?" She pointed her thumb at the direction she came from.

"They're only being tickled," Ash said, folding his arms. "What's the worst that could happen? They'll piss themselves."

"It's more than that!" Ripley shouted in fury. "I researched these guys and they can stay around for months or longer. Ash, for God's sake…we can't let these things live here as long as they want and tickle everyone to death. It will screw up everything we're working towards on this mission."

Ash stared at her coldly with his arms still firmly folded. "So…what do you suggest?"

Ripley bit her lower lip as she looked back at him, unsettled by how calm and uncaring he seemed about the whole thing. "I…I guess find more information about the Erutrotians…find out what their weaknesses are. We'll use weapons if we need to!"

"Don't make them angry, Ripley," Ash sighed, waving her off as he turned to walk away.

Just as Ripley was about to yell something insulting at him, Ash looked over his shoulder to tell her one last thing…

"Just be glad these alien life forms are enjoying themselves. Imagine the damage they might cause if they weren't having fun." He smirked just slightly.

Ripley soon found herself alone – with only her thoughts and the endless wails of ticklish agony pouring through the walls. There had to be a way to get rid of Spin and his tribe. She racked her brains, mind racing back to the facts on Erutrotians she had read earlier.

Then a thought occurred to her.

"Of course," Ripley said, aloud. "That's it…

Ripley went straight to the tiny kitchen where she had thrown away her partially eaten doughnut into the wastebasket, when Spin was not looking. She picked up the doughnut with repulsion, holding it away from her as if it were a dirty diaper. The bitten pastry dripped dark blackberry goop as Ripley carried it away.

She walked right back towards the room where the Erutrotians were tickle torturing her friends. She had an idea.

Meow.    

Ripley heard a faint mewing. She stopped dead in her tracks, distracted by the sight of a little cat's face peeping out from behind a crate.

"Hey, Jonesy," Ripley said, smiling as she spoke to the cat. "Hey, kitty kitty…what are you doing over here, huh? You trying to get away from all that noise?" She was referring to the laughter and shrieks of her crew.

"Meow," Jonesy replied.

Ripley scooped up Jonesy and snuggled him for a moment. The cat stared at the jelly doughnut in Ripley's hand, but she held it away from his stretching paw.

"Nah, you don't want this slop," Ripley said, resting her cheek against Jonesy's soft head. "Be a good cat, okay? I have to do something."

And with that, Ripley released Jonesy onto the floor and resumed her mission to defeat the aliens.

By the time Ripley returned to the alien room, the laughter had died down and then stopped completely. She entered the room with caution and observed the scene.

The victims had all fainted from the horrible tickling they had suffered. Dallas, Kane, Brett, and Lambert had all passed out. They were scattered around the floor, flushed and soaked with sweat. Tear-stained faces and puffy red eyes on everyone. An unpleasant odor in the air proved that they had all wet their pants.

The Erutrotians were sitting by their victims, making pleasant conversation with each other as they waited patiently for the crew to wake up. Ripley wanted so badly to beat them all up with her bare hands.

Then Parker, who had suffered nothing more than a blow to the head, started groaning and moving around. He sat upright, rubbing his forehead and squinting until he could see clearly. That's when he figured out what had happened.

"HEY!"

"Parker, shut it," Ripley snapped. "Let me handle this."

Ripley raised the doughnut to her mouth and chomped into the sugary sweetness. She did her best not to shudder.

"Mmmmm...Yum...best thing I ever tasted...this tasty doughnut...baked by our good friend Spin!" Ripley yelled out, pretending to enjoy the gooey treat that she actually loathed. She took huge bites and let the blackberry jelly roll down her chin.

"Why, Miss Ripley, I did not realize you were so fond of my lovely doughnuts," Spin said cheerily, completely buying her act.

"I sure wish I could bake this good," Ripley sighed wistfully.

"Did you say 'baking'?" they asked.

This topic greatly piqued their interest...exactly what Ripley was hoping for.

Baking.

That was one of Spin's other "hobbies" that Ripley recalled from earlier when he rattled off his list. If she could get Spin's tribe interested in something other than tickling, then she could save the ship.

"Baking, yes!" Ripley exclaimed, "Did I mention how much I love baking? I would love to bake some more of these scrumptious doughnuts! Who wants to help me?"

"It would be a privilege to assist you, Miss Ripley," Spin said cheerily.

His people were equally as enthusiastic...

"What an absolute joy that would be!"

"We will have a simply marvelous time in the kitchen with you, Madam!"

"Baked goods are our specialty!"

"And most certainly one of our favorite activities!"

Now it was Ripley's turn to give an eerie little smile as the Erutrotians followed her to the kitchen like rats for the Pied Piper.

For the next hour, dozens of the green baking-experts took turns in the small kitchen area. They produced hundreds of perfect doughnuts from minimal ingredients, and with startling ease.

Ripley's scheme was to use baking as a distraction from the tickling. Since tickling was the one thing that made them go wild, what they needed was to get interested in a different activity. Ripley figured if they returned to their pish posh politeness, she could get them off Nostromo.

The aliens baked doughnuts to their green heart's content. They even shared their secret recipe with Ripley and taught her how to prepare a proper pastry. Ripley went along with everything in the most cheerful and positive attitude she could muster.

"Thanks for everything, Mr. Spin," she said, when the kitchen fun came to a close. "My crew and I are really glad you could visit our humble Nostromo, but it's getting late. So...would you mind leaving now?" If you are visited by a Erutrotian and wish him to leave, he will do so, Ripley remembered that sentence.

"It has been an endless joy this time spent with you, my splendid rescuers. I was just tickled to be here," Spin told Ripley, wrapping his small hands briefly around her hand. "My people and I will leave now, as you wish. We bid you farewell and a safe journey home."

"Thanks, you too."

Spin smiled at his tribe and beckoned for them to come. "We must be leaving now…our home Erutrot-Elkcit is waiting for us."

Then the green-skinned humanoids known as Erutrotians took off through the blackness of outer space in their sleek golden ships. The shiny vessels glided away in streaks of silver glow until they finally disappeared in the distance.

Ripley raced back to check on her crew mates. They would be fine, just exhausted and maybe a little embarrassed…but they would live. A slight smile of satisfaction came to her face. She actually outsmarted the aliens and saved the day. No more aliens aboard the Nostromo now and that's just how she liked it. Their troubles were over.

Or so she hoped.

The End