#although now there is somewhat a plan that dawned on me in the car

[robthegoodfellow]

Chapters: 5/? Fandom: Stranger Things (TV 2016) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Eddie Munson Characters: Billy Hargrove, Eddie Munson Additional Tags: Looney Tunes References, Billy Hargrove Lives, Eddie Munson Lives, Well Depending on Your Definition of "Lives", Certainly They Are Walking Talking Fighting Crime, In the Upside-Down Tho, On Account of Their Bods Being Toast, Might Find a Way to Reverse That, For Now I Just Want Them to Rig Vecna w/ Dynamite and Smash Him w/ Anvils from the Sky, Eddie Munson in the Upside Down, Billy Hargrove in the Upside Down Summary:

Eddie wakes up in the Upside-Down and is promptly ushered into Billy Hargrove's manhole.

@mungroveweek

[lynnuvo]

Hi I hope I’m not bothering you but I just finished reading the reenactment fanfics and I was wondering if you’d be open to make one about “Princess and the Frog” or “Mulan” those are the only films that I remember the character having a more “got get it/work for it” attitude and relate a lot to that plus the yans would be interesting to read (to me at least I mean it’s ur writing not mine) anyway thx for the attention hope u have a great day and keep writing awsome fics :>

From 👻 anon

Hello 👻anon! Thank you so much for the touching compliment! I was wondering which fairytale to do next, so I'm glad you suggested either of those. Although it's been a long while since I've watched Princess & The Frog, I'm going to try my hand at that one since I love the story. For those who prefer a male yandere, don't worry! I'm planning on writing another version of this fairytale for you ღ

.·:*¨ ✘- It Takes Two to Tango - ✘ ¨*:·.

Characters: Yan!Charlotte x Female (Y/N) in Tiana's role In which Charlotte intends to take the only desire she can't buy: her best friend

A Tale in the Baking

When you reincarnated into your new world, you were sleeping soundly in bed with a young, blonde girl who wore a frilly dress that scratched your skin. You were pretty confused and somewhat panicked about your predicament: your childlike appearance drastically contrasted from the mature adult life you've been leading. It wasn't until the end of the week that it finally dawned that you were in the middle of the fairytale "The Princess and the Frog."

Your father, James, had passed recently. Your mother, Eudora, shared his dream of owning a restaurant to you several times already as she reminisced her late husband. Of course, you provided as much comfort as you could. Charlotte visited your home every two days, more clingy than you remembered her being in the movie (likely due to the event).

Now, while you weren't aiming to follow exactly in the true protagonist's footsteps, the prospect of owning your own restaurant sparked a fire in your heart. It was ridiculously difficult to try to own even a car in your previous world. However, there was a key difference in that world and the current one: your family was close with the La Bouffs, the wealthy family Charlotte is from.

As you grew older, you became a confident young woman who didn't dare let a soul deceive her in any way. Because your relationship with Charlotte also grew, you vowed to never let anyone deceive her as well. She was veracious and at times ill-mannered, but you knew deep down that she was also naive. You weren't sure of what the true protagonist did outside of what was told in her tale, but it was your story now. So, you defended Charlotte at every corner & convinced her to tell you of any hardships she had--or of anything, really.

Who knew that such actions intended to protect her would ultimately backfire?

Lollygagging

Ever since she was little, Charlotte dreamed of a prince coming to rescue her from trouble. She'd ramble on and on about this dream to you, who listened to her oh so intently. As time passed, this dream took a different turn. She pondered about it often, twisting the idea in her palm left and right while guys fawned over her.

One night, her father came into her room and introduced an opportunity of a lifetime: to marry Prince Naveen of Maldonia. She was ecstatic and agreed right then and there. In that same week, however, she began having second thoughts.

She visited the restaurant you worked at alone soon after. Picking up her sour mood, you took your break early and sat with her at a table, inquiring whatever was the matter. For someone like her to display such an downcast face in public was a rarity. She told you about her worries. Was marrying Naveen the right choice? What if he wasn't as great of a prince as she hoped he would be? What if she wouldn't be happy after all?

After comforting her softly, you chuckled and cheerily reassured her that everything would be well. Marrying him would mean she'd have both her best friend and the prince in her life!

(You were really hoping they'd get married. On top of Charlotte's happiness, the prince would be a great advantage in your career.)

Charlotte left the restaurant with a laugh, but your support left her heart heavier than before.

At the masquerade ball hosted by her father in honor of Naveen's arrival, Charlotte escaped to your side at every chance. As much as you loved her, her constant presence was disrupting the anxiousness you were trying to keep down. The story had already started off on the wrong foot. Where Charlotte was meant to introduce her potential relationship with her father Big Daddy was instead Big Daddy stopping by to eat with one of his clients at your restaurant, sharing the exciting news.

Once Charlotte darted into the kitchen for the eighth time that night with another excuse to talk to you, you gripped her by the shoulders, instructed her to be a good host and tend to her guests, and to not search for you until the night concluded.

Charlotte hated how you pushed away--hated hated HATED it. But still, she'd do it for you. She'd do it because you trusted she'd listen.

In the meantime, you waited in Charlotte's room until a frog jumped onto your balcony. You already knew you were going to be outbid for the mill (just like how it was in the fairytale), so you weren't wasting any time crying over a destined lost investment. When Naveen in his frog form entered the home, you rolled his eyes at his request to help him find a princess and agreed as long as he married Charlotte regardless of whatever was to happen that night. He had no problem with that.

Lucky for you, knowledge from your past life would serve your career well. You told Naveen that because Big Daddy was crowned Mardi Gras king recently, Charlotte would be a princess. All you two needed to do was to wait for the party to end.

Barely Lovely Triangle

As you suspected, Charlotte came running up to you after the ball had concluded. She chided you with tears in her eyes for leaving her alone for so long. You apologized, saying you only wanted the best for her and the Prince and that you being there likely would've prevented any action from her towards him. She begrudgedly agreed before going on to share how wonderful the dance was. She'd never danced like a royal until that day.

You nodded and "uh huh"-ed and dropped compliments as she talked. Once she concluded, you asked her to please listen to what you were about to say. She guessed the matter had to be serious enough for you to possess such a tone, but she hadn't expect an explanation about the frog beside you.

She pointed at him, a corner of her lip lifted in uncertainty. "So he's a prince, the one I was just dancing with was a fake, so I have to kiss that him to bring the prince back?"

You nodded. "Yup. Do you believe me?"

"I....I do. But what's going to happen to the fake one?"

"He'll be exposed in no time. Please, Charlotte? For me?"

Oh, you know she can't resist any request if it's for you.

Naveen, truth be told, transformed right then and there, into a dashing human of royal blood. After talking about you three's lives for a little while, he bid farewell and wished to meet you and Charlotte again soon. Knowing better now, Naveen kept his distance from danger, and low and behold, Lawrence--the man who had disguised as Naveen with the help of an evil talisman--was arrested for fraud.

Surprisingly, that was the start of a friendship trio. You, Charlotte, and Naveen hung out together every now and then in different locations. Of course, you and Charlotte remained closer than ever, but you were relieved to at least have a breath of fresh air. You didn't really have that many friends in city because you were so engrossed in either work or plotting against a destined marriage you didn't want. You were especially glad that Charlotte and even her father weren't keen on getting Charlotte married as soon as possible. Maybe with how things turned out, you no longer needed to worry about the fairytale's plot.

Too bad Naveen eventually falls in love with you anyway.

His proposal came during one of those days where only two of the three in the group were hanging out together. He happened to stop by your restaurant as you finished your shift and offered to walk you home after stopping by another location. You accepted, but you later wished you didn't once the proposal at a beautiful park happened. You rejected him kindly and reminded him that he had a duty to fulfill, and that was marrying your friend. He apologized. You felt bad, but you weren't in love with the guy! Plus, you wanted that restaurant of yours more than anything in that world. No man was going to stop your dream.

You shared what happened the next day to Charlotte at her house. In contrast to the rant you expected from her, she was...eerily calm. She inquired about the person who has your heart, and to that you told her you didn't have anyone. She nodded and recommended you stay away from Naveen for a bit. Men can take rejection quite rough was the summary of her small spiel about men this and men that. And according to her recommendation (even though you were planning to anyway), you didn't pay Naveen's business any mind. He didn't come around as often.

Over the next couple weeks, Charlotte would visit your home more often to hangout. She'd bring up the topic of romance a couple of times, but your answer remained the same: your love was for her and the restaurant you wished to own.

You'd ask about her and the prince every now and then. Her answer was the same: she wasn't as sure about marrying him anymore.

Love is the Secret Ingredient

At last, Naveen's proposal came in the privacy of a beautiful park with a pavilion and crispy lake. He had set up a picnic for Charlotte and him. They chatted as they ate, and once they concluded their afternoon meal, he popped the question.

Although Charlotte had convinced herself for days that she must accept for her dear friend, she just couldn't.

"I'm sorry, but...I don't think I can do this."

To say Naveen was disappointed was an understatement. Not only did the real thief of his heart reject him, but his business partner and friend also did. Charlotte felt guilty, but imaging herself being stolen away from you was a nightmare! And imagining you being stolen from her.....

Without a proposal to the wealthiest family in the city, Naveen was lost. He had arranged the marriage with Big Daddy to combine their influential powers (Big Daddy's wealth & Naveen's royal title despite being casted out by his family). Luckily, you arranged for him to work with you--to start him on the path of someone in your class.

Charlotte, of course, hated it.

She got an earful from Big Daddy for her rejection, but she didn't care. He would soon lose interest in the proposal as well anyway. After all, she was a Daddy's girl, and he wanted her happy.

Charlotte walked you home almost every work day. Her constant attention made you worry for her own health, but she was a ray of sunshine around you. How hurt could she be?

Soon, Naveen stopped showing up to work. The manager told you that Naveen told him he had lost motivation to work and quit. You were stooped, but when you went to visit the hotel he's been staying at since coming to the city, the receptionist shared that he left two night ago.

Charlotte told you that he happened to overhear her talking about a wealthy friend she had in another city. She arranged for him to go meet and live with the friend at his request.

You scowled with a heavy heart. "Wow. He didn't even bother saying anything to me. How shallow."

Charlotte pouted. "Yeah! He dare he! Guess it's just back to us again, huh?"

You smiled. "Yeah. You get me, Charles."

Adoration flowed through her veins. She was worried you might catch some strange aura off of her, but she wasn't lying. The situation was just premeditated. Within a week, Naveen should arrive at the hotel Charlotte had pointed him to just to find out her friend (she gave her a fake name, of course) had already left that hotel present day's tomorrow. There was no way he could afford the trip back to New Orleans. His entire trip to get there was funded by Charlotte herself.

Two months passed before a letter arrived in your mailbox. The mill that you had lost during Charlotte's ball was bought from the previous owner, and the lawyer inquired if you still wanted the property. You didn't waste any time meeting with them. You intended to sign it over to yourself, but the lawyer suggested another property--one that was more spacious and had much more potential. He offered it at the same price, just as long as you took one or the other. You accepted the second option.

Charlotte was elated to see how thrilled you were. Because you used up most of your savings on signing over the new space, she offered to help renovate the place using her money with refusal for objects. She even asked if she could work for you whenever she had time! You couldn't help but be grateful for your dear friend. You were typically too busy for other friendships, but never too busy for Charlotte.

From then on, life was like a fairytale. You worked your butt off at your new restaurant and taught Charlotte the ins and outs of active involvement. She loved it. She loved working with you. She loved watching you negotiate with hagglers and host events to promote the place. Because you were often exhausted by the end of the day, she suggested (quite strongly) that you and your mom move into her home. It was safer that you come home with someone, and her house was so big, you'd have all the privacy you want!

(Don't expect much privacy from her, though).

Suitors weren't a rare occurrence. You became quite a sought after individual as your business grew. But Charlotte knew how you felt and ensured anything causing your stress was taken care of. You tell her everything, after all!

And of course, she tells you (almost) everything. No boy ever became a problem after Naveen. And like always, despite her new insecurities towards being involved in the "working" part of business, no one was to bring her down. For instance, Charlotte overheard an employee of yours discussing her lack of tack to a chef. She mumbled about it to you over dinner, asking if she was a burden to you. The next work day, the employee praised her progress more than twice in one shift.

One night, you both decided to have a sleepover in Charlotte's room. Trying on different dresses and watching movies had tired such pretty girls out. Laying in her bed, you brushed some blonde locks away from her gorgeous face. "You know Charles, these days, I feel like you're my only true friend."

Charlotte giggled and cuddled closer into your arms. "I'll always be silly. Even if the world crashed, we'll have each other to rely on. No one else!"

"You're absolutely right. No one else."

As she drifted off to sleep in your arms, you continued to brush her hair with a smile on your face. Running a restaurant was hard work, but gambling your luck on Charlotte was even harder. It was a relief she didn't reject Naveen due to affections for another guy. As long as you continued to open your arms out to her, you'll be fine, life would be bliss.

[zodiyack]

Rude! (3,000+ Follower Fic Special 1/3)

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Female!Hopper!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, Billy stuff, lyrics, fluff

Song: Rude by Magic!

Words: 1,798

Summary: Billy's love for Hopper's daughter is too strong to be stopped by the tough Chief Jim Hopper. Despite being told "not in a thousand years", he plans to love her regardless.

Note: Thank you so so much! I love you all, and writing your ideas, as well as sharing mine with you, has been so fucking fun and amazing! I'm sorry for my lack of words, I wish being an author came in handy with writing this, however, all I can say is that I love you all from the bottom of my heart. I've seen people do shout-outs, and ask-related stuff with their follower things, and I may do that, I'm not sure. For now, I hope you enjoy this... Thank you all, again!

Also 1/3 means that there will be two other fics released for the 3,000+ follower present!

Taglist: @urie-bowie-mercury, @matth1w, @redspaceace-writes, @fandom-puff, @darling-i-read-it, @simonsbluee, @sebastianstanslefteyebrow, @dpaccione

Masterlist | Stranger Things Masterlist

"Saturday morning, jumped out of bed and put on my best suit. Got in my car and raced like a jet all the way to you. Knocked on your door with my heart in my hands, to ask you a question, 'cause I know that you're an old-fashioned man. Yeah."

Billy was freshly graduated, working as a lifeguard whilst his girlfriend worked her own job, both saving up for their chance to ditch Hawkins and move to California. Sweet Cali. Billy was excited to show the love of his life around the place he called home. Though, physically, he left the salty ocean and windy beach behind, the place never truly left him.

You could see it in his eyes. The waves crashing in his blue orbs. He swore the scent had just barely clung to his belongings; the smell of the tangy air that followed a majority of the state. Working at a pool was the closest he got to the memory of California. Chlorine was most certainly not the salted ocean waters, but with the circumstances, he decided it'd do.

The way his face lit up whenever he talked about his home...it made Y/n more and more excited to see it. His girlfriend had grown up in Hawkins, stayed there her whole life. Never once did the Hoppers leave Hawkins.

But the second that was introduced to Billy, he knew it had to change.

Although they were saving for a big move, Billy had...other things in mind with what to do with his first large pay-check (or series, rather. Working as a lifeguard didn't pay well with just one check). He began to work more shifts to make up for the money he'd spent, and one day after calling in for a day off, he decided to put his plan into action.

"Billy, stop messing with the tie."

"It's annoying." Hands slapped away his attempts of adjusting the black silk tie.

"Well it won't stop being annoying if you keep fucking it up."

For the first time in a long time, Neil Hargrove was calm. Not happy, not amused, not pissed off for some unjust reason- just calm. He wasn't wreaking havoc and he wasn't being an asshole to his son. Billy hadn't seen this side of his dad in quite some time, in fact, he thought something important was going on and he was about to fuck it all up. And then, Susan retreated to the living room with a camera and a freshly ironed suit.

"You're not putting me in that."

"And who asked for your opinion?" Neil deflected with a raised brow. One heavy sigh later and Billy was leaving the bathroom, dawning the whole black and white getup.

Susan clasped her hands over her mouth, a tear leaving her eye, "You look so handsome! Just like your dad!"

Billy rolled his eyes, "Great."

However, his careless attitude was swept under the rug when the blue Camaro pulled up to the police station, interrupting a clearly distressed Chief Hopper bickering with his daughter. Billy had to get himself together before stepping out of the car, jaw slack after seeing the beauty he got to call his date.

"Hello Mr-"

"Don't even try play nice with me, Hargrove. She's not going anywhere with you. End of story." Hopper kept his eyes trained on the blond, body tense like a snake preparing to strike it's prey.

Y/n grabbed Billy's arm, slowly directing him to the car, "And in the sequel, we find out I am going with Billy. End of that story."

"There is no 'sequel.' The writer got drunk and lazy." She paused, turning to face her father who stood tall, arms crossed and face unamused.

"So his daughter picked up where her father left off, and then the sequel was published and the two lived happily ever after, the end."

While her dad attempted to search for a line that would better hers and force her to stay, she pushed Billy toward the driver's side and slid into the car as fast as she could, rolling down the window as Billy started it up. "Bye! I'll be back before midnight!"

The two drove off toward the school, leaving behind a trail of dust and very, very, pissed off Hopper.

Prom was better than Billy thought it would be. He didn't want to go at first, but after Max found out and spoke to her mom about it (the little redhead a cupid-in-the-making), Neil pushed him to go (as he was "doing something else besides being a lazy-no-good rebel"). It was then that he called Y/n and asked if she'd be going.

The suit came in handy. Clashing with his rocker aesthetic, he put it back on once more. The once-annoying tie proved to be somewhat okay in the end.

Can I have your daughter for the rest of my life? Say yes, say yes, 'cause I need to know. You say I'll never get your blessing "till the day I die, tough luck my friend, but the answer is no!"

Why you gotta be so rude? Don't you know I'm human too? Why you gotta be so rude? I'm gonna marry her anyway. Marry that girl, marry her anyway! Marry that girl, yeah, no matter what you say! Marry that girl, and we'll be a family! Why you gotta be so rude?

With a deep breath, he ran-over the conversation in his head once more. Like a script for an actor, he had thought of every possible outcome and every possible line for him to face it with. He almost chickened out as his fist rose to the door, but it was too late, for his knuckles rapped against it before he realized he was even knocking.

El opened the door, eyes wide when she saw the familiar mullet and button-down. "Papa..." She muttered as she backed away and out of view.

Hopper traded places with her, his lazy expression sobering up instantaneously, replaced with a grumpy scowl. "Hargrove."

"Mr. Hopper, sir."

"What are you doing on my front porch?"

He swallowed roughly, palms sweaty against his sides. "I was wondering if I could talk to you."

"You seem to be doing just that right now, Hargrove." Hop crossed his arms and clenched his jaw.

Well, this was certainly not something Billy had thought of. He was on panic mode internally, attempting to find any response that could save his hide and accomplish what he set out to do. Unfortunately, the word-vomit button seemed to be misplaced under the button labeled "help".

"I'd like to marry your daughter, sir."

Hop's eyes grew just as big in size as El's had when she opened the door. He choked on his own surprise, coughing it off, then glaring at the boy in front of him. "Over my dead body, Hargrove. If that's all, I'd strongly advise you to get off of my fucking porch while you're still alive."

I hate to do this, you leave no choice; can't live without her. Love me or hate me, we will be boys- standing at that alter. And we will fly away, to another galaxy, you know. You know she's in love with me, she will go anywhere I go-

"Billy, he's just stubborn."

"No, no, I don't think he likes me."

Y/n sighed, rubbing her boyfriend's back. He hadn't told her of his proposal plans, only that Hop seemed to have it out for him. "It'll take time, but he'll warm up to you!"

"It's been how many years since he's met me?"

"To be fair, your reputation wasn't doing you any good until now..."

"It's not like that was fucking obvious." He slouched further down in the front seat of his Camaro. To Billy, all hope was lost. If he couldn't get Hopper to give him his blessing, he was sure he'd lose his goddamned mind.

Y/n frowned. Her frown flipped around as an idea popped into her head, her lips finding Billy's knuckles and quirking his attention. "Even if he never likes you, I'm not going anywhere."

Billy laughed softly, "he'll fucking kill me if you go against him."

"Eh, that's only if he can catch us."

"You're out of your fucking mind, Y/n Hopper."

"I know."

The rest of the night was spent in the Camaro, of course, doing one of Billy's favorite pastimes. By the time the sun rose, Billy was sneaking a kiss to a giggling Y/n before dropping from her window in the cabin and running to his car, parked far enough that Hop or El wouldn't notice. He blew her one more kiss, which she pretended to catch, then he broke into a sprint.

Maybe, he thought, just maybe; there was still a chance.

His knuckles hit the door again, shifting on his feet nervously. It swung open to reveal Hopper, an unimpressed look bringing no surprise Billy's way. It was quite expected, honestly.

"What." His tone made it clear he wasn't up for fucking around.

"Mr. Hopper, if you just give me one chance to prove to you that-"

"No, no, no, no, no. Let me make it very clear to you that I want you to have nothing to do with my daughter whatsoever. No marriage, no friendship, I don't even approve of you guys fucking or whatever-"

"We're in a serious relationship, sir. It's nothing like you think it is."

This made Hop laugh. He continued to do so, holding his stomach, until he realized Billy was unamused. "Oh, you're serious?... My answer is still no, Hargrove. My answer will always be no. Go find someone else's daughter's heart to break. You're not hurting mine."

"It's not like-"

Before he could even get the words out, he was met with a door in his face. Turned down, again.

Can I have your daughter for the rest of my life? Say yes, say yes, 'cause I need to know. You say I'll never get your blessing "till the day I die, tough luck my friend, 'cause the answer's still no!"

Why you gotta be so rude? Don't you know I'm human too? Why you gotta be so rude? I'm gonna marry her anyway. Marry that girl, marry her anyway! Marry that girl, yeah, no matter what you say! Marry that girl, and we'll be a family! Why you gotta be so rude, rude?

Again, again, and again, Billy incessantly pleaded with Hopper. Different tactics were all met with the same answer; rejection.

He held up a sign outside the cabin, only for Hopper to close the curtain and chuckle as he sipped his coffee.

He asked at the door again, only for Hop to threaten to give him a black eye (which was met with "aren't you the sheriff? Isn't that illegal?").

He raced past the police station, Max leaning out the window with another sign, only for Hop to threaten them with holding cells.

He even went as far as to ask Max and El to help, but Hopper had none of that, and sent Max home with a rant full of nos.

However, if Jim Hopper thought any of it would get it into Billy's head that getting his blessing was just not happening- he was as wrong as Nancy when she claimed not to have feelings for Jonathan.

Billy had another plan in mind, and this one was impossible to say no to.

Can I have your daughter for the rest of my life? Say yes, say yes, 'cause I need to know. You say I'll never get your blessing "till the day I die, tough luck my friend- but no still means no!"

"Hopper." Billy stood before his desk, interrupting his nice date with a delicious doughnut, and earning a very annoyed glare. "I got Miss Byer's blessing. Aren't you two a thing?"

"You son of a-"

"I got Eleven's too."

"Hargrove, I'm gonna-"

"Before you cuss me out, I think you should know that I've got a stable job, an interview with a mechanic so I have a job when the pool closes for the winter, and I've got a house on the market I'm looking at. I'm devoted to your daughter and she's devoted to me. You may not like me, but I think you're a great dad, better than the one I was unfortunately stuck with. You raised a strong and amazing woman. She's incredible and I admit, she deserves better than me-"

"You don't have to say that twice." Hopper huffed, crossing his arms.

"I know she deserves so much better than me, I'm surprised she's even with me too. But she loves me, and I think you can see that. I love her too. I would never, in a million years, break her heart."

Jim stayed silent for a few minutes. The silence brought uneasiness to Billy, but that was intentional on Hopper's behalf. He finally piped up with a cough, clearing his throat, before his piercing eyes met Billy's blue orbs.

"I'll hold you to that, Hargrove."

Why you gotta be so rude? Don't you know I'm human too? Why you gotta be so rude? I'm gonna marry her anyway. Marry that girl, marry her anyway! Marry that girl, yeah, no matter what you say! Marry that girl, and we'll be a family! Why you gotta be so rude? Why you gotta be so rude?

Bonus:

(after the wedding)

"What was that about a no?" Billy quipped with his infamous smirk.

"You're lucky I'm sheriff, Hargrove."

Why you gotta be so rude?

[vantaenims]

hour of the dawn | taehyung

pairing: taehyung x reader

genre: friends to lovers, mutual pining | fluff

word count: 1.1k

warning/s: none.

summary: The backseat of the car really does have its way to make nothing into something.

Part of BTSGhostieMarathon (Trope #5)

masterlist

all rights reserved © vantaenims - do not repost, translate, or claim as your own.

--

“I’ll take it from here”

“No, it’s alright” Taehyung dismissed you.

“You’ve been driving for almost three hours now”, you pointed towards the time to show him that it's currently 4 in the morning and there’s still another hour to go before you get to arrive in Busan, “You must be tired.”

“I’m not tired”, Taehyung yawned.

“See! You’ve been yawning non-stop for the past five minutes now”

“I did not yawn”

“You just did!” you retaliated, yawning afterwards.

“Oh you just did too!” Taehyung pointed at you as he turned to look at you and he had to bite his lower lip to contain his laughter when he saw you looking annoyed as hell with the way the corners of your mouth are pointing downwards.

“It’s because yawning is contagious”, you rolled your eyes as you sigh, “Tae, you need to take a rest so why don’t you pull over and let me drive.“

“I told you. I got this”

“Taehyung, don’t be–”

“God, just say you’re worried for each other”, Jimin interjected from the backseat, leaning forward towards the center console as he let out a loud yawn whilst rubbing the sleep from his eyes, “You lovebirds are insufferable.”

Jimin always finds it amusing that you two have managed to still remain ignorant towards your feelings for each other so as to not jeopardize your friendship but it looks like you’re both actually clueless about it and Jimin has had enough with the tension more than the two of you idiots.

“I’ll drive”, Jimin suggested, hoping his plan in mind would work, “It’s about time I put my driver’s license to use anyway.”

Taehyung was quick to comply as he pulled over at the side of the road and you incredulously looked at him but he could only give you a shrug as he unbuckled himself to switch places with Jimin.

“And why are you still here?” Jimin raised his brows as soon as he got himself on the driver’s seat.

“You need someone to stay awake with” you stated as a matter of fact.

“I’ve slept enough, now why don’t you join your lover Instead?” Jimin teased, prompting you to squint your eyes at him suspiciously, “What? I’m just saying that you both need some sleep.”

“I could sleep here.”

“But the backseat is much comfier, right?” Jimin twisted his body to speak to Taehyung who’s currently snuggling himself further down into the small blanket up to the point that his eyes are the only one peeking through it.

“Mhmm” Taehyung hummed as he slowly blinked his half lidded eyes and you tried your best to not coo at the sight but Jimin snapped his fingers in front of your face to get your attention.

“Come on, Y/N. I’m not going to move this car ‘til you get yourself back there”

“You’re pushy, aren’t you?” you huffed as you relentlessly unbuckle yourself to remove your shoes and throw it haphazardly at the back where you joined Taehyung by jumping over the console, “Happy?”

“As long as you’re happy” Jimin winked, immediately stepping on the gas to continue the trip.

You decided to settle by the window, imitating Taehyung on the other end as you crossed your arms and leaned your head against the window, not realizing how sleepy you felt until now and that’s on Taehyung for showing up unannounced in front of your house at midnight to drag you along with him into this trip that Jimin has planned on a whim.

You slowly felt yourself drifting off to sleep but you were disrupted when you felt a tap on your shoulder, prompting you to open your eyes to see that Taehyung had managed to slid closer to you.

“Can I hold you?” Taehyung whispered.

“Huh?”

“I can’t sleep properly”

“Okay” you mumbled.

Taehyung swung his arms around your shoulders to pull you in so he could share and drape the blanket around your figure. You scooted closer to him until you felt comfortable enough although you were a bit unsure if you should even put your head to rest against his chest but Taehyung must’ve sensed your hesitation because he took it upon himself to gently place your head there.

“Is this okay?”, Taehyung asked when he felt your body tensing up, prompting him to squeeze your shoulder to possibly make you at ease.

“Yeah” you affirmed him as you relaxed into his hold, eyes falling shut whilst you nuzzled your face closer to his neck.

“Good night”

“Good morning” you corrected and you could feel his chuckle vibrate through his chest.

Taehyung used his hand around your shoulder to ran his fingers through your hair in a manner that could easily lull you into a slumber but you believe that won’t be happening anytime soon, not when you could feel his other hand ghosting over your palm and you can’t help but wonder what his hands would feel like against yours but wouldn’t it be too strange for the two of you to hold hands?

Then again, isn’t it already strange to get so cozy with your best friend like this in the first place? It is strange but it’s not like you’re complaining and so does Taehyung, so what is there to lose at this point if you let your curiosity take over? You might as well take advantage of the situation while the opportunity presents itself.

You did not hold back any longer when you decided to encapsulate his hand onto yours and you admit that it was a scary thing to do because you felt like you’ve just crossed a line you shouldn’t even be crossing and Taehyung being unresponsive doesn’t help either but hearing the sounds of his rapid heart beat has somewhat made you relieved.

Taehyung squeezed your hand, thumb drawing soothing circles at the back of your hand but he then grabbed it to place it along his shoulder whilst he moved the hand that was on your shoulders down to your waist to reel you in to his side furthermore making this seem more intimate than it was.

“You still awake?” he said.

“Yeah”

“Look at me” and so you did.

Taehyung’s face was dangerously close to yours and you think your heart is going to burst with the way he’s looking at you so softly with that small smile adorning his face that soon falters once his eyes flickered down to your lips and you could already feel the butterflies wilding in your stomach, particularly so when Taehyung began to lean in.

But just as your lips were about to meet, the two of you suddenly bounced off of your seats as your heads painfully clashed against each other and that’s because Jimin accidentally drove over a speed bump at full speed.

Annoyed, Taehyung sent Jimin a deadly glare through the rear view mirror for ruining the moment.

“Oops, my bad” Jimin apologetically smiled.

--

[little-lemon-lattes]

The Scheme

🌛Zelda Spellman x fem! reader

—Word count: 1.9k

— Triggers: Mention of murder and burning in a non-violent context

— Summary: We have part 2 to The Set Up! You and Zelda spend a blissful day together since kissing the night before, and make the most of being together before the mortuary fills with life- and typical Spellman scheming- again!

You were on Cloud-fucking-9.

The previous evening, you and Zelda had kissed. It had been truly extraordinary, even better than the few times you had allowed your mind to indulge in that kind of imagery concerning her. You had never felt that good with anyone before; well, minding that you had neither felt for anyone like that of which you had been trying to cover for the astonishing woman.

She currently lay in the grass next to you, cheek resting tentatively on your belly, as you both just watched each other in comfortable silence. Gosh, kissing Zelda had felt SO good that it had been hard to stop at just one. Like now. Her stunningly bright and beautiful green eyes were boring into yours, but you really couldn’t tell if she was trying to send you a signal or was just unwittingly that gorgeous on the daily. Probably the latter. You also had to remind yourself that, EVEN though you two already lived under the same roof, you would take things one step at a time together. The last 24 hours with Zelda had been like a dream, and the Spellman mortuary had a new air to it now that you knew where you stood.

That morning, you had woken just before dawn (which was much earlier than you preferred), likely still on a high from the feel of Zelda’s lips. Rather than lay there attempting to force yourself back to sleep, you rose from your pillow. Perhaps it was your always-lingering insecurity pulling some strings, but it suddenly seemed desperately important to you- then and there at 4:56am- that you find a way of proving to Zelda that she hadn’t made the wrong choice opening up to you the night before. Just one more bonus of Hilda’s disappearance that weekend being that the kitchen was inevitably free, within a few minutes you had decided to make a spot of breakfast to share. You would never admit it out loud, but you were also buzzing to showcase your culinary ability; of which had been somewhat hindered by the unspoken acknowledgement that Hilda was the kitchen witch of the house.

With that, you were out of bed and clothed in a black turtleneck and mom jeans, as you put the finishing touches on a French braid: all by 5:15. THe next two hours flew by as you whipped up black coffee, almond cake, black sausage, eggs, salmon, bagels, mushroom, and tomato. You were just laying out bloody-fleshed plums and yoghurt when you heard gentle footsteps on the landing above you. Smiling softly, you stopped to admire as the woman padded down the stairs, wrapped in a silky black robe and wiping bits of sleep from her eyes. She stopped dead as she spotted the food on the table, hand still raised to her eye.

“Surprise...?” you peeped.

Zelda’s hand flopped to her side as she tilted her head adorably, treating you to a giddy smile. And you were hopeless to try not to smile right back. That there was enough to have made the last two hours worth it. “

“What’s all this, y/n?”

“I, uh... breakfast?”

Zelda couldn’t help smiling a little more at the cute way you had made it seem like a question. “I see that,” she laughed, “but why?”

You forced an expression of mock pain onto your face.

“I am hurt, Spellman, hurt! Does there have to be a reason?”

All she did was raise her eyebrows in disbelief. You supposed it was probably best to build any chance you had together on honesty.

“Okay, FINE. I just... wanted to show you that last night wasn’t a mistake, in case you were having any doubts.”

Zelda trotted, cat-like, down from her post against the railing, and came to rest just half a metre in front of you.

“Why, there was absolutely nothing of the sort. I hardly slept a wink all night; your lips have something of a memorable feel to them, if I am honest.”

And this time, it was her that closed the space between you, snaking her arms around your waist to pull you closer. One long peck later, the bubblegum-pink shade of your cheeks matched hers in perfect unison, as if in competition.

Breakfast was sweet and long, spent thigh to thigh next to each other, chatting about all the things you had been too afraid to ask each other until that point.

The rest of the day was passed laying next to one another in the winter sunshine, beneath an age-old willow tree. After what felt like just minutes since you had arrived (but had really been hours), you pointed to the sky with the hand that wasn’t clasping Zelda’s.

“Look, the sun!”

You received a lazy “hmmm” in response. Twisting to face her on your left, you couldn’t fight your sigh of content. The High Priestess was laying with her eyes closed in utter bliss, the final rays of Sunday’s sunshine dancing across those glorious lashes.

“It’s setting, Zelda. Everyone will be back soon.” you murmured to her. It was as if you had thrown a bucket of ice over her. Cloud 9 disappeared with the snapping open of her eyes. The soft expression that had occupied her visage all day visibly hardened into her more familiar, stoic one. She leapt to her feet, snatching up the open novel beside her and swinging out her hand to you with force. Time and Space closed in around you the moment you took it, and, the next thing you knew, the two of you were outside the mortuary once more.

You turned to her sharply.

“What was that about?” you demanded. Standing silent for a moment, Zelda’s ears visibly pricked. After a few more moments, she seemed appeased, and swivelled to you. Her shoulders were tense, and you took note of her fingernails digging into her palm.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, “I didn’t mean to be so abrupt. I just... I am enthused about where you and I are headed, y/n, and I’m terrified that others may not share my enthusiasm. I want to enjoy things as they are at present for a while longer, before having to think about who needs to be involved in our business.”

It was understandable, you supposed, and admittedly: there was a certain appeal to keeping things 007-style, like that fantastic mortal film. You relaxed a bit, and instantly felt awful for raising your voice at her.

You reached for the woman’s shoulder.

“You’re right, Zelds. I understand.”

She looked unconvinced.

“Are you sure? You have every right to want to murder me right now, if you so wished. Although, only if you were to bury me in the Cain pit...” she added as an afterthought.

You had to giggle at that one.

“You’re safe for now, Zelda,” you teased, “now, come on! I need to find a good hiding spot for scaring the BANSHEES out of them when they get back!”

Hilda, Sabrina, and Ambrose literally stomped their feet in sheer disappointment when they arrived back at the house and hadn’t caught the pair of you locked in some form of intimate embrace.

“Aw man! What will I tell my friends?! I had Roz totally excited about y/n finally getting some action... Like, she seriously admitted that she had this big crush on her when she first met her; whiiiiich definitely earned a few looks from Harvey, to say the least. The take-away from it all is that we now know exactly how fragile that guy’s ego is, YIKES, is all I can say.”

All the while, Ambrose was muttering a consistent string of “fuck”s under his breath, and Hilda was deciding whether to scald Sabrina’s ass to Hades and back.

“Sabrina!” her aunt admonished in disbelief, “how could you be so careless?! If any of this gets back to your aunt Zelda, we should consider ourselves excommunicated from her presence for good!”  

All of them fought a cringe. Sabrina looked a bit sheepish.

Hilda turned to Ambrose.

“And what about you, mister? What’s with the constant profanities?”

Ambrose took a step back from his aunt, nobody was sure whether consciously or not. “Erm...hm. Yes. Well. I-” his sputtering was resembling a car trying to start up. Ambrose’s eyes suddenly seemed unable to reach past the witches’ knees.

  “-um. Damn. Hecate, yes, I have... just lost a particularly large sum of money to one Dorian Gray.”

Hilda’s eyes were ready to pop out of her head.   “I was so unequivocally certain that our plan would work! Now where I am supposed to come up with $1000?!”

He was a little manic. The only one of the three who seemed somewhat happy about Ambrose’s situation was Sabrina, sticking a finger at him. “HA! Now that makes what I did so much better!”

Her plum-coloured lips parted with glee, and without warning, her and her travel bag had disappeared. Ambrose made a furious mental note to pour formaldehyde in her evening tea for leaving him here alone. When he had finally built up the courage to look his otherwise cheery aunt in the eyes again, a flash of fear struck him at the murderous look in hers. A low growl exited her throat.

“Well,” she snapped, “I suppose there will be no more silly little attempts on our part to play Cupid.”

As quickly as it had started, her anger dissipated, and was replaced by a certain sadness. Her mouth raised just a fraction, into a tired little smile.

“ ’just thought that Zelds could do with something nice for once. We failed. It didn’t work.”

With that, she picked up her carpet bag and shuffled off up the stairs. Ambrose watched her go, now a lone silhouette in the entrance of their home.

Or so he thought. You waited until Ambrose had moodily trudged down to the embalming room before emerging from your spot in the broom closet. Sniffling a little from all the dust- those things hadn’t been flown for years, SO old fashioned- you felt a mix of emotion at what you had just heard. You hadn’t intended on becoming an audience to some type of scheme, and especially not one of which involved you.

At first, there was embarrassment. You hadn’t realised that your feelings were apparently so obvious! Paired with the fact that Zelda’s must have been too in order to warrant such a matchmaking scheme; along with that you had truly thought that you had done a superb job at keeping it all under wraps, you were left feeling a bit stupid. But then came the funny side of it all, imagining Hilda, Ambrose, and Sabrina sneaking about like the Pink Panther and holding secret meetings about your love life. And finally came the warmth, the realisation of exactly how much the Spellmans had grown to care for you- so much that they trusted you to love Zelda as much as they did.

The whole situation was entirely too much of an opportunity to just leave alone. Grinning with total delight and schemes cooking of your own, you rematerialised in Zelda’s study at the Academy. The loud CRACK that accompanied that particular piece of magic made the woman flinch. Her brow crinkled at the sight of you in front of her great oaken desk. She was a little taken aback, and (it delighted you even more) flustered to see you there.

“Y/n?”

“Zelda. I NEED to tell you what I just heard!”

A game was now afoot.

And your opponents weren’t finished yet either.

[mrsgiovanna]

Unhinged - Don Giorno x Fem! Reader

A misunderstanding causes the reader a whole lot of distress. Blame it on the stress of planning your wedding to the Golden dreamboat or his shifty behavioral cues. Needless to say this occurs many years after the events of Vento Aureo. Some mild angst, some fluff, some mild nsfw- a mixed bag that nobody asked for really, unashamedly self indulgent 🥺💭💖

You always judged those unhinged girls. You know the type, the ones who would steal their partners phones and “run into them” at very convenient times. Pathetic, you’d always think, so you could not understand how, in heaven’s name, you found yourself sitting in your car across from your favorite Café, spying on your fiancé. You were thankful for the oversized sunglasses that hid most of your face as you stole a glance at yourself in the rear view mirror. You can’t imagine what your eyes might look like at this point.

It all started a week ago… Giorno was an extremely busy man, you of all people knew that best. He always made time for you though, however, the closer it got to your wedding, the less you saw of him. You were busy yourself, so you didn’t really have much time to yearn for his company, but the coldness of your bed was always a reminder that someone very important was supposed to be occupying that space. It wasn’t just the scarcity of your lover that had set off alarms in your mind, it was more his odd behavior. He was so secretive these days, keeping conversations shorter than they needed to be, hiding his devices from you when he received texts, discarding every scrap of paper from his pockets before properly greeting you when he did manage to come home in the daylight. Each time you questioned his behavior he just sweetly smiled and replied that everything was alright.

And so continued this mistimed waltz on eggshells until that fateful morning. A swirl of emotions bubbled up in your chest suffocating you when you found some kind of broken jewel clinging to Giorno’s suit. You couldn’t really make out what it might have been part of, or what lewd activities managed to dislodge it from its original owner and onto him, but for the first time in the years you have been together, you were suddenly unsure of whether you could spend your life with this man. Did you even know him at all?

The walls of the villa never felt so restrictive before, you needed to get out, clear your mind, perhaps even get another perspective. You could just be overreacting as you know you are inclined to do sometimes. Giorno was still in the shower, you contemplated letting him know that you were going out, but decided to just go. He can stew a little, get a taste of your personal hell for just a few hours. Hurriedly throwing on the outfit you laid out, you grab your keys and headed off to your favorite coffee shop, calling Trish while you were on your way there, asking her to meet you. The two of you had grown closer over the years and right now you needed a friend who would give you sound advice without sugarcoating the facts.

Giorno had sauntered out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist, his upper body still glistening from the shower with his wet hair cascading down his back. He expected to find you there just doing your hair or putting on your mascara, he loved watching you get ready. It gave him a chance to fully admire you, making him feel proud, bordering on arrogant, that you were his and only he got to see all the different sides there were to your beauty. He knew he was being distant with you but he had his reasons for being so preoccupied. Walking towards the nightstand to check his phone, he sees the jacket he wore yesterday on the floor with the little jewel still hooked onto the fibers of the expensive fabric. Throwing his head back in resignation, he called Trish, already aware of what you might be thinking, and knowing that she’s usually the first person you’d turn to when you needed to chat.

“Hi Trish, do you have a second to chat? I’ll make it quick,” he starts off, putting the call on speaker so he can get dressed for the day.

“Giorno, what did you do? She already called me in a state, I’m on my way to meet her for coffee as we speak,”

“Okay look, I can explain everything, just know that I’m not being unfaithful,”

“How did this escalate so fast? Why are you giving her reasons to jump to these conclusions so close to the wedding? You better not be messing around,”

Giorno could hear the suspicion that edged Trish’s voice, so he explained everything and begged her to calm you down while he tended to a few issues.

You felt your shoulders relax as the tension melted away after pouring your heart out to Trish. After speaking to her it dawned on you that coming out and asking Giorno would be better than letting this outlandish scenario fester in your mind. After giving you the pep talk you needed Trish left to get on with her day while you stayed to organize yours. Sipping the last bit of your mocha Frappe, you darted towards your car when suddenly your attention was caught by a flash of gold and a flourish of a deep cerulean blue coat entering the Café. Certain that your eyes were playing tricks on you, you blinked a few times, but it was as clear as the blue sky above you, Giorno had arrived there with another woman. Hastily getting into your car, you sank into the soft leather seat and fished out your oversized Chanel sunglasses to conceal your presence as much as possible in the off chance he looked in your direction, although chances of that seemed very slim given how engrossed he was in their conversation.

Oh you hated every painful second of this, all the tension and anger that you’d let go of, found you all at once, marring your otherwise beautiful features.

You watched as he pulled out her chair and sat across from her, smiling that charming smile that could disarm a terrorist. He barely looked away from her, you wished he would see you, wondering what kind of explanation he’d conjure up. You contemplated going back inside to confront them, but you didn’t trust your emotions, tears stinging the corners of your eyes. You wouldn’t dare give them the satisfaction of seeing you cry… and so you watched, preparing yourself for what you may or may not see, however your resolve shattered when you saw Giorno pull out a little black box and slide it across the table towards her. She beamed as she opened it examining the contents without taking it out… was it a replacement for that trinket that you found? He always did have impeccable taste, you had always thought it was reserved for you though. Unable to watch any longer, you started the car and sped off, not wanting to go home, but having no motivation to go anywhere else, you just drove aimlessly for a while.

“Oh Mr Giovanna, these are perfect, they’re exactly what I needed to complete her bracelet, I’m sure your fiancé is going to love it!” exclaimed the lady sitting opposite your lover.

“Please, call me Giorno. I would hope so, it’s more sentimental than anything else, I’m just astounded that you were able to recreate the intricacies of the original design. Your talent knows no bounds,”

“Ah, like any artist, I’m always intrigued by beauty and mystery. How were you able to get a this many dainty gems at this short notice?”

“I have my network, I’m just glad you can complete it now, I can’t wait to give it to her,”

“Well you won’t have to wait too long, I should have this ready by the close of business today,”

“I won’t keep you any longer then, thanks once again for handling my request,” said Giorno with an extended hand as he stood up to leave.

It was a mission to try and recreate your mother’s heirloom bracelet from a faded, wrinkled picture, but he was determined to give you something special, that would make you feel closer to her as well. Your lineage was a mystery, your father unknown, so when your mother arrived in Italy it was one of the few valuables she had had on her person. She did everything she could to provide for you when you were little, but she unfortunately had succumbed to her circumstances leaving you to fend for yourself in an unforgiving world. His heart clenched when you recounted stories of your childhood, which somewhat mirrored his own. You never complained though, he could see your heart ached when you thought of her, and all the things she would have helped you with especially now. Still, the way you concealed your heartache with a trained smile, would always make him wonder how such strength could be contained by something so angelically beautiful. Drawn out of his reverie of you, Giorno had arrived at his destination and continued with his day until it was time to collect your present and head home.

By the time you had finally found yourself at your driveway, you were exhausted and wanted nothing more than to bury yourself in a cave and hibernate until everything was over. How arrogant of you to assume this would last when every good thing in your life came to an end. Dragging your wary body up the stairs, you buried yourself under the soft comforter, shutting your eyes with the hope that it would all have been a dream by the time you resurface.

When Giorno finally made it home, the first thing he did was seek you out. Usually you’d be quietly nestled on the couch reading or working on something, or you’d be tinkering in the kitchen making some sort of delicious treat, both as a means to relax and indulge your shared sweet tooth. But you couldn’t be found in either of those places. He found you huddled on the bed you both shared, looking so fragile as you slept in a fetal position. He didn’t want to disturb you but he couldn’t help gently brushing your hair off your face, which unfortunately resulted in you waking up.

“Gio, I didn’t expect you back this early…” you murmured, still waiting for your eyes to adjust to the light. The events of today came flooding back to you and you resolved to just come straight out and confront him. Noticing the change in your demeanor, Giorno sat next to you on the edge of the bed, while he loosened his top shirt button and took off his tie.

“Giogio, I don’t know how to put this delicately, so I’m just going to say it… you’ve been acting so different lately, always so secretive, hiding things from me, and this morning I found remnants of some jewelry that didn’t belong to me on your clothes… and probably the worst thing of all is that I saw you with someone while I was out this morning. You both looked very comfortable with each other, and… I… who is she?” you rambled on, your voice barely louder than a whisper. This wasn’t playing out how you had imagined it, with most of the fight being forced out of your body by melancholy. Seeing the evidence of your anguish in your eyes, Giorno reached out to cup your cheek, you mentally chastised yourself for automatically melting into his touch.

“Ah my sweet principessa, I love you, only you, I would never do anything to intentionally hurt you or break that trust. The lady you saw me with is a jewelry designer, I commissioned something very special for you, so we just met so I could give her the materials to complete it… I wanted to give it to later at dinner tonight, but you’re in no condition to go out, so let’s stay in, okay?” he explained as he pulled out a box from his breast pocket and settled down next to you. “Go on, open it,”

You gingerly take the box, opening it slowly, curiosity and embarrassment fighting against each other in your mind.

“Gio, how did you manage to find it after all these years? I thought it would have been melted down and broken up completely.”

You simply couldn’t believe your eyes, it broke your heart when you sold off the bracelet to pay off her debts after she passed, it killed your spirit entirely when you were told it wasn’t enough to cover what she’d owed. That’s how you found yourself in Passione, working as one of Bucciarati’s underlings.

“Well, unfortunately I couldn’t find the exact piece bella, trust me, I tried. You’re probably correct in saying that it was taken apart, so I had this recreated to its exact specifications. I hope you like it,”

Giorno’s voice was so tender, as was his expression. Tears clouded your vision, it was the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for you, you were at a complete loss for words.

“Gio… Tesoro, I don’t know what to say, thank you doesn’t seem like nearly enough. And I’m so sorry I ever doubted you, I feel like such an idiot, that’s probably because I am one. How can I make it up to you? I totally understand if you’re too upset to talk to…” your rambling was cut off by Giorno’s lips gently pressing against your own. His hand softly grasped the back of your head, slightly tilting your face upwards to deepen the kiss.

“That was thanks enough amore mio, I love you,”

“Ti amo con tutto il mio cuore,” you reply, while trying to hide your embarrassment by nestling your face in the crook of Giorno’s neck.

“Molto bene, your Italian is improving bella, I’m proud of you.”

Giorno snaps the sparkly trinket onto your wrist and admires how your eyes light up when you look at it. The glimmer of his eyes in the soft lighting of the room awakened a yearning within you. Giving in to the feeling, you kiss Giorno’s collarbone, earning a hum of approval from him, as you softly trailed kisses up his neck and onto his jaw, finally settling on his lips. You felt him smiling into the kiss, he ran his tongue across your bottom lip asking for entry, to which you willingly obliged as your hands toyed with his braid, undoing it completely. His hands ran up and down your body, worshipping the dips and curves he adored so much. Breaking away from the kiss for a moment, he looked down at you, eyes darkened with lust, hands hovering over the buttons of your shirt asking for permission to disrobe you, which you granted with a small nod. He was so gorgeous, so strong and he exuded such charisma that you found yourself submitting to his every request, spoken or otherwise, lapping up every bit of praise he afforded you as you took him in his entirety. Once, twice, you had lost count of how many times you both peaked.

At some point in the night you had woken up ensconced in the warm embrace of your sleeping lover, finally being able to form a coherent thought, you promised yourself to never baselessly doubt his love for you ever again. With that you closed your eyes and allowed yourself to fall asleep again, feeling completely safe, content and loved.

[emospritelet]

Twisted Fate - chapter 26

Last time, Gold started to suspect that Neal might be his long-lost son. Here's what happened next

[AO3]

-

Belle left hospital the next day, Gideon strapped to her chest in a sling while Gold wheeled the suitcase beside her. The day was pleasantly warm, sun on her face as she walked to the car, and it felt good to be out in the fresh air and away from the hospital, with its hurrying staff and constant noise. She was still in pain, and far more tired than she had expected to be, but she stopped off in the lobby of the apartment building to let Marco coo over Gideon and comment on how much he looked like his father. Gold had a tiny smile on his face all the way up in the elevator.

It was a relief to sleep in what she now thought of as their bed, Gold spooned around her and his scent in her nose. Gideon woke them in the night, but Gold kissed her shoulder and whispered that she should rest. She still lay awake listening anxiously until he got back into bed and assured her that Gideon was fed, changed and sleeping again. There was an urge to go and check on him herself, but she told herself firmly to trust Gold to take care of his son, and her body was tired and sore enough that she soon drifted off.

Gold woke early, just as dawn was greying the sky, and tiptoed from the room to make a pot of coffee and check in on Gideon. Quiet as he was, Belle was stirring when he put his head around the bedroom door, and so he handed Gideon to her to feed before returning to the kitchen to pour out the coffee and make a hearty breakfast.

The first few days were hectic as they tried to adjust to their new life, establishing as much of a routine for Gideon as they could. Gold was enjoying being a father again, and fully intended to do the best job he could. Belle was clearly exhausted, and so he tried to ease the burden as much as possible, letting her nap with Gideon while he cleaned up, made dinner and baked. In between his chores, he dealt with work matters, giving instructions to Mr Dove in relation to rent or enforcement matters, assessing collateral for loans over video calls and countersigning a new tenancy agreement. He got up to feed and change Gideon in the middle of the night, hoping that Belle would get some much-needed rest. A small voice at the back of his mind told him that he, too, needed to rest, but sleep was elusive and his mind far too preoccupied to notice his building exhaustion.

He had been a ball of nervous energy ever since he and Belle had had the conversation about Neal. Getting his family settled into their home held his attention for the daylight hours, but once he was lying in bed, his mind was let loose to agonise over every possible worst case scenario it could dream up. The day after their return he was alert to every noise outside the apartment, every suggestion that a knock might sound and the Cassidys be outside. The knock never came, and over dinner the following evening, Belle mentioned that she had received a text from Emma. Henry had developed a bad cold, and Neal and Emma thought it best that they not visit and run the risk of passing it on to Gideon.

“I’m sorry he’s not well,” said Gold, an odd mixture of despair and relief rippling through him and pricking at his skin. “I’m sure they’ll come over soon. I’ll make a carrot cake this weekend. Maybe some chocolate cupcakes. Just in case they show up.”

Belle gave him a level look, as though she wasn’t fooled by his easy tone. She probably wasn’t.

“This must be hard for you,” she said quietly, and Gold put down his fork, abandoning his pretence at equilibrium.

“I still don’t know what the hell I’m gonna say to him,” he admitted. “How do I even raise the subject? Cupcake, Neal? Oh, by the way, did your mother ever mention that your father was Scottish? Kind of short? Me?”

He grimaced, running his hands over his face, and stilled at the warm pressure of Belle’s hand on his arm. He spread his fingers to gaze out through them into calm blue eyes.

“There isn’t going to be an easy way to do this,” she said gently. “But you could always try talking about your past, see if anything resonates with him.”

The fingers snapped shut, hiding her from his sight, and Gold sighed heavily before dropping his hands back to the table and sitting back.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “That seems - more natural, I suppose.”

“You could always ask Archie for advice,” she suggested, and he nodded.

“That’s true. Although we don’t know whether there’s anything there to ask advice about yet.”

“I suppose.”

“If there is…” Gold sat forwards again, threading his fingers together nervously. “If there is, if Neal really is my son, I have a feeling Dr Hopper will be seeing a lot more of my money.”

Belle smiled, squeezing his arm again.

“A worthy investment, wouldn’t you say?”

“If it gets me a good relationship with my family, absolutely.” He gave her a tiny smile, and she beamed, her eyes gleaming.

“It’s already doing that,” she said softly. “I’m proud of you. Facing your pain, your past, your fears… it’s a brave thing to do.”

He smiled, her words making his heart swell with love, even as he endured the discomfort of unexpected praise.

“Well, I have many years of cowardice to make up for,” he said, with an awkward smile.

Belle gave him a somewhat sad smile in return before sitting back, and there was a moment of silence. He picked up his fork again, cutting into the slice of almond cake and spearing it with the tines.

“What about you?” he asked. “Did your father say when he’d be visiting?”

Belle nodded as she cut a piece of her own cake.

“He said next Monday,” she said. “It’s usually a slow day in the shop, so he’s gonna close up at noon after he’s dealt with the flower delivery, and drive down. We’re planning to meet at four-thirty.”

“Ah.” Gold popped the piece of cake into his mouth, enjoying the soft sweetness of ground almonds and the tang of orange zest. “Well, he’s welcome to stay, of course.”

Belle eyed him over her fork, but shook her head.

“He’s only coming down for the day, and to be honest I think that’s a good idea,” she said. “I said I’d meet him at the diner by the park, and I think it’s best if it’s just me and Gideon. I thought we could go for a walk and get something to eat. That’s probably enough contact for both of us at this stage.”

“As you wish,” he said, secretly relieved at not having to play nice with Moe French.

“Depending on how this first visit goes, he might be staying over in future, though,” she added.

“Of course.”

“And you never know,” she said, spearing another piece of cake. “Maybe one day we’ll move back to Storybrooke. You, me, Gid, and - well, we’ll see how things go.”

She gave him a secretive little smile, and for a moment he envisioned entering the pink house with several small children racing past him to fill the place with life and love and laughter. He smiled back.

“That sounds wonderful.”

-

Belle was enjoying motherhood, but she wondered how single mothers coped alone. Gold had been amazing, racing around the house keeping it clean and tidy, cooking delicious meals for the two of them and helping to feed and change Gideon. He insisted on being the one to get up during the night, even as she said they should take it in turns, but she had to admit that it was a relief to get some rest as her body recovered. He made cakes and cookies and brought her breakfast in bed while she fed Gideon, and made sure she wanted for nothing.

She was worried that he was doing too much; she caught him napping on the couch one afternoon with a pile of laundry in his lap, hands buried in Gideon’s sleep suits and head back against the cushions. She had let him sleep, tiptoeing through to the kitchen to make some tea, and made the dinner herself that evening.

As the time drew nearer for her father’s visit, she found herself getting nervous, and Gideon seemed to pick up on it, growing fractious as she dressed him for the trip outside.

“You sure you don’t want me to come?” asked Gold, helping her get him into the stroller, and Belle shook her head.

“It’s fine, really,” she said. “I’m sure he’ll be okay once we’re out and he’s got something new to look at.”

“In that case,” he said. “I’ll make something nice for when you get back.”

“You always do.”

“Well, something special, then,” he said. “What would you like?”

Belle pursed her lips.

“A full night’s sleep and a foot rub?”

He grinned.

“Consider it done.”

“I’ll be eating about five-thirty,” she added. “So I won’t want anything for dinner, but I’ll probably feel like curling up with a glass of wine and something stodgy.”

“I’m sure I can think of something.”

He finished tucking Gideon in, and kissed his cheek before straightening up to kiss Belle. She clung to him a little longer than usual, and he squeezed her tight.

“It’ll be okay,” he said softly. “And I’m only a phone call away if you need me.”

She nodded, taking a deep, fortifying breath, and set her hands to the stroller, pushing it towards the elevator. Glancing back over her shoulder, she could see Gold watching her from the doorway, and she gave him a reassuring smile as she pressed the elevator call button, hoping for a positive outcome.

-

The apartment was eerily silent without either Belle or Gideon, and Gold didn’t like it. He busied himself cleaning up, folding a freshly-washed pile of laundry and vacuuming the floors. He also made up a pan of chicken casserole, adding a generous glass of red wine, and set it to a low simmer while he pondered what else to cook. He made some bread, pummelling the dough briskly before setting it aside to rise, and wiped flour-covered hands on his apron before poking through the store cupboard again. Belle had mentioned wanting something stodgy to eat, so he decided to make a pan of brownies.

By the time he had finished mixing the batter and put the tin in the oven, it was a quarter to six. He poured himself a glass of the wine and took a large gulp, one toe tapping on the floor as he wondered how Belle’s dinner with her father was going. He hadn’t received a distressed phone call, so he had to assume she was fine. She was more than capable of standing up to her father, but he hoped that wouldn’t be necessary. Surely not even Moe French could maintain his bad attitude when he got to hold Gideon.

A knock at the apartment door made him start, and he set down his glass, wiping his hands on his apron and grasping his cane to head for the door. Looking out through the spy hole, he paused as Neal’s face glanced up, his figure distorted by the curve of the lens. Gold’s heart started thumping high in his throat, blood pounding, and he swallowed, his throat dry, the handle gripped tight. His hand shook as he opened the door, and he licked his lips nervously as Neal grinned at him, hefting what looked like a leather laptop bag up a little further on his shoulder.

“Hello, Neal,” said Gold, unsure where his calm tone had come from, but relieved that he sounded normal.

“Hey,” said Neal, patting the bag. “Belle asked Emma to pick her up a couple of books from the university library. I said I’d drop ‘em off on my way home, since I was in the area.”

Gold made a decision.

“Please, come on in,” he said, stepping back and holding open the door. “Belle’s out at the moment, but you’re welcome to wait. I could make some coffee. Or I’ve opened the wine, if you’d prefer a glass of that.”

Neal’s eyes brightened.

“Really? Wouldn’t say no, it’s been a hell of a day.”

He stepped into the apartment, and Gold closed the door behind him, following him into the kitchen and trying to calm his racing heart. Neal shrugged off the strap of his bag, putting it on the table with a heavy thump of books and wriggling his shoulder.

“Belle should try e-books,” he said. “Less chance of a dislocated shoulder.”

Gold chuckled at that.

“I offered to get her one, but she prefers the feel and smell of real books,” he said, getting a second glass from the cupboard and pouring a measure of wine. “Not that she’s had all that much time to read lately.”

“No, I guess not. Thanks.” Neal took the wine. “You say she’ll be back soon?”

“She took Gideon to go and meet her father, but I’m expecting her back in the next half hour or so.”

“You didn’t go too?” asked Neal, and Gold pulled a face.

“Let’s just say that the peace between the two of them is new and fragile, and my presence really wouldn’t help that.”

“Yeah, I pretty much heard her dad’s a tool,” said Neal, making Gold grin.

“My opinion of him is fairly low, but I have to say the feeling’s mutual.”

“Guess you can’t choose your family,” said Neal, and took a drink. “Wow! That’s nice!”

“A favourite of mine.” Gold hesitated, turning the glass between his fingers. “How’s Henry?”

“Yeah, he’s a lot better,” said Neal. “Totally snot-free, happy to say. We thought we might come over Friday, if you’re up for having visitors.”

“I’m sure we’d love that.”

Another pause. Gold took a mouthful of wine, feeling his pulse thud in his throat, his skin tingling. He almost choked as he swallowed, and blinked rapidly, his eyes watering.

“You okay?” asked Neal. “Went down the wrong way?”

“Yes. Uh - shall we go through to the lounge?”

Gold gestured awkwardly towards the kitchen door, and Neal wandered off, leaving him to follow on feet that felt as though they were made of steel plates. It was a relief to sit down, and he had to stop himself from tapping his feet restlessly as he turned the glass between his hands and tried to think of something to say. Neal was good enough to break the heavy silence.

“How’s life with Gideon?” he asked, and Gold smiled.

“He doesn’t give us a lot of time to sit and take a breath, that’s for certain,” he said, “But it’s wonderful. I’m incredibly lucky.”

“You’re enjoying being a dad again, huh?”

“Very much.”

“Is it like you remember?” asked Neal, and Gold hesitated. Here, at last, was an opening. An opportunity.

“With my first son,” he said. “I wasn’t there for the first eighteen months of his life. A little like you and Henry.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes.” Gold looked down at his wine, deep red rippling catching tiny specks of light. “It wasn’t by choice, I might add.”

“I’m gonna take a wild guess and say you weren’t in jail,” said Neal, and he smiled.

“No, not jail. Unless of course you count the one of my own making.”

“Deep.”

“Pompous. Sorry.”

Neal chuckled, and Gold took a drink of wine.

“His mother and I weren’t suited,” he said then. “We were never in a proper relationship, and I wasn’t surprised when she left town. But then she came back two years later, with a child. My child, so she said.”

“You think she was lying?”

“No,” he said immediately. “No, I knew he was mine. At least - at least I thought that I knew. I could - I could feel it.”

He tapped his closed fist against his heart, and Neal watched him silently. Gold gave a tiny shrug.

“Of course I wanted to give him everything I hadn’t - that is - I wanted to do the best for my son as I could,” he said, floundering a little. “I worked hard, earned a good wage - unfortunately, that meant spending more time at work, and less time at home. Milah didn’t appreciate being, in her words: ‘stuck indoors all day with a screaming brat’.”

Neal had gone very still.

“Did you say Milah?” he asked neutrally.

“My ex,” said Gold, wishing his heart would stop thumping so hard. “Anyway, I came home one day, and she’d gone. I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised at that, but I never thought she’d take him. I never thought…” He cut off, ducking his head. “I never thought I’d lose him.”

Neal took a swallow of wine, and Gold squeezed his glass in an attempt to still his trembling hands.

“What happened?” asked Neal.

“Well, I found out that without being named as his father, I had no right to find out what had happened to him,” he said wearily. “So I had to search alone. She moved around a lot: from Scotland to England, and eventually, to the US. The last place I could trace them to was Social Services in Phoenix. She’d left him there. Said she’d come back and never did.”

Neal shook his head, looking stunned.

“So - so what happened?” he asked. “Did you find him?”

“No.” Gold eyed him steadily. “No, he’d gone. Run away. I was three months too late. I kept searching, but there were no more leads. He knew how to hide, it seemed.”

Neal swallowed hard, and set down his glass.

“You said you weren’t named as the father,” he said. “So his name wasn’t Gold, right?”

“No,” said Gold. “His last name was Bonny, after his mother.”

Neal pushed to his feet in a rush, agitation making his nostrils flare.

“Who told you my mother was called that?” he demanded. “Was it Emma? What did she say? How did you know that?”

“What?” Gold shook his head, an invisible hand squeezing at his heart and leaving him breathless. “I don’t - Emma didn’t tell me anything, I just - well, I remember Milah’s name, of course I do. And - and your name is Cassidy.”

“Because I changed it!” Neal began to pace, running a hand through his hair and looking shattered. “I don’t - I can’t…”

He shook his head, stomping towards the door.

“No, please!” said Gold desperately, pushing to his feet. “Please, don’t go, I just - I need you to listen for a moment.”

“I can’t!”

“Please!” he urged. “Please, my son’s name is Bailey. Bailey Stephen Bonny. He was born on the first of May, twenty-nine years ago, and - and I’ve been searching for him ever since he disappeared, ever since his mother took him from me.”

“This is - this isn’t possible.” Neal shook his head, looking devastated. “This can’t be real. I have to - I have to go, I have to think.”

“No, wait!”

His hand was on the door handle, and Gold had reached out, wanting to touch him, desperate to touch him. He drew back at the last minute, pain clawing at his chest, as though his heart was trying to tear its way out. Neal’s knuckles were white on the handle, his body shaking with tension, and Gold blinked tears from his eyes.

“Is it you, Bae?” he whispered, his voice breaking a little. “Is it really you?”

The name on his tongue seemed to break whatever spell had fallen over them, and Neal wrenched at the door, barging out into the corridor and slamming it shut behind him. Gold sagged, shoulders slumping as he gripped the cane handle to hold himself upright. It’s him. It’s my son. My Bae.

[esmealux]

The Devil Doesn’t Do Children

Part: 1 / ?

Setting: About a year after 5a

Word count: 3.3K

Rating: T

Warnings: Mention of death/murder (and, quite indirectly, foeticide)

Summary: Chloe is sick and Lucifer puts two and two together (with a little help from Dan).

Author’s note: This is my longest work so far. It was meant to be one long piece, but it ended up being 10.8K (!), so I’ve cut it into three parts. And just because I can’t help myself, there’s already a fourth on the way. Enjoy!

Usually, Lucifer wakes up bathed in golden dawn light and wrapped in the warmth of Chloe’s naked body. If it’s not her raucous snoring or the demanding screeches of her alarm that rouse him from his sleep, it is the press of her soft lips against his neck (or somewhere more south, if he’s particularly lucky, and he often is). But not today. Today he wakes up surrounded by darkness in her much too cold bed, and it’s neither her snores nor her kisses which break off his slumber. It’s the sound of Chewbacca being strangled in her bathroom. 

Or, he realises upon fully awakening, Chloe throwing up.

Alarmed and slightly annoyed that vomit of all things is interrupting his peaceful rest, he sits up in bed and stretches his taut body. Grabbing the nearest phone, he checks the time and groans when it says 05.26. Somewhere in his half-asleep mind, he recalls the Danish saying ‘Før Fanden får sko på’—now officially a synonym for 05.26, he thinks as he gets up and walks to the bathroom door barefoot.

‘Detective?’ he asks in a gruff voice, knocking quietly.

‘Don’t come in,’ she commands before heaving again.

He flinches. ‘Believe me, love, I wasn’t planning on it.’

It’s mostly said in jest, because if she asked him, he would be there by her side in a heartbeat. They’ve been through far too much together to care about the other’s less appetising sides. Besides, it wouldn’t be the first time he sees her ejecting her stomach contents, having once picked her up from an extraordinarily wild Tribe night. At least he won’t have to stick his fingers down her throat this time.

Eventually, there’s an intermission long enough for her to flush, put down the seat and open the door for him. He enters with reluctance, inspecting her warily as she sits on top of the toilet lid, her head in her hands. When she looks up at him, he gasps. ‘Oh, darling, you look positively terrible’—he leans a bit forward, assessing her ashen face—‘Abominable, really.’ Behind the thick mask of nausea and exhaustion, he thinks he sees her glare.

‘Fancy a toothbrush?’ he offers, already walking past her to find one by the sink. A hint of gratitude glints in her matte eyes as he hands it to her along with a glass of water. He smiles at her and leans against the door frame, eventually looking down to appreciate his pedicure as she rinses her mouth. ‘Is pwobably sumthin I ate,’ she mumbles around foam and toothbrush. He cocks his eye and looks up at her, scoffing. ‘You think?’ When he’d locked himself into her flat late last night after hosting an event at Lux, he’d been greeted by the sight of her and her spawn sleeping on the couch, remains of junk food cluttering up the coffee table before them. The logo on the Styrofoam had made him shake his head in disappointment and disgust. He’d cleaned it up and carried the ladies to their beds, but not before ripping one specific menu card off their fridge and tearing it to pieces. ‘I mean, it’s one thing you order garbage for yourself, but must you punish your offspring in the process? I may detest children, but even I think that’s no way to treat a child. Especially Beatrice. You do realise the men’s room at Lux are cleaner than that place, right?’

In response to his question, she pulls the toothbrush out of her mouth, lifts the lid of the toilet and, once again, disgorges her dinner.

‘My point exactly,’ he replies, before crouching down next to her to hold back her hair.

*

‘Lucifer! Did you make breakfast?!’ The doe-eyed creature shrieks as it appears from its nest, the brown, ungroomed mane falling messily around its head.

‘Good morning to you too, urchin,’ he greets her, looking up from the pot he’s stirring in to give her a half-forced smile as she takes a seat by the counter. He feels a strange itch in his hands to pull out the bar stool for her and help her up (mostly because he can’t be bothered with her tedious jumping), but to his surprise, she climbs the stool with ease—or at least not ungracefully. It tugs at something in his chest the same way it does when he occasionally is compelled to spend time with his nephew, and the babe’s already crawling, or walking, or making sounds that somewhat resemble actual words. For unfathomable reasons, it makes him feel uneasy—but mostly pleased; the sooner they grow up, the sooner they’ll stop being such pains in the-

‘Oh my God, is that bacon? And eggs? And pancakes?!’

He sighs and looks up to chide her for her unjust invocation, but swallows it when he sees her hungry, gleeful eyes. ‘Yes, here. Have some actual food,’ he tells her, nudging the plate and some cutlery in her direction. And some wet wipes, because longer limbs or not, she’s still a sticky child.

‘It’s chocolate chip pancakes!’ she exclaims upon inspecting her breakfast further, as if he didn’t already know. ‘Thank you, Lucifer. You’re the best.’ She’s beaming brightly at him now, and he feels threatened, foreseeing that she, any second, will launch her small body at him and enclose his middle, ruining his Armani suit with her greasy fingers. But she doesn’t. She just sits there and stares at him, her eyes twinkling with an emotion that looks uncannily related to one he has only ever seen in her mother’s eyes.

‘Eh,’ he breathes, his throat tightening. He looks away from her unsettling smiley face and returns his attention to the pot on the stove. ‘Well, it was the least I could do after your supposed caregiver fed you literal poison last night.’

Suddenly reminded of the Detective and her progeny’s shared meal, he turns his head to search the adolescent’s face for any signs of sickness. But she doesn’t look remotely nauseous as she devours her feed like a starving hyena cub. He quirks an eyebrow. ‘I’m guessing from your lupine appetite that you haven’t been praying to the porcelain gods like your mother?’

Beatrice’s brows knit together, her fork pausing mid-air. She (fortunately) swallows her food before she speaks, all joy in her voice suddenly gone, ‘Mom’s sick?’

‘Well, yes, but I’m positive it’ll pass soon. She just needs to… get it out of her system,’ he quickly reassures her, offering her a soft smile. The discomforting concern in the big, brown eyes slowly disappears as absolute delight takes over.

‘Does that mean you’re taking me to school?’ She asks, her small corpus barely able to contain her joy. ‘In your car?!’

He scoffs, feeling attacked. ‘As if I’d ever voluntarily drive your mum’s mind-numbingly boring example of an automobile.’ She grins at that, making a comment about how his is ‘definitely a trazillion times cooler,’ and he smiles at her, smug and victorious. ‘Exactly, child! So, yes, naturally, I will be escorting you in the corvette. But now, march off and get yourself ready while I finish this…’ he pokes around the grey goo in the pot with the wooden spoon, trying not to grimace, ‘oatmeal, for your mother. According to our friend Alexa it’s good for nauseated humans, although I highly doubt it.’

The teenager simply shrugs at that, finishes her breakfast and retreats to her burrow to get dressed. Once the porridge is done, Lucifer pours it in a bowl, puts it on a tray along with a cool glass of coke (also Alexandra’s suggestion) and carries it up to the Detective’s bedroom. He opens the door slowly as to not wake her, but the stubbornest of women is sitting on the edge of the bed, using all strength left in her depleted body to pull on her skinny jeans. Putting down the tray on the nearest surface, he darts over to her with a ‘what in Dad’s name are you doing?!’ and tugs the trousers down her legs and off her. ‘We have to go to work, Lucifer,’ she objects rather weakly, not even trying to put her jeans back on. ‘I have to go to work,’ he corrects her, carefully laying her down once he’s freed both her feet. ‘You, Detective, need to stay here and rest until you can keep it all inside you.’ He senses she’s about to protest again, so he places a kiss on her forehead and assures her, ‘Trust me, dear, everything is taken care of.’ Even as nausea has tinted her face green, she manages to narrow her eyes at him in scepticism. ‘Just promise me you’ll behave,’ she eventually mutters as she gives up and nuzzles into the blankets.

He lightly strokes her shoulder with the back of his fingers and quietly walks out of the room, leaving her with a dramatic sigh and an ‘As you wish.’

*

Daniel is already at the crime scene when Lucifer arrives after depositing the urchin. He’d thought he’d have to go through an entire day of purgatory—or paperwork, as the Detective pronounces it—and it was only worsened by the fact that he wouldn’t have his partner by his side. If she had been there, he could at least have distracted them both with some suggestive looks here, some subtle touches there, and—when he’d worked her into a frenzy of desire—a coffee break or two in the parking garage. Instead, he’d have to endure the agonising tedium on his own, even as there were, at a minimum, three hell loops he’d rather spend his time in than do paperwork at the precinct all day. But then Miss Lopez had called and informed him they’d got a new case. He’d been absolutely delighted (as delighted as it is allowed when someone has dropped dead), but only until he’d made the mistake of telling her that the Detective was home sick, and she’d said that she would ‘call Espinoza ASAP’ and tell him to meet them at the scene. If he had just kept his mouth shut, he could have got the case all to himself, instead of having Detective Douche tag along.

Taking a deep breath, he checks his cuffs and takes his time approaching the douche in question. ‘Sorry I’m late. Your spawn spent quite some time choosing the right attire,’ Lucifer offers in greeting. Daniel looks him up and down with raised eyebrows, his eyes landing on the perfectly folded crimson pocket square. ‘For a normal school day? Wonder who inspired that kind of vanity in her.’

‘Well, it certainly wasn’t her father,’ Lucifer deadpans and nods towards Daniel’s hoodie/jacket/jeans-combination.

With a humourless laugh and a shake of his head, Dan stuffs his hands in his pockets and turns on his heels to walk up the stairs and into the residential building. After bringing out his flask and taking a long swig, Lucifer follows him.

When they enter the flat, Miss Lopez is leaning over the body with her camera. The sight is oddly welcoming. Comfortably familiar. She’d only come back a week ago after being away for a little over a month, on a much-deserved vacation in New Zealand, and Lucifer had missed her cheerful spirit and their crime scene banter terribly. The latter is, much to Lucifer’s annoyance, cut short today by Daniel ‘Buzz-Kill’ Espinoza’s ‘So, Ella, what can you tell us about the vic?’

It’s a rather uninteresting case; a woman, Laura Greene, 26, has been murdered in her home. Stabbed with a kitchen knife, first in the abdomen, then the chest. No signs of B&E, no signs of struggle. A swift and impulsive act—no doubt a crime of passion according to Ella. The most obvious culprit would be an angered partner, but the roommate, who found the body, tells them the victim wasn’t in a relationship and rarely went on dates or brought anyone home. On top of that, Roomie can’t think of anyone who would hurt dear Laura. And the neighbours are just as useless; one is a deaf elder lady, and the others were chasing the dragon at the time of death. The rest of the floor haven’t heard or noticed anything either. Consequently, they have absolutely nothing once they get to the precinct. Ella goes through evidence and Daniel through piles and piles of papers, leaving Lucifer to stand awkwardly in the corner of Ella’s lab, with no desires to unveil or miscreants to threaten.

As to not die of boredom, he zooms out and lets his mind wander. He’s in the middle of designing a strategy for how to make Chloe finally agree to try the deliciously sinful position he considers one of his favourites when Ella’s frustrated sigh interrupts his planning.

‘Something troubling you, Miss Lopez?’ he asks her, pulling out his flask.

She tells him she has nothing. No match on the fingerprints from the murder weapon, no useful surveillance tapes, no clues at the scene that can tell her the gender, age, or occupation of the murderer. Nada. Just the fact that it was done in a moment of heat.

Before Lucifer can answer, Dan walks in with a puzzled look on his ill-favoured face, his arms filled with highlighted printouts. ‘Could she’ve been pregnant?’

Ella tilts her head. ‘I mean, it’s not impossible, but based on what her roommate told us, I wouldn’t bet my money on it. You know, because our girl Laura had no boy toyz.’

Lucifer can’t hold back a snort. ‘Please, Miss Lopez, all it takes is a boy toy, singular, ten minutes in a bathroom stall and the absence of contraceptives.’

Dan looks at him with disgust and horror before shaking his head and returning his attention to Ella. ‘Well, no,’ he answers her, ignoring Lucifer’s comment entirely, ‘but then I thought about the other thing her roommate said, about Laura throwing up during the past weeks, and I thought-’

‘But Michelle said she thought it was an eating disorder, like Laura’d had before,’ Ella interrupts him, looking to Lucifer for support. He just purses his lips and looks back. Truth be told, when they’d been talking to the roommate, the mentioning of vomit had reminded him of his feeble Detective at home and he’d excused himself to send her a text. He therefore hadn’t heard whatever explanation the woman had offered (nor her arguments for why the victim’s sickness would be relevant to them). Fortunately, Dan answers.

‘Yeah, I know, I thought that too, but then I saw she paid a bill to an OB-GYN earlier this month, and it could just be a gynaecological check-up or something, but then I remembered how badly Chloe suffered from morning sickness when she was pregnant with Trixie, so I…’

Lucifer stops listening as Daniel’s words—one in particular—suddenly whirl around him, loud and ominous. His heart starts pounding faster and his throat goes dry. He instinctively grips the edge of the lab table.

‘Surely there could be other explanations,’ he manages to get out, interrupting his co-workers’ discussion. ‘Food poisoning, for instance.’

Dan and Ella look at him with equally sceptical looks. ‘Not for ten days straight,’ Ella argues.

‘But there is a myriad of reasons for a woman to throw up,’ he defends as he starts frantically googling. ‘Indigestion, stomach bug, chemotherapy, motion sickness… aha, migraine!’

When Lucifer looks up from his phone, Daniel is looking at him like he’s questioning his sanity. Miss Lopez seems concerned too, but more in an ‘dude, you okay?’-way than anything else.

Ella slowly takes her eyes off Lucifer’s face and eyes Dan shortly. ‘Well, we can’t know for sure before we get the final results from the autopsy, but from what Dan has found, she could quite possibly be pregnant.’

‘But,’ Lucifer objects, barely audibly, like someone has knocked the wind out of him, ‘she can’t be.’ He’s staring out into empty air, unwelcome images suddenly flooding his mind, as Daniel and Miss Lopez continue talking. He’s on the verge of what he thinks might be a panic attack when a voice, her voice, drags him out of his own head.

‘Hey guys,’ she greets them. She’s hoarse and looks a little tired, but the green tinge is gone.

‘Detective,’ is what he manages to say back. She looks at him with soft eyes and it’s enough for him to come back to his senses for a moment. Surprised by her presence, he begins to ask, ‘Are you done-’

He was going to say ‘puking your guts out’ but she widens her eyes at him and cuts him off, ‘Having a bad headache? Yes, thank you, Lucifer. I just needed some rest.’

‘Right,’ he mumbles, giving her one slow nod. She walks over to stand close beside him and brushes her fingers against the back of his hand, somehow sensing that he’s tense. 

‘Okay, what have we got?’ She looks to Dan and Ella and lets go of Lucifer’s hand. He instantly misses her touch.

They fill Chloe in, telling her about everything from the lack of leads to small, seemingly insignificant details. When she’s completely up to date, she has that look on her face, eyes slightly narrowed, like she has a (historically, clever) theory.

‘Well,’ she begins, still visibly thinking, ‘it does take two to tango.’ She side-eyes Lucifer, a small smirk playing at the corner of her lips. It’s clear she expects a remark or a praising grin in return, and he tries, but it comes out as a grimace and a strained ‘eh’. She gives him a funny look before continuing her theory, ‘What I mean is, boyfriend or not, there’s still a father out there. Maybe he found out and couldn’t handle the news? Maybe he was married to someone else? Or… he just didn’t want to be a dad?’

Lucifer feels his heartbeat speed up once again. An odd emotion he can’t quite name spreads in his chest. It feels like a disease.

‘Sure seems like motive, but how are we gonna find him?’ Dan asks. Not one second later, Miss Lopez’ ‘found him!’ sounds from where she’s leaning over her computer. ‘Tech just got access to her photos —kinda tricky since she had this super secure lock-’

‘Who is he, Ella?’ Chloe demands.

Ella clicks on the screen and turns the computer around so they can see. ‘The guy’s everywhere in her camera roll. I don’t know, he seems kinda familiar, but-’

‘That’s Max Steinfeld!’ Dan exclaims when he sees the photo. It’s taken in bed, post-orgasm Lucifer would say, judging from the blissful aura. Laura’s got a hand on the man’s chest who, indeed, is the chap who starred on that horrible teenage comedy show and today is trying to redeem himself by doing mediocre action movies and… settling down with Hollywood’s sweetheart. 

‘But he’s dating Simone Riley,’ Lucifer enlightens his colleagues upon his revelation. ‘They’re tying the knot this spring.’

Chloe shoots him a questioning look, and he tells her he got a mani-pedi the other day. She nods her head in understanding.

‘Well, if he’s engaged, he probably wasn’t ecstatic when Laura told him she was pregnant with his baby.’

As she asks Dan to get the actor’s current location all Lucifer can do is stand there and stare at her, as if he might find the answers to the thousands of questions in his head written on the side of her face. But he doesn’t. He only finds the familiar beauty mark, a perfectly pointed eyebrow, and the smooth, marble-like skin of the woman he loves. And it makes him yearn for those answers even more.

Part II  |  Part III  | Part IV (coming soon)

[stonecoldjerseyfox]

Jersey on my mind (part 41)

This was not part of the plan. It wouldn’t go like this. This was not the plan. It was a solid plan. Well, at least that’s what it sounded like and felt like. Mila repeats the phrases inside her head, like a mantra, while the raspy voice, the female voice, repeats what she just said.

“As I said, We’ve got Carol and Maggie. You wanna talk about that?”

36 hours earlier:

Wrapped in the dark, they made their way through the deserted streets of Alexandria, hand in hand. She followed him almost blindly, on her way to unknown targets. What was he up to? 

“Where are we going?” Mila chuckled faintly and squeezed Daryl’s hand. “Come on, please, tell me.” 

Her curiosity had skyrocketed since he, somewhat mysteriously, told her that he ‘knew a place’; she was still distraught after what had probably, in Daryl’s peculiar way, been a courtship. Or a direct marriage there and then, none of them seemed to have any idea about what exactly. To hell with formalities! She wore a diamond ring worth like 20 000 bucks on her ring finger, secured with the dainty, less vulgar ring she got from Jim and felt over the moon with emotions. Her heart felt too big for her chest. She woke up from her euphoric state as they stopped in front of the row of neat, almost newly built townhouses. Homes that never got to be put on the market, which was never open to speculators willing to pay thousands of dollars to live there.

“What are we doing here?” She asked. But the familiar silence repeated and she didn’t get a verbal answer. Her laconic, now fiancé took her up the stairs to the house that wasn’t inhabited by anyone and Mila followed in tow. “Daryl, come on!” Mila repeated as the front door shut behind them, leaving them standing in solid darkness.  

“Fu- just-” Despite the fact that it was almost pitch black, Mila could sense how Daryl tightened his jaw, struggling to stay calm; not because of her curiosity and questions, but because he was trying to stay calm. A forced calm concealing something completely different. Inside he was probably an emotional disaster. “Come on-” He squeezed Mila’s hand and started to walk up the almost brand new stairs with white painted railing. Not that she could see it, but she made an assumption that this house wasn’t too different from its adjacent neighbors, where she had visited before. “Don’t fall.”

They stopped on the first landing and Daryl released his firm, yet tender grip around her hand. When one mind is turned off, the others are triggered, but Mila couldn’t hear a sound. It was very quiet, except for their footsteps.

“Stay here.” He instructed her. “Close ye’re eyes.”

Mila laughed a little. “It’s pitch dark, I can barely see you.”

“Just, goddamn- shut ya’ eyes, woman.” 

“Jeeeez Louise-” Mila sighed, shut her eyes and grinned. “Watch out, Dixon, I still have the right to withdraw.” 

Her cheeky joke was answered with a light flick on the nose, followed by a kiss before she heard Daryl steps disappear into another room. What was he doing? Where was he going? Although curiosity almost rose to her throat, Mila did her best not to peek; open one eye and see what the hell Daryl was up to. Instead, she continued to close her eyes, spun the slightly oversized ring around her finger, and quickly realized that spinning would become a recurring coping mechanism for all kinds of emotional states.  

The steps got closer again and she felt the big hand close around hers. 

“Come.” Daryl said. “Don’t look.”

“Okay.”

One step turned into eleven stippling steps, in fear of falling flat on her face and getting even more bruised, before they haltered again. 

“Ya’ can look.” Daryl said and cleared his throat somewhat. “See.”

Mila did as she was told to, blinked as her eyes adjusted to the light. It wasn’t a bright light, but a soft, flickering light from a dozen candles placed around the house’s master bedroom. It wasn’t fully furnished yet, as if it was left half done. There was a bed covered with a big sheet for protection from paint, some other furniture, a mirror and curtains, but the wooden folding ladder used to paint the upper cornice was left behind along with paint cans and brushes. A stack of moving boxes stood next to the decorative fireplace mantle and two armchairs were covered with sheets. 

“It ain’t much…” Daryl said doubtfully. 

Mila and Jim never came to the part of having their dream wedding, nor their dream honeymoon. Of course they’d talked about it, that was almost more important than the wedding; where would they go, just the two of them? Mila wanted to go to Rome, or Montana. Jim wanted to go somewhere where they could eat great food, drink great wine and go sightseeing. They finally settled on going to Italy and renting a car there; That way they could visit Rome, Florence and Naples. Watch football, eat pizza, drink wine, authentic cappuccino (Jim was after all a passionate coffee connoisseur) and go sightseeing in an historic environment. The candlelit bedroom in the abandoned townhouse wasn’t exactly a bridal suite at The Palazzo Manfredi with expensive wine and whatnot, but it still made her heart skip a beat. It was thoughtful, romantic in all its simplicity and probably improvised. Where had he found all those candles in a hurry? She never got the chance to ask, it wasn’t important.

“It’s amazing.” Mila managed to utter. Screw Italy!

To further convince Daryl he’d succeeded in his attempt to surprise her, Mila began to kiss him softly. Their breaths in between the soft, tender kisses soon turned heavier, more strenuous as they started to back up towards the bed.

“I want you.” Mila gasped in the matter of seconds that her lips weren’t glued to Daryl’s. “I want you so, so badly.”

Her pleading, that could almost be likened to an appeal, didn’t need to be repeated. Through the darkness she could see the tall archer’s eyes twinkle in the vague glow of the candles. So soft, maybe softer than she’d ever seen then before, at the same time dark with pure, brutish desire. But for perhaps the first time, they didn’t have to deal with lack of time, that someone could hear them or walkers that could suddenly stumble into the room in the middle of the act. For the first time, they had time on their side. And they took advantage of it 110%. Mila felt like her entire body and mind was on fire, like her nerves had reached new levels of feeling things. She had read somewhere that an increased perception of all senses was one of the effects of LSD, but right there and then, welded together with Daryl, whom she wanted even deeper and deeper inside of her to fill her up to her throat, it was clear to her that this was way better than any drug there was. Ecstasy in its rawest, purest form -the caveman stage- triggered by the slowly, sometimes far to near and yet so incredibly close increasing orgasm that built up inside of her body. She came once, then twice, might just as well have been thrice. When Mila last perceived her surroundings, right before both of them fell asleep wrapped up in the sheet, it was early dawn. 

The news about their eloping, or betrothal or whatever it was, was met with surprised delight by the others. As soon as they set foot inside the front door of the big house, where they were greeted by an ongoing breakfast, Carol narrowed her eyes and examined them closely, whereupon the sharp eyes landed on the flashy, magnetic diamond ring. An astronaut stranded on the International Space Station would probably be able to notice it sparkling. 

“Wha- you-” Carol gaped and rose from the table. “Oh my goodness!”

Carol’s reaction was followed by commotion. Everyone arose from the breakfast table and smoldered them with back pats, congratulations and hugs.

“Gratulations, Jersey.” Abraham said while embracing her. When he let go of Mila, after placing a bearded kiss on her cheek, she saw him turn to Daryl, low-key saying: “Thought ‘bout settlin’ down after all, huh?” He then gave Daryl a hearty pat on the shoulder. “About damn time!”

Someone that also was over the moon with joy was Juri; he ran around their legs and quietly participated in the celebration while tugging on his pajama pants, hugging their legs. Excited beyond measure, he gesticulated with his small soft hands that he now, finally, had a dad. 

“Consider yourself a daddy from now on.” Mila whispered to Daryl in passing. To be fair, Juri had considered Daryl as a substitute-daddy for quite some time, before Mila dreamed about doing the dirty with him. “Welcome to the family.” 

The ever so quiet, simple breakfast quickly turned into an engagement-marriage-thing party, to the extent that they managed to conjure a bottle of cheap prosecco from a cupboard. Rick distributed the bottle in the drinking glasses and together they swept their fair but frugal part of the bubbly beverage. The rest of the day was spent coordinating the attack against the Saviors’ compound with help from Andy from the Hilltop colony, at least in Rick, Michonne, Daryl, Glenn and Maggie’s case. Mila was once again struck by tiredness, fatigue almost, and withdrew to inventory the weapons stockpile in the armory with Carol and Eugene. Among other things, Mila was told that “things were over and out” between Abe and Rosita, according to Eugene. 

“Yup, they’re done. Finito.” He said and dramatically cut through the air with his hand.  

While Eugene and Mila talked about the latest romantic drama of the apocalypse, Carol sat deep in thought, sometimes muttering about Rick’s decision to let Maggie come with her.

“He should know better.” She said as she moved around cartons of ammunition. 

Mila knew that Carol was deeply concerned and she didn’t blame her. It wasn’t just Maggie’s life that was on the stake. She was, after all, pregnant; a transformative, slightly chaotic incident in itself, under the prevailing circumstances. At the same time Mila didn’t blame Maggie for wanting to participate. Had she been pregnant Mila would have done the same. The slightest pet with her and she had been pissed off. She was a grown up woman who could make her own decisions, as was Maggie. Therefore, Mila didn’t say much about the matter, focused on the inventory and her lingering, to say the least annoying fatigue that didn’t go away. Carol, the woman with the sharpest sight still alive after the outbreak, couldn’t fail to see that something was wrong.

“No wonder you’re weary all the time.” Carol said as she shook her head towards Mila. “You’re eating like a medieval peasant, all seeds, grains and blant oatmeal.”

“A big bird then.” Mila replied perky, to take her beloved breakfast oatmeal in defense. “I’ve survived so far, which is more than twenty years.” 

When every little bullet was counted and every weapon inspected, they left the weapons store. They returned to the house, where the planning of the attack was wrapping up. Some question marks hadn’t been solved during the long-spun coordination that was spread over the large dining table; they had no idea what would meet them at the compound. How many men did the Saviors have? They simply had to be prepared to encounter both two and a dozen, a preparation that outwardly seemed easier to relate to than it was in fact to relate to mentally. The uncertainty, the total uncertainty; like running straight into thick fog, not knowing what was on the other side. A cliff, a horde of angry bulls or a wall of rifle barrels? The only thing Mila could think of were the memories of all the times her grandfather took her in his arms as a child and told her about the war. How they sat there in the rocking chair and rocked back and forth. Although the very old chair stood on a pair of rugs, to protect the underlying wooden floor in the old cottage they lived in, it creaked ominously for every swing. The creaks became a part of the story, part of the fear that her grandfather described; how he as a young man, no ... as a young boy stood with a rifle in his hand with the whole country’s expectations on his shoulders in Stalingrad, without a clue what he was going to face. A fear that he, despite having both vomited and cried, was forced to push away far behind in his mind and instead wrap himself in a mental armor. An armor that Mila here and there, while facing the knowledge that they did not have the faintest idea of what they were getting into, put on as on autopilot, without blinking. As if she always had it in her back pocket, always ready. That was in a way true; her strange, traumatic upbringing had left its mark, for better or worse.

She was wrapped in that armor, combined with her constant, almost indifferent calm (possibly also a product of her upbringing), spiced with a couple of sips of vodka before they left, when they set off the next day to the Savior’s compound. 

“We did not know what we were running against.” Her grandfather had said as they rocked in the rocking chair. “It was just thick fog all around us, above and underneath. The ground was like a muddy field even though we were in the middle of the city. In fact, it was bodies we ran over that lay for a very long time, but we couldn’t see that. Eyes forward, that was all they yelled.”

Eyes forward, that was what Mila, subconsciously, thought as she sat next to Daryl in the passenger seat, as they traveled down the road in a caravan. She was still overwhelmed by the thought of her being Mrs Sergeyevna Dixon or something by now, not that they had discussed that part of the agreement; she got a ring and that was it. A silent agreement that it was the two of them now, an unbreakable union, unless they got tired of each other. But as she sat there in the car, looking at the man of few words that had asked for her hand in matrimony -in his own way- the night before, she felt nothing but affinity for him. A different kind of affiliation than the one she had with Jim, but at the same time the same kind of security. It was a solid relationship and she had ever doubted her feelings for him, not for a second.

“What’d you mean by Montana?” Daryl suddenly asked and looked at her. 

“Huh?”

“Last night.” He lowered his voice somewhat, so that their fellow passengers, Maggie, Glenn and Gabriel, would not hear them. “Ya’ said ‘better than Montana’, what’d you mean?”

Mila let out a soft laugh. Did she say that out loud?

“I always wanted to go there.” She said smiling. “For a honeymoon.”

“Why the fuck Montana?” Daryl sputtered, as if he couldn’t believe her words.

”Wha- you’ve ever seen pictures of Montana?” Mila exclaimed. ”Rocky Mountains, Crazy Mountains-”

”Crazy Mountains?”

”It’s actually short for Crazy Woman Mountains. Apparently, a woman went insane and lived in them after her family was killed in the westward settlement movement.”

”Sounds perfect for ya’.” The archer gave her a faint smirk, an amused one. 

”Fuck off!” Mila laughed and gave him a soft push.  

As they drove around a bend, Mila noticed the RV’s red brake light in front of them. The caravan, consisting of three vehicles, braked and stopped. The road they had stopped at were lined with shattered and rusting cars, around them were grassy fields and green trees. As they went out of the car, Mila could hear Rick call out: 

“We’ll peel off every quarter mile, meet back here in a couple of hours. See what we got.”

As she secured the leather strap attached to her trustworthy AK Mila could see Glenn and Heath disappear into the vegetation in one direction, looking for a walker that looked somewhat similar to Gregory. Her brain quickly adjusted and went into ‘hunt mode’; it felt almost as it did before she and Juri came to Alexandria. On some occasions she had left Juri alone to go out and scavenge on her own; she hid him away somewhere, instructed him to stay hidden and that she would be back in an hour. To be sure he felt okay with it she left her watch with him. When the hour hand had traveled all the way around she would be back. Every time she left Juri alone like that it was as if she was shedding skin; transformed from a protective, loving mother to a ruthless hunter and survivor, ready for almost anything. She had never been afraid to walk out into the unknown alone - yet another product of her strange, not-too-accurate childhood. Papa had, on a not-so-sober occasion, while they were out driving in the countryside where they had their dacha, stopped the car by the side of the dirt road and ordered her to get out of the car. Mila was 10 years old at the time.

“From here you can walk.” He said, resting his arm out through the rolled down car window. 

It was a hot day, the sun was shining and Mila looked at him with a gaping mouth.

“That’s far!”

“So?”

“I’ve never walked there.”

“So?” Papa shrugged and turned the engine. “Solve it. You’ll get there. Think a little.”

Then he left, leaving Mila standing on the dirty, dusty country road. Ten years old and left to find her way home on her own. Solve it. Another kid had probably started crying and panicking. That was weakness in its purest form, according to her father. Mila would learn to manage on her own, solve problems and above all learn to not panic in any sort of distressed situation. The reason was very simple, but not conventional. ‘Alone is always strongest’, those words she knew almost better than the evening prayer, which she nevertheless never performed. Therefore, she just kicked in the dry ground with her sandal and sighed. Then she started walking under the scorching sun, while the ground in front of her shivered from the heat. After a while she took off her shoes and ran barefoot on the hot road, before she went down and started to walk in the ditch by the road, to prevent the soles of her feet from getting completely burnt. Rather burnt legs from stinging nettles than burnt soles of her feet. She had learned that early on in life, to prioritize and consider which of two alternatives was preferable, whatever they may be. Two hours later she arrived at the cottage. Papa hadn’t said anything, just nodded towards her when she walked through the gate as he sat in the chair in the garden, bare-chested with a bottle of vodka and a bowl of freshly picked strawberries from their garden. Instead, it was mama, Mila’s beloved mama, who had to bathe her poor legs with alcohol and take care of her burning tan. But inside, Mila felt victorious. Hah!

“I’ll go this way.” She therefore said as Daryl came up by her side. 

“On ye’re own?” Daryl scoffed. “Don’t think so.”

Mila scoffed back at him.

“I think I’ll be okay.” She replied. “I can find a walker and pick a head on my own, thanks.”

In fact, she had begun to feel ill again during the drive. If she could slip away in solitude and vomit it would be fantastic, but she didn’t escape that easily. One hundred meters into the woods, she had therefore hurried in advance in front of Daryl, taken support against a tree and vomited against the trunk; a mushy mix consisting of not completely digested oatmeal, liquid and stomach acid. 

“Hey-” She could hear Daryl hurry up behind her. He came up to her side, looked at her. “Ya’ alright?”

“Now I am.” Mila spat on the ground, shaking through her whole body of the acrid taste.

“Fuck sake…” Daryl sighed and from her bent over position she could see him place his hands at his hips. “The hell ya’ are.”

The thought, that unthinkable thought that she had pushed aside so many times now, came to mind again. No, she was not allowed to think like that. 

“Got any water?” Mila asked in something between a sigh and a panting and looked up at Daryl, met his worried eyes. 

Swearing, he pulled a bottle out of his back pocket with his free hand and gave it to her. She poured the water into her mouth, washed it out and spit it out on the ground. 

“Motion sickness.” She said briefly and straightened up. “Shall we continue?” Her stubbornness won over Daryl’s. Of course, Mila knew that he would rather throw her over his shoulder and carry her back to the car and lock her in there, in the belief that she was ill, but no. Mila had other plans. They therefore went further into the woods, to find a walker that could be mistaken for Gregory. But they were unlucky, encountering only three female walkers and a man who was too young in his former, living, life. By the time they returned to the cars the problem had already been solved. Three graying heads stood lined up on the road in front of Rick, Jesus and Andy from Hilltop. 

“We’ll do it at night.” Jesus told them. “Andy delivers the package, while he’s doing that, we’ll disarm the guards and get inside.” He looked at Mila and wrinkled his nose. “You’ve vomited or something?” Mila shrugged in reply. “Again?” He asked. “That time of the month?”

Daryl was close to flying at Jesus, but Mila stopped him and shook her head. 

“Motion sickness or something.”

“Or could be-” Jesus nodded with his head. 

“Motion sickness.” Mila said sharply, clearly indicating that the matter had now been finalized. 

They remained out there until the sun started to go down, just waiting for the moment when they would get into the vehicles again and drive to Savior’s compound. While waiting, they sat on the hood of the car, leaning against the windshield. Mila had received a package of peppermint chewing gum from Sasha, which she had finished in the blink of an eye, to hide the pungent smell of vomit. It seemed to work well, combined with a bottle of water. 

“What is it?”

“Hm?” Mila turned and met Daryl’s eyes. They were searching, as if he wanted to read her mind.

“Ya’ smilin’.” He blinked, turned his head and looked straight forward. 

“Is that weird?” She asked, reaching for his hand to play with his fingers. The glimmering stone glistened in the declining sunlight. “I was thinking about chance. How I couldn’t imagine what meeting you would lead to.” She smiled. “Me, being Mrs. Dixon.”

It was effective. Daryl turned his head and met her gaze. He looked overwhelmed, almost embarrassed. He looked into her eyes, as if struggling to keep up the eye contact. That inherent insecurity in him, it was so deeply rooted, but during the months they’d known each other she’d seen him crawl out of his shell, very slowly, scared to get hurted. 

“What?”

“I guess that’s what I am.” She said and didn’t break eye contact. She felt nothing but safe looking into his eyes, respect and love. 

It was as if he pondered the words, tasted each syllable. As if it dawned on him there and then, sitting on the hood next to her on the abandoned road, while the sun set in the distance. 

“I’m afraid.”

His words puzzled her a little.

“For what?”

“Just- losing ya’.” He replied something reluctant, as if it hurt to admit maybe his inner, deepest fear. “I can’t lose ya’, Jersey.”  

“Moya lyubov.” Mila caressed his cheek. “There’s no reason to think you should. I’m not going anywhere. Least of all away from you.”

He pondered her words. 

“Mrs. Dixon.” He said it with a vague smile, which grew to a full smile. “Like the sound of that.”

“Me too.” Mila intertwined her fingers with his and chuckled happily. “Like- wow, I have a husband.”

Those words made him tune in to her chuckle. He liked what he heard. He turned his head towards her, a little askew, smiling. His hair fell forward on his forehead and Mila felt a tickling sensation throughout her whole body. He was beautiful, and he was hers.  

“Knew it from the beginning.” Daryl said. “When ya’- both of ya’ came to Alexandria. I’d never felt like that before. I- liked ya, love ya. Don’t know how ‘cause I’d just met ya’, but I knew I did.”

Mila had no time to respond.

“It’s time!” Rick had called out. 

They jumped down from the hood and got into the car. It was time. When they started approaching their goal, it was already dark. The RV stopped in the middle of the darkness and Andy got out and walked over to their car. They were instructed to park and walk the last bit, so they wouldn’t be discovered. Andy would take their car and drive to the compound with the head. 

“It’s not far.” He said. “I’ll give you a headstart.”

After walking through the vegetation for a while, accompanied by thousands of crickets playing in the dark, Mila and the others saw something through the foliage. Concrete, barely visible if you didn’t look closely. They had arrived. Silently they crept forward, taking positions so that they would not be discovered. It was an old satellite station with a huge satellite on top of the roof. Had they not been assured that the compound was guarded, Mila would have thought it was abandoned. No sound was heard and no light was lit. About five minutes later, they heard a car approaching and Andy drove up in front of the quiet building. Suddenly, bright red lights was turned on and a speaker sounded:

“Stop right there! Announce yourself, asshole!”

Silently, while the men talked to each other in loud voices, Mila made sure the rifle was loaded and clear, that her knife was close at hand and the gun was easy to reach for. She felt calm and breathed slowly as the front door of the building opened and two armed men came out to collect the head. She saw them clearly from her spot while resting her finger on the trigger, ready to raise her rifle and put the two men out. While staying silent, still ready to put a bullet in the two mens back heads, she heard them chuckle at the chopped off head, making fun of it. The guy holding the head turned and went inside, while the other one, a shorter guy in a leather jacket and a beanie, stayed behind with Andy. For some reason he started to whistle, a song Mila recognized as “Happy birthday”. At the same time, she felt Daryl’s fingertips softly brush the back of her hand. She shifted her gaze back to him, knowing that this was his que. Quietly, he moved out from their hiding spot behind the corner. As long as they had known each other, Mila had marveled at Daryl’s ability to move so smoothly, silently. Like a cat, despite his tall, muscular physique. Just as silently he lifted his strong arm, placed it around the man’s head, whereupon he quickly and smoothly bent it backwards and cut off the carotid artery. A guttural sound was all that came from the man’s mouth as he sank to the ground, where Daryl ended his suffering by pressing the knife right into his head. 

The rest of the group hurried out of their hiding spots. The now dead Savior was carried away and Andy was given a gun which he hid in the back of his pants. Quickly they hid again, right before the front door was opened once again. The Hilltop prisoner, Craig, and a Savior.

“Well, well… look who it is.”

Famous last words before he was pierced through the chest by a katana. Craig stumbled and was supported by Andy, while Michonne and Rick ended the Savior. Aaron dragged him away, into the bushes where they’d placed the other guy. Daryl covered Glenn and they went into the building, Mila followed closely after. Eyes forward, focused on the goal. 

Inside was almost as dull as the outside; concrete walls, concrete floor. The only light source came from sparsely placed lamps along the walls, which spread a yellow-green glow. 

“Check the doors, find the arsenal.” Rick said behind Mila.

“Will do.” Mila replied, glad to have been assigned a task. 

She and Daryl set off to search the arsenal. But before they got the chance to find it, a deafening siren made them both put their hands over their ears. Daryl pulled her towards him, pressed her up against a wall and himself in front of her, as a shield. 

“What’s that?!” Mila exclaimed with a pounding heart, surprised by the sudden shift. 

“An alarm.” Daryl exclaimed, looking around in the corridor. “They know we’re here.”

Heavy shooting, somewhere in the building, followed his words. They looked at each other, before they both set off in the direction of the shooting. Mila ran first, rifle raised in front of her. She braked when she saw Michonne, then Rick. 

“Come on, let’s go!” Rick called as he saw Mila and Daryl. 

Without hesitating, Mila set off around the corner; fearless, just as unaware of what would meet her as her grandfather when he ran into the fog in Stalingrad. Her mind was sharp, clear beyond measure as she lifted her rifle, saw a man she hadn’t seen before, aimed at him and pulled the trigger. She ran past him, towards the sound of more shooting, with the three others behind her. Daryl came up at her side, refused to let her take the lead and scurried past her. At the next corner, they stopped and pressed against the wall, to avoid ending up in the middle of the firing line.

“Screw this.” Mila panted, flushed with adrenaline. As soon as there was a break, probably to reload, she briskly walked out in the other corridor, only to stand face to face with not less than two men with automatic rifles in their arms. “Hello boys.” She said untouched, before raising her rifle and mowing them down like skittles on the bowling alley. 

They then continued down the corridor’s end, where Daryl started to work on the locked door with his automatic. Mila peeked through the small, square window, and managed to duck just in time before it shattered by a bullet. 

“Son of a bi-” Daryl shoutet. At the same time he hit the handle so hard that the lock broke and fell off. The door flew up and Daryl crashed through it, just in time to knock down the man who had shot through the glass window at her. With full force Daryl began to beat the man with the handle of the weapon, all while cursing at him. “That’s my goddamn wife ya’ fucking… piece… of…-”

If Mila hadn’t dragged Daryl away from him, he probably had turned that already dead bastard into minced meat. 

“I love you.” She said in passing as she got him up from the ground, high on the rush and a little excited about the fact of being defended as his ‘goddamn wife’. But it wasn’t really the right time to feel raunchy. 

They must have lasted longer than it felt like in there, taking out Savior after Savior, because when they finally got out of the building it was bright, probably early in the morning. Again, they were sweaty, bloodthirsty and high on the rush. They had survived. Everything had gone according to plan. 

Mila leaned up against Daryl, pressed her body against his and felt his arms wrap around her as she rested her head against his chest. 

“We did good.” She sighed. “We did good.”

“Sure did.” Daryl placed a long kiss on her head, pressed her closer against him. 

While they stood there, the others moved across the area, to make sure no Savior managed to escape. Mila allowed herself to close her eyes, a standing rest in Daryl’s arms. She so desperately wished they were back in Alexandria, preferably in bed in the abandoned townhouse. It had been a short but passionate honeymoon; she hoped they could get an exemption for one more night on their own when they returned. Carol hopefully wouldn’t mind taking care of Juri again and make sure he got to bed. She felt a carnal hunger like no other for her husband; wanted to enjoy him, body and soul, without a tight deadline. 

Her thoughts were interrupted by a clattering sound. Shooting. The next moment she hit the ground and felt Daryl’s body on top of her. More shootings, this time from their own group. No, she was not met. Daryl seemed okay too, acting as a living shield for her.

“Ya’ alright?”

“Yeah.” She gasped.

Daryl lifted his weight from her and helped her up from the dry grass, just in time to see a door open and a man running out and fled. Without a word, Daryl began to sprint and threw himself around the waist of the fugitive. They wrestled on the ground, knuckles and fists flew through the air as the others ran towards them. They rounded up, pointing their guns at the man on the ground, now bleeding from both his mouth and nose.

“Just do it!” The man exclaimed, sputtering blood all around himself as he shouted, as Rick’s hammer clicked. “Like you did with everyone else, right!?” 

“You won’t have to ask twice.” Mila said with a wry grin. 

A crackling sound, followed by a beep, made them all jump on the spot. What the fuck was that? Mila searched around the area, let her gaze sweep over the grass, the building, the woods, without seeing anyone. That’s when her eyes dropped and landed on the walkie-talkie on the ground next to the bleeding Savior’s head. It talked.  

“Lower your gun, prick. You, with the Colt Python. All of you, lower your weapons now.”

[princessanneftw]

How Princess Anne became the shining light of the beleaguered monarchy

Once seen as haughty and aloof, today her old-school approach has never been more in demand

By Camilla Tominey, Associate Editor of the Telegraph.

Visitors to the Princess Royal’s house, Gatcombe Park, are often surprised to be greeted with antique-display cases groaning with ornaments, bookshelves overflowing with hardbacks and piles of magazines dating back to the 1970s. According to one friend, the 18th-century Grade II-listed Gloucestershire stately has a ‘homely’ feel, thanks to the frugal Princess’s reluctance to throw anything out.

‘It’s quite a nice thing really,’ they said. ‘There’s barely a place you can sit down in her house. Every time the staff go in there they try to take something away.’ A surprising revelation, perhaps, about the Royal family’s resident stickler, whose decadesold ‘updo’ and penchant for wearing white gloves on royal engagements suggest a somewhat starchier outlook. But as the Queen’s only daughter prepares to celebrate her 70th birthday this month, it seems that appearances can be rather deceiving.

Now more valuable than ever to an institution not only trying to reposition itself in the wake of a global pandemic, but still smarting from the fallout of Megxit and the Duke of York’s association with Jeffrey Epstein, Anne’s old-school approach has never been more in demand. Despite describing herself as ‘the boring old fuddy-duddy at the back’, who keeps reminding the younger royals not to forgo ‘the basics’, the Princess Royal, who has always put duty first, is finally getting the recognition she deserves.

Her appearance in June alongside the 94-year-old monarch for Her Majesty’s first ever video call shows how much the Queen is coming to rely on the Princess. And the public response to her appearing to snub Donald Trump during a Nato leaders’ reception at Buckingham Palace last December suggests the nation is finally warming to her modus operandi.

Where once Anne was regarded as haughty and standoffish, she is now hailed as one of the great English eccentrics whose unparalleled royal work ethic, carrying out more than 500 engagements a year, has rightly earned her national treasure status.

And having allowed a film crew to shadow her for the past year, the Princess, who is usually reluctant to blow her own trumpet, has never appeared more at ease with herself. She was persuaded to take part in last week’s ITV documentary Princess Royal: Anne at 70 because its makers, Oxford Films, had successfully produced Our Queen and Our Queen at 90 about her mother. Shadowing Anne on her dusk-to-dawn engagements – and featuring interviews with her children Peter, 42, and Zara, 39 – the documentary revealed just how much the Princess is cut from the Queen’s ‘keep calm and carry on’ cloth.

Having been regarded as a bit of a royal renegade as a teenager – and chosen to forgo titles for her own children, despite her own HRH pedigree as a ‘spare to the heir’ – Anne’s life story is a contradiction of both protocol taskmaster and occasional rule-breaker. As one insider who knows the Princess well put it: ‘She can turn from laughing and joking one minute to being an absolute stickler for the rules the next. She’s extremely dutiful and would hate to be regarded as being on the wrong side of protocol. You’d never dream of asking her a political question and she’s not at all gossipy.’

Erin Doherty’s portrayal of Anne in The Crown, as the deadpan princess with the permanently raised eyebrow, certainly sums up her teenage years when the Queen and the Duke of Edinburgh were apparently so concerned about their daughter’s lack of direction, they asked the late Dame Vera Lynn for advice. Prince Philip, who famously joked of his daughter, ‘If it doesn’t fart or eat hay then she isn’t interested,’ allegedly confided in the Forces’ sweetheart: ‘We are concerned about Anne at the moment, trying to get her to make up her mind about what she wants to do.’

According to her school friend, Sandra de Laszlo, who boarded with Anne at Benenden: ‘She was a very normal teenager – sensible and fun.’ Leaving school with six O levels and two A levels in 1968, Anne had already resolved to follow in her parents’ duteous footsteps. Less than a year later, she made her official debut on 1 March – St David’s Day – when she handed out leeks to the Welsh Guards at Pirbright Camp in Surrey. It was to be the start of one of the most industrious royal careers in modern memory – with more than 20,000 engagements clocked up since.

Soon after she started work, she began dating – and in 1970, Anne’s first boyfriend was Andrew Parker Bowles, the dashing young adjutant of the Blues and Royals, who went on to marry Camilla Shand – later to become her sister-in-law, the Duchess of Cornwall. The Princess and the brigadier – described as her ‘horsey husband’ – remain close and accompany each other to Royal Ascot and other race meetings every year.

Anne is also on good terms with her first husband, Captain Mark Phillips. A Sandhurst graduate with an equestrian streak, like Parker Bowles, Phillips met the Princess at a party for horse lovers in 1968 and reconnected at the Munich Olympics four years later, when he won team Olympic gold in the three-day eventing. They married in 1973. He was at the then 23-year-old Anne’s side a year later when she was threatened at gunpoint in an attempted kidnapping. The couple were returning to Buckingham Palace following a charity event when their limousine was forced to stop on the Mall by another car. When the driver, Ian Ball, jumped out and began shooting, Anne’s bodyguard, Inspector James Beaton, was injured, along with her chauffeur Alex Callender, and journalist Brian McConnell and Michael Hills, a police constable, who happened upon the scene.

But the attempt to hold Anne to ransom for at least £2 million is even more memorable thanks to the impervious Princess’s refusal to obey Ball’s order to get out of the car, replying with a trademark: ‘Not bloody likely!’ Eventually, she exited the other side of the limousine, as had her lady-in-waiting, Rowena Brassey (who is still with her to this day). A passing pedestrian, a former boxer named Ron Russell, punched Ball in the back of the head and led Anne away from the scene. Anne later told officers: ‘It was all so infuriating; I kept saying I didn’t want to get out of the car, and I was not going to get out of the car,’ according to files later released by the National Archives. ‘I nearly lost my temper with him, but I knew that if I did, I should hit him and he would shoot me.’

She was similarly sanguine about becoming the first member of the Royal family to have a criminal conviction after one of her dogs, a three-year-old English bull terrier called Dotty, attacked two children in Windsor Great Park in 2002. Pleading guilty to being in charge of a dog that was out of control in a public area, she insisted on no special treatment and took the £500 fine and £500 compensation on the chin.

The incident followed a number of brushes with the law for motoring offences, with Anne having twice been caught speeding on the M1 in the 1970s. She was also fined £100 and banned for one month in 1990 for two speeding offences and fined another £400 in 2000. On both occasions she pleaded guilty immediately, insisting she was late for an engagement.

As she said in the documentary, mistakes do happen when there is no ‘training’ for the job of being royal. ‘It’s just learning by experience. But hardly ever does anything go quite according to plan. You have to learn that.’ It wasn’t as if she didn’t feel the pressure of being the sovereign’s second-born, either – once describing the fly-on-the-wall Royal Family film, which followed the Windsors for a year in the late 1960s, as ‘a rotten idea’.

‘The attention that had been brought on one ever since one was a child, you just didn’t want any more. The last thing you needed was greater access.’

Famed for telling reporters to ‘naff orf ’, much of Anne’s mistrust of the media appears to stem from its rather uncomfortable coverage of Phillips fathering a love child, Felicity, with New Zealand art teacher Heather Tonkin in 1985. The Princess didn’t emerge unblemished either, having been revealed by The Sun to have received love letters from Tim Laurence, then the Queen’s equerry, in 1989, when she was separated – although still married to Phillips.

Anne and Mark finally divorced in 1992 and the Princess remarried eight months later, choosing Crathie Kirk in Scotland, as the Church of England did not at that time allow divorced persons whose former spouses were still living to remarry in its churches. The Prince of Wales had nicknamed Phillips ‘Fog’ on the grounds that he was ‘thick and wet’; but with his Royal Navy pedigree and impeccable manners, ‘quiet man’ Laurence fitted into the Royal family perfectly. One friend described the vice admiral as ‘a thoroughly decent man who never forgets a face’, before adding that ‘some may regard him as a little bit boring, but he’s a much safer bet than Mark ever was.’

Ever the pragmatist, Anne allowed Phillips to remain living on the Gatcombe estate, even after he married Sandy Pflueger, an American Olympic dressage rider, with whom he has a daughter, Stephanie, 22. As one equestrian insider put it: ‘The horsey set has always been very incestuous. Yes, Mark was serially unfaithful but there’s a lot of that going on – Anne just turned a blind eye.’

Now divorced from Pflueger, Phillips, 71, has vacated Aston Farm on the 730-acre estate, to make way for Zara, her rugbyplayer husband Mike Tindall, 41, and their daughters Mia, six, and Lena, two.

Peter also lives on the estate with his estranged wife Autumn, 42, and their daughters Savannah, nine, and Isla, eight. The couple are still living together despite announcing their divorce in January – an unexpected development that has left the Princess ‘sad and disappointed’, according to insiders.

One source said: ‘One thing about the Royal family is they are incredibly close. They are the most dysfunctional family there is, but the Princess and her children and grandchildren are as tight as anything.’

As ever, horse riding remains the tie that binds, with Anne – a former European eventing champion, BBC Sports Personality of the Year and competitor at the 1976 Montreal Olympics – passing on her enthusiasm for the sport to Zara. In recent years, Peter has taken over the running of the Festival of British Eventing at Gatcombe.

By her own admission, breaking with royal tradition by insisting that her children were called Mr and Miss ‘probably’ made life ‘easier for them’. ‘I think most people would argue that there are downsides to having titles,’ Anne said recently. Having initially been brought up, Downton Abbey-style, on the ‘nursery floor’, with her parents often away for months on end on royal tours, it was Anne who insisted she go to a ‘proper’ school – the first daughter of a monarch to do so – rather than be home-taught.

Both Peter and Zara were sent to Port Regis, a co-educational prep school in Dorset, before following in their uncle Charles’s footsteps to board at Gordonstoun in Scotland. Unlike the heir to the throne, who described it as ‘Colditz in kilts’, they thrived in the outdoorsiness of it all, excelled at sport and both ended up at Exeter University – Peter to study sports science and Zara, physiotherapy – despite university having eluded both their parents.

Zara also surpassed her mother’s equestrian achievements by winning the Eventing World Championships in 2006 and a silver medal at the 2012 Olympics – all while Anne was watching proudly from the sidelines.

One friend recalls how the Princess would think nothing of queuing up for the Portaloos at competitions like any other parent, much to the horror of Zara, who would tell her: ‘Mum, you can’t do that!’

Inconspicuous in her trademark Barbour jacket, tweed hat and sunglasses, Anne would regularly be stopped at events on her own estate by police not realising who she was. ‘I remember it happening a couple of times,’ said one source. ‘She was very good about it – she said: “Don’t worry, you weren’t to know.”’

After Zara collected individual and team gold medals at the 2005 European Eventing Championship in Blenheim, Anne invited the entire team, grooms and all, back to Gatcombe to celebrate, serving up ‘sandwiches and scampi in a basket’, in the courtyard. Very much a hands-on mother and grandmother, the Princess has a number of long-serving aides – but no large entourage. Along with Rowena Brassey (now Feilden), Lady Carew Pole has also been the Princess’s lady-in-waiting since 1970.

Unfussy Anne still insists on doing her own make-up and hair – which hasn’t been let down publicly in decades. Although according to one source who once witnessed the rare sight of her unclipping her bun and redoing it during an equestrian event: ‘It really is quite something. It’s still as long as it was when she was in her 20s.’

Part of Anne’s agelessness is down to genes. ‘She always says she doesn’t have very good role models for slowing down,’ Peter told the documentary. As Countryfile presenter John Craven found out when he dared to ask if Anne still rode, only to be rebuked: ‘Her Majesty is still riding, so come on!’ But as well as inheriting her mother’s DNA she shares HM’s strict adherence to style codes – and her aversion to profligacy.

Guests at the 2008 wedding of Lady Rose Windsor, the daughter of the Duke of Gloucester, were astonished when Anne arrived in the outfit she had worn to her brother’s wedding to Lady Diana Spencer, 27 years earlier. The size-10 Maureen Baker floral-print frock still fitted perfectly.

Quite what Anne must have made of Diana and Fergie’s wardrobe expenditure in the 1980s has never been disclosed – although it has long been reported that the Princess never thought too highly of either sister-in-law, regarding Diana particularly as ‘hogging the limelight’.

There were even reports that she viewed the pair as ‘lessening the stature’ of the Royal family, describing them behind the scenes as ‘those girls’. As royal biographer Penny Junor put it: ‘There was Diana on the one hand, who was incredibly touchy-feely, who hugged children, who put children on her lap, who even kissed people in public. And there was Anne, not touching anyone, not playing up to the cameras at all.’

As far removed from the suburban housewife as you can get, when Anne was once spotted mending fences at Gatcombe, she apparently retorted: ‘Somebody’s got to do it!’ ‘She’s never shirked anything in her life,’ said a friend. ‘She’s a real grafter.’

Weekends will invariably be spent with her four grandchildren. Revealing a surprising knowledge of popular culture – despite her dislike of indoor pursuits – the Princess revealed her familiarity with Catherine Tate’s stroppy schoolgirl character Lauren when she commented that Mia’s attitude to equestrianism was, ‘Am I bovvered?’

‘She’s superb with the kids,’ said a friend. ‘She’ll often be in the stables with the grandchildren. She’s got a tremendous sense of humour and is very likeable and kind. She loves Mike [Tindall, Zara’s husband]. He makes them all laugh.

The friend also pointed to Anne’s ‘surprisingly fruity’ sense of humour, adding: ‘And the Princess can swear all right. I’ve heard her use some quite colourful language.’

If the Queen instilled in Anne a love of horses then it was her father who encouraged her other great passion in life: sailing. Anne would regularly accompany the former Royal Navy commander to Cowes Week, and it is a testament to Philip’s infectious love of seafaring that Anne and Tim have kept their yacht Ballochbuie on Loch Craignish in Argyll, since 2012. The couple enjoy nothing more than cruising around the Inner Hebrides, where Anne indulges her passion of visiting lighthouses. She is patron of the Northern Lighthouse Board and is understood to have ‘bagged’ more than half of the UK’s 206.

But it hasn’t always been so easy combining work and pleasure. Anne was put to the diplomatic test when she became the first member of the Royal family to visit the USSR, at the invitation of the then-leader Gorbachev in 1990. In typical style, the Princess didn’t shirk the responsibility – and stayed for two whole weeks. Visits to war zones including Sierra Leone, Mozambique and Bosnia have been similarly taxing – with Anne once insisting after a particularly gruelling tour of Africa: ‘I don’t come here looking for trouble. I come to see if I can help.’

Her association with Save the Children, which dates back to 1970, has seen her slum it on camp beds and visit disease-ravaged Mozambique refugee camps. Once urged by photographers to hug an emaciated child, she refused, saying, ‘I don’t do stunts.’ And in response to a comment on her supposed lack of the maternal instinct, she said: ‘You don’t have to like children particularly to want to give them a decent chance in life.’

Yet her reputation as one of the most diligent royals ever has also been honed by her dedication to little-known domestic causes, like the Wetwheels Foundation, which provides ‘barrier-free boating’ for the disabled. One of more than 300 charities the Princess is involved with, its founder Geoff Holt, a paraplegic who was the first disabled person to sail solo around Britain in 2007, and then across the Atlantic in 2010, has known Anne for over 30 years. ‘I’ve got photos of us going back decades. I’ve got older and older and she’s stayed the same,’ he joked.

‘She’s got to be one of the most hard-working people I know. I’ve never known anything like it – the amount of engagements she packs in. She doesn’t do sycophancy, though.

Michele Jennings, chief executive of Hearing Dogs for the Deaf, of which the Princess has been patron since 1992, also tells staff ‘not to fawn’ when the Princess visits. ‘She hates that,’ she said. ‘We’re a pretty down-to-earth charity and when she comes she’ll have dogs jumping at her shins and crawling all over her, but she doesn’t mind one bit. There’s no awkwardness.’

Another source revealed how during one royal visit, Anne had joked about missing out on all the posh canapés – royals are discouraged from eating in public. ‘I’ll just have to put up with Great Western’s finest,’ she quipped, referring to her train journey home.

Although a ‘daddy’s girl’ growing up, since the Queen Mother and Princess Margaret died in 2002, Anne has become ever more devoted to her mother. Having helped to counsel the Queen through many royal crises over the years, the Princess has been HM’s first port of call when discussing recent tumultuous royal events. Although one can only guess what stalwart Anne makes of Harry and Meghan’s behaviour, she has made no secret of her opposition to royals trying to modernise the institution, seemingly referring to the Sussexes when she remarked recently: ‘I don’t think this younger generation probably understands what I was doing in the past and it’s often true, isn’t it? You don’t necessarily look at the previous generation and say, “Oh, you did that?” Or, “You went there?” Nowadays, they’re much more looking for, “Oh, let’s do it a new way.” I’m already at the stage [of ], please do not reinvent that particular wheel. We’ve been there, done that. Some of these things don’t work. You may need to go back to basics.’

When she turned 60, the Queen elevated Anne to the Order of the Thistle and there was a joint birthday party with Andrew, who was 50 that year. But Covid-19 – not to mention Andrew’s fall from grace – mean this year’s celebrations will be more muted. Indeed, she is not thought to have had much contact with her brother, with whom she shares a love of country pursuits, but little else.

With the Queen having been self-isolating at Windsor Castle since March, it is thought Anne will be reunited with her parents at Balmoral this summer, where she and Tim will once again take in Scotland’s sights by sea.

At a time when the monarchy finds itself somewhat cast adrift, it is the indefatigable Princess Royal who is proving to be its trustiest anchor. As she prepares to turn 70, showing no sign of slowing down after half a century of engagements, lighthouse-lover Anne has become the Royal family’s beacon of good, old-fashioned public service.

[ohnopoe]

It Can Wait | Inspector Sullivan

Ship: Inspector Sullivan x Reader Prompt: “It can wait until tomorrow” Word Count: 1.6k+ Tagging: @hawkerz12​

He was too confident of his plan. He should have known that from the start, should have known the way everything had been falling together so easily would have meant he was doomed to failure. But his usual doubts and fears always had a way of slipping away when you were nearby, and somehow you had managed to instill in him something he had missed for far too long- hope.

The suit he wore was the perfect mixture of casual and formal, a light shade of creme that you had commented on before, loving the way it fit him so perfectly, yet gave just a hint of a side only you truly knew; a more relaxed man, and not just the Inspector the town had come to know.

Even his tie had been picked especially, a gift you had given him for his birthday; although you still refused to tell him exactly how you had found out the date.

This day was bound to be special, he was so damned certain.

And then Father Brown came to his office.

He refused to believe the Father, refused to imagine Flambeau would crash the gallery opening when there were so many guards and police securing it. But more than that, he didn’t want to believe it. It was all too important, he had been so certain of the date, and just the thought of Flambeau wreaking havoc was enough to have him on edge. But still, he did his best to ignore the thought.

Technically speaking he was working, you both knew it, but that didn’t stop the day from being something of a date. He had picked you up early in the morning, making sure to open every door for you and simply spending every moment he could at your side.

The ride to the gallery had been almost amusing as you struggled to find a mid-point between formality and romance as you sat in the front of the police car in your best dress. The event was bound to be thrilling, even if you knew you’d be spending most of your time without the man at your side, but in those few moments alone you could almost pretend it was just a normal date that any normal couple might attend.

You were allowed in early thanks to arriving with the inspector, his job at hand giving him special permission to enter before the public, and for a few short minutes you got to experience the glory of the art with the man of your dreams. Without a crowd to force your way through, or the chattering of guests making conversation impossible, you could wander the halls with your arm wrapped in his as a comfortable silence fell throughout the gallery.

But the peace was over far too soon, and far earlier than he had hoped. The rumbling sound of footsteps making their way up the stairs had you smiling sadly at him as you slowly untwined your arm from his, knowing your time together was coming to an end. With a quick kiss to his cheek that still, after all this time, never failed to make the man blush slightly, you stepped back.

“I’ll see you later,” you promised, eyes taking in the way be fumbled slightly at the tiniest bit of affection, making for a far more beautiful sight than any of the masterpieces before you could ever dream of. “Maybe I can slip you a glass of champagne when no one’s looking.”

A huff of laughter was all he could offer in return before you found yourself being carried away by the crowd of eager guests, soon losing sight of him.

The day seemed to linger on, taking its time at a glacial pace. The artwork was beautiful, of that there was no doubt, but after doing the rounds once you found yourself at a loss as to what to do. It seemed Sid, Mrs McCarthy and Father Brown were up to some form of mischief, and with every dull moment, the temptation to join them only grew.

But where Father Brown was, chaos was sure to follow. You were already on the landing, enjoying a moment of peace when it happened. You could distinctly remember the way Sid tried to usher you away with Mrs McCarthy and Lady Felicia, but you remained resolute, trying to see through the crowd to find Sullivan as people rushed by in a panic.

You barely caught his eye before he was yelling for you to go, to get out quickly. But you weren’t about to leave him to whatever danger lay within the room. A single step towards him was all you managed before you felt one of the young officers begin to guide you away as Sullivan yelled once more towards you, now demanding the man get you away from there no matter what.

Fear gripped you as you stood outside the gallery, waiting torturously for the inspector to finally leave the damned building. The building must have been nearly empty judging by the mass of people congregated on the sidewalk, all hurriedly making their ways towards cars as they stumbled away from the building, but still he didn’t appear. Your anxiety only grew with each passing moment, and you were ready to force your way back inside if he didn’t come out soon.

The crowd had already rushed off by the time you finally saw him emerge from the building, easing your worried mind in an instant as you saw he wasn’t injured as you had feared. But as you smiled towards him his features only fell further in return. The irritation you could see even from your spot against his car quickly morphed into a deep sadness.

Standing up from your position against the car, you couldn’t help but frown as you watched him move closer, Sergeant Goodfellow hot on his tail as he simply gestured for you to get in. They didn’t so much as pause in their discussion as you both climbed into the car, but the way the inspector glanced over towards you quickly before straightening up in his seat did nothing to calm your nerves.

“Something’s wrong, isn’t it?” you were almost scared to speak up as he started the car, fearful of what was to come, yet not daring to prolong the moment. You needed to know what had him so tense.

At first you had thought it was just Flambeau and his antics, after all you had overheard the Father’s worries on the matter not a day earlier. But the way he looked at you, the despair and anguish in his gaze, the way he avoided meeting your eye… you knew it was something far more personal.

“It can wait until tomorrow,” he sighed, the tense way his muscles seemed to clench relaxing somewhat as he spoke. But you felt no relief at the sight. It wasn’t a sense of calm that washed over him, but rather a sense of utter resignation that hurt far more than his anger ever could.

“Tom,” you drew out his name softly, shaking him from his thoughts at the simple syllable. It was so rare that he heard his first name now that he was away from London, away from his family. You had been so careful to keep propriety, to only refer to him as you ought to do, the name almost felt foreign to his ears.

But then there were those moments where it would fall from your lips in a sigh, usually filled with bliss as you both lost yourselves for a few minutes of indecency before you would remember yourselves, removing your lips from whatever skin was exposed,, blushing heavily and unable to meet each other’s gaze as you tried desperately to remind yourselves of society’s rules, and your places within it.

His attention moved from the road ahead to you in an instant, mouth hanging open in surprise, only to shut it quickly as he saw the look on your features. You were clearly torn, wanting to help him through whatever was plaguing him yet not wanting to push.

It was harder to pull his gaze away from you than he would like to admit, although, that was hardly anything new. “Not like this,” the words barely crept over his lips, sounding like a prayer as he uttered them to himself more than anything, shaking his head in refute.

But it only made your worry deepen.

“Please,” you pleaded softly, gently coaxing him to open up to you. “You’re starting to worry me.”

Shaking his head, you could see his resolve cracking before you, and with a heavy sigh he gave in. “I was going to ask you to marry me.”

The silence that filled the car was not the same comforting one you had come to know so well. Instead it felt awkward and thick between you. Too stunned to reply, you were comically still in the passenger seat as Sullivan desperately watched the road as if it may disappear before his eyes, unable to bring himself to even let his peripheral vision take in whatever your response might have been.

Moments spread out before you, realisation slowly dawning on you as you considered every moment in careful detail. The anxious smiles he had thrown your way, the way his hand kept coming back to hold onto you reassuringly, the relief in his smile every time he saw you from across the hall, the effort he had gone to to make sure his clothing was utterly pristine, the nervous way he stumbled over his words more than once when he had grown so comfortable with you usually.

“The answer would have been yes,” you spoke softly, almost scared to break the silence, but glad you did when you saw him relax slightly at the words, a hint of a smile beginning to take over his features. “It still is, if the offer is still on the table.”

[kind-wolf]

Happy Birthday 

to one of the loveliest people I have the pleasure to call friend! 

@angelaiswriting​

I wrote you a little story. Although it just recently dawned on me that I f*cked up by showing you the writing from my prime time. In comparison, this seems a bit lame. But I did my best. Hope you can enjoy it at least a little!

"You can not just get her flowers for her birthday, Volodya!" Anatoly insisted.

"She's also getting this." his brother replied, suggestively grabbing between his legs.

Anatoly sighed for what felt like the hundredth time that day. He was no expert in women and relationships either, (he still thinks it was pure luck that brought him and his wife together), but he was certain that giving your girlfriend only flowers and sex on her birthday, was not a good idea. And it certainly was not enough for a woman that puts up with his brother.

And as soon as he voiced that very thought, Vladimir rounded on him, scowl deeply etched into his features. "What do you mean put up with me?"

Toly, long used to his brother's temper only leveled him with a look.

And thus Volodya ended the discussion by huffing and storming into his office.

But in private, Vladimir couldn't help but think about his brother's words. Angela and him were so different, she was sweet and innocent, far too good compared to his calloused hardness, yet she doesn't seem deterred by his gruff behavior. But she is probably expecting more from him in this case. Something nice. Like her.

They had met in the little Russian corner store Ulyana always insisted to go to when he helped her with her groceries. It had been obvious, not only to him but also to the old Lady that this young woman was somewhat lost between all those foreign products. If it had been for Vladimir, he wouldn't have spared her a second glance, but of course, Ulyana insisted he goes and offers some help. And there was a glint in the old woman's eyes, he didn't like. Not one bit.

From that moment on, things escalated quickly. So quickly in fact that he can barely recall how it all happened. But here he was, months later, thinking about whatever birthday present his girlfriend wants. Fuck.

Days. Fucking days, countless packs of cigarettes and a very persistent headache later, he finally figured something out. It was perfect for her.

He would have to suffer though. But what is a little suffering after spending years in that shithole in siberia?

Also, a small part of him felt gleeful over the fact that it wasn't something she could or would want to return, even when she some day inevitably decides to leave him. This will be something from him that stays with her. A constant reminder.

~~~~~~~~~

Working on your own birthday sucked. Not that you had any big plans. It was a weekday and everyone had to work, so you figured you'd have a nice dinner with Vladimir, his brother and your friends on the following weekend.

You perked up a little when you came through the door of Vladimir's (who were you kidding? You basically lived here.) apartment and saw that the lights were on. He was home. Unusually early. Another exception made for you, after already getting up early today to get you fresh & gluten-free cupcakes, coffee and flowers before you had to go to work. You smiled to yourself. The softie.

When you entered the living room where he was sat watching some serial killer documentary with a drink in hand, you immediately spotted something out of the ordinary in the corner. Something big and square that was hidden underneath two blankets.

"Hey Volodya!" you greeted him with a chaste kiss after plopping down besides him. "What's this in the corner?"

He grinned. "Suprise for my birthday girl." When you sat up, clearly intending to have a look, he grabbed you around the waist and pulled you closer to him again. "For later." he amended. And to effectively distract you, his other hand came up to gently grasp your chin and guide you to him.

Kissing Vladimir still gave you butterflies every time. He always saw himself as this rough gangster, but when he kissed you his true self always shone through. It wasn't harsh or demanding. Sure, sometimes it was rough and dominating, but only in those moments. In general, it felt like the perfect mixture of adoration and passion. He rarely says how he feels. In fact, he had only ever said I love you once. But his kisses, they tell you every day.

It took you a second to get your bearings when Vlad pulled back. "Go get changed in something comfortable. We're picking your birthday present."

You were confused. "I'm supposed to pick my own present?"

"Don't start with that look. You'll like it. Promise." Vladimir assured you, giving you a rare genuine smile.

"Fiiiiine."

It wasn't long before Volodya pulled into the parking lot of a building, you had walked by a thousand times but never dared to go inside.

"The dog shelter!?" you exclaimed, voice raising with excitement. "We're getting a dog?l"

"You are getting a dog. You always wanted one, no?"

Instead of using words, you answered him by basically leaping across the seats and smothering him in kisses. "Thankyouthankyouthankyou!"

Vladimir chuckled and carefully pushed you away. "Enough. I thought dog might try to lick my face. Not you."

You wiggled your eyebrows playfully. "I know, you prefer when I lick something else."

"Don't start. Get out. Before I change my mind." Vlad growled, not able to hide his grin at the end.

He was probably bluffing, but still, you wouldn't take the chance and quickly hopped out of the car, almost running to the entrance.

In the last second however, Vlad caught up to you and stopped you by grabbing your wrist. "Before we go inside, you have to promise one thing, Мышка."

He was using his serious gangster tone, as you liked to call it, so you just nodded, waiting for him to go on.

"It will not sleep in bed."

"But if it's..."

"нет!"

"But when you're..."

"Not in bed."

"Alright, alright."

When you two stepped thru the door and up to the counter, the woman behind it greeted you with a friendly smile. "Ah, Mr. Miller, back with your wife now I see!"

You startled, confused not only at the way she greeted Vladimir, but also at the word wife.

Before you could correct her, Vlad gave her his version of a friendly smile. "Yes. She can pick one now."

She directed another smile at you. "Very well. Let me just get my colleague, she'll show you around."

As soon as she was out of earshot, you turned to Vlad, eyes still wide. "Mr. Miller? Wife? What? You've been here before? What?"

Vlad snorted at your obvious confusion. "да. Been here and asked what we need for dog. And to get papers ready. With fake information."

"So that's the box in the living room." you mused out loud. And before your brain could catch up with your mouth, you added: "You shouldn't have made me your wife. I don't even wear a ring."

Vlad gave you one of his calculating looks, where you couldn't tell what was going on in his brain. "So, you don't want to be my wife. I'll remember that."

"Oh. I- I didn't... That's not.. " you stuttered, face heating up immediately. That was really not what you were thinking. It just caught you off guard. Especially since you didn't think he would be the kind of guy that thinks about marriage.

Volodya's quiet chuckle and his hand squeezing yours stopped your brain from going into overdrive. "Мышка, it was joke!"

Thankfully you were saved from further stuttering by the woman returning with her colleague.

Time to pick your new companion!!

~~~~~~~~~~

Vladimir couldn't stop the smile from showing on his face as Angela's eyes lit up at seeing the first dog.

"Look Volodya! He's so fluffy!"

"Awww! Such a cute snout!"

"Those eyes!"

"What tiny paws!"

"See how she's wagging her tail!"

"His fur is sooo smooth!"

"Naww! How gentle he is!"

It went on like this for what felt like forever. And he knew they would spend the whole night here if he doesn't reign her in.

He stepped closer to the bars of the cage she was currently petting a little creme-colored rat-chaser. "You have to pick one Мышка. You know that?"

Her head whipped up and her mouth opened, ready to protest, but it seemed that reality slowly dawned on her.

The light in her eyes dimmed a bit. "I know. But howww?"

He extended his hand for her to take. "Pick one. If you don't like it we bring it back." Vlad offered with a shrug.

Instead of taking his hand Angela smacked his arm. "What? No! Don't be mean."

"Just pick one." he grumbled in return, clearly not seeing an issue with his statement.

She wandered slowly along the cages, Vladimir silently following behind.

"I- I think it's that one. He just looks so sad." Her voice nearly cracked when she crouched down and stuck her hand thru the bars of one cage.

Vladimir, feeling this weird prickling in his chest, crouched down beside her and pulled her against him with an arm around her shoulders. "Won't be sad anymore when he's with you."

A tiny smile from her was all the confirmation he needed. So he pulled her to her feet and gestured to the employee that has been waiting at the end of the corridor.

And since Mr. Miller had been here the day before, only the dog's information needed to be filled into the adoption papers before they could get out of there.

Angela struggled to carry the slightly too-big-to-be-carried-by-her dog, but she insisted on carrying her new baby.

"I really hope the other dogs will get adopted too." She said, while they waited at the counter.

Before he could comment, the employee came back with the papers. She handed Vladimir the dog's ID and told him the adoption fee.

Angela's concerns fresh in mind, Vlad hesitated only a moment before thinking fuck it and pulling a thick wad of cash from his pocket.

As soon as he pushed it over the counter, the woman's eyes went wide. "Sir, that's... that's way too much, we only ask for..."

"Rest is donation." He cut her off, with a tone that made it clear there would be no further talk about it.

"Oh. Ah, thank you then. And I hope you will be happy with the new addition to your family."

Once again a smile plastered on her face, Angela thanked the woman before walking out the door Vladimir was holding open for her.

"That was really sweet Volodya!"

He glared at her, even tho he already knew it didn't have that much effect on her anymore. "Get in car."

Angela giggled, knowing he hated it when she pointed out his soft moments.

It's been a week. A week with that little furry pest.

And while Vladimir usually looked forward to coming home, especially knowing she was there, waiting for him, his excitement was slightly dimmed these days. It wasn't that he doesn't enjoy seeing her so happy. He did. It was just, that dog needed too much attention. He couldn't even sit down and have a drink and just be, after a long day surrounded by idiots, before that little thing was climbing into his lap, trying them like his face, or even worse, chewing on the seam of his pants.

This day when he closed the door of his apartment though, it was eerily quiet. And neither Angela nor the dog came to greet him, despite it being not that late at all. He scowled but resisted the urge to immediately reach for his gun. With slow and silent steps he crept through the hall.

His posture relaxed though, when he stepped into the living room.

There, in between a mess of toys the two were. Curled up and peacefully sleeping on the floor in front of the couch.

Vladimir's little scoff must have finally alerted the dog to his presence because he blinked at him and thumped his little tail against the floor.

"You have to get better at guarding your мама." Vlad mumbled while slowly approaching them and bending down to pick Angela up. She stirred when he pushed his arms under her, so he tried to sooth her. "Shhh Мышка, 's just me. I'm taking you to bed."

Despite his efforts, her eyes slowly blinked open, while he walked to the bedroom. "But I still gotta walk him."

Vladimir tried to keep his face neutral and suppressed a sigh. Still, his voice sounded grumpy, even in his own ears. "I will do it."

"But, you don't want to." Despite her protest, her eyes were already closing again while he placed her onto the bed and put the blanket over her.

"Sleep, Мышка." He insisted, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of her head.

So there he was, walking the dog.

Suffering, just as he predicted.

Was it worth it tho?

да, she was worth it.

[thebeautyofdisorder]

The Undone & The Divine (BBC Dracula) - Chapter 6

A/N: Longest chapter yet! And also the smuttiest. Though not exactly in the way you might expect… Basically, Drac deliberately takes advantage of his and Zoe's mental ties

Pairing: Dracula & Zoe/Agatha, Dracula/OFC 

Rating: M (as of this chapter), for blood, language, insinuations of violence, voyeurism, vampiric mind-tricks of a sexual nature, some semi-predatory behavior by some very human males, some very predatory behavior by one immortal bastard, and smut. 

Chapters 1-2 Here - Chapter 3 Here - Chapter 4 Here - Chapter 5 Here

Can be found on AO3 - Right HERE - or enjoy below the cut 

Chapter 6

Appetite decidedly ruined, at least for the time being, Dracula had taken to the streets of London and began to walk them with the single-minded effort to put distance between him and any events that had previously transpired. He was not used to allowing anyone else the last word – Lucy had once pointed out that he often killed anyone before they could give it, but even so. Not being the clear cut dominant party in any scenario left him disgruntled and however novel the experience, confused - a most unnatural state. And not the only one plaguing him either. 

Trudging might have been a better placed verb for the stalking, almost antsy pace he kept, potentially for hours. He didn’t keep time. It wasn’t as though it would tire him out, and the dawn was no longer a threat. In fact, he quite liked to watch the sun reach her penultimate peak.  It was still hours out from the gradual brightening of the horizon when, as he paced through an otherwise deserted back alley to avoid a torrent of rowdy youths exiting a rather degraded club that the unmistakable dirge of human voices raised in aggravation briefly drew his attention from his own brooding.

Half turning in potential amusement, hoping perhaps some insipid humans were engaging in some kind of drunken brawl, it didn’t take long for the Count to size up what was actually occurring. Two young men, one short and stocky as his compatriot was lanky, were drunkenly blocking the way of a petite young woman, scantily clad but carrying an armful of books, as she tried to pass them up the alley and presumably to the main road.  

“Gonna dance for us again, love?”

“Club’s closed boys, go home,” she persisted, clearly uncomfortable despite keeping a casual tone as she tried to dodge around them again, to no avail.

“We could give you a riiide home…car’s parked right up the road,” the taller and obviously dumber one of the two leered in the most obvious failure at looking genuine the count had ever seen. It was frankly embarrassing.

“I called a cab. Now move ,” the small black haired creature demanded, doing her best to raise her voice and attempt to shove past, but the men only laughed, and the stockier one grabbed her by the waist and began trying to lead her off, despite her cursing refusal.

She tried to hit him with one of the heftier tomes in her clutches and ended up dropping the others, leading the idiots to laugh even louder and continue to try to maneuver her. Just as she let out a screech of what to Dracula’s amusement sounded more like valkyrie-esque fury rather than panic, the vampire decided to step out of the shadows and interrupt the frankly pathetic attempt at hostage taking.

“Boys, I really don’t think this is an effective method to pick up a lady.”

Even at its least threatening, Dracula’s voice stopped them in their tracks, the taller lad almost stumbling into the wall in surprise, as the other, hand still gripping the girl’s waist, turned to face the voice with clearly forced bluster.

“Who asked you?”

Dracula quirked a brow, a crooked smile cracking his otherwise stern facade in the face of that response, and he began approaching at a steady pace.

“Really? That’s the best you’ve got?”

The young men exchanged worried looks as the man came out of the shadows and, in fact, towered over the both of them to an unsettling degree. Not even bothering to protest as the girl took advantage of their distraction and lurched out of their clutches and hurried back towards the door of the club she’d left, they seemed to both come to the same stupid conclusion at the same time, and took on a defensive ‘fighting’ stance that almost made the Count giggle.

“Sounds like you need to mind your own business, gramps,” the dumb one spoke this time, clearly trying to show off, though to who he had no idea. His friend may have spoken first, but was currently too frozen in terror under the piercing and unnaturally glowing gaze of the vampire to hear a word he’d said. Dracula, however, heard him perfectly and snarled, flashing just a glimpse of sharp teeth which sent them both into a headlong sprint in the opposite direction.

The Count laughed outright at their fleeing backs, shaking his head. Idiots. He almost regretted chasing them off, truth be told, the amusement of terrifying them reminding him that he had forgone his dinner that evening – though he was positive they would’ve tasted terrible.  

“Wow,” a small voice said from behind him, and he turned quickly to see the young woman peek her head back into the alley, too curious to stay as far away as she rightly should have. Instead of looking frightened, she approached the giant of a man and smiled, craning her neck to look out to the now empty road, fascinated. He appraised her properly now and took note that although she was certainly young and very pretty, she was not as juvenile as he’d originally assumed. There were faint lines and dark circles under her doe brown eyes and despite her outward show of anger prior, there were smudges where the black lining her eyes had smeared, pin pricked with the beginnings of tears too stubborn to fall.

“No idea what you just did, but… fucking thank you.  Those pricks have been hounding me for weeks.”

“It was my pleasure. Fools of such poor taste like that need to be put in their place, at times. ” he assured her smoothly, looking down at her with a stare she could only describe as penetrating and it took her a moment to remember how to breathe. Finally blinking and clearing her throat, she caught sight of her high dollar text books still splayed on the ground where they’d fallen, one of them half in a puddle of some unknown substance.

“Shit,” she hissed, and hurried over and crouched down to the retrieve them. In one smooth motion, he too bent to assist her.

“Go back to school, they said…it’ll be fun they said,” she murmured in a weak attempt at both humor and what he assumed to be an explanation for her rather spontaneous studying location as she gathered some loose pages of notes that had been stuffed inside one of the titles. The cover of one the books caught his eye and he couldn’t suppress a crooked grin of recognition.

“Medieval Warlords of Eastern Europe. Quite a fun read.”

“You’ve read it?” she found herself asking in a skeptical tone, as she stood and bashfully adjusted the short hemline of her skirt over her fishnet covered thighs.

“No, but you could call me a bit of an expert on the subject,” he offered as he handed it back to her, keeping the rest of the books in his free hand as though they were weightless, a knowing glint in his dark eyes that made her brow quirk in curiosity.

“Is that a line or are you serious?”

He shrugged innocently, something that looked almost comical with his broad shoulders, though the smile that followed was more genuine, and spiked her pulse as it spread across his handsome face.

“That depends. Is it working?”

She found herself smiling in return. “What are you? …A history professor or something?” Clearly that idea did not exactly deter her interest, ‘student’ though she was.

“I…have some experiences with that,” he replied in a strangely vague way, though didn’t give her much time to dwell on it as he held out a frankly massive hand to her in introduction. “I’m Dracula.”

“Katherine – though everyone calls me Kat,” she offered, watching her hand be engulfed in his grip, though instead of shaking it he gripped her fingers gently and brought her knuckles to his lips.

He narrowed his eyes almost conspiratorially at her, having kept hold of her hand, not that she would protest. “You didn’t actually call a cab, did you Kat?”

Kat chewed on her bottom lip and shook her head. “No…I was planning to walk. It’s not that far, really.  Just didn’t want them to know where I live.”

“Then allow me to escort you.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary,” she began, a default ‘polite’ reply that the hopeful gleam in her eyes clearly contradicted, the invitation so close to the brim of her mind that it practically spilled forward even in silence.

“I insist,” he bent to her ear somewhat to murmur lowly, which seemed a large expanse despite the height of her heels, and she could only nod in wide-eyed acceptance as she took his offered arm.  

—-

Zoe hadn’t dreamt since waking up on that table weeks before. Each of her bouts of sleep were fleeting but deep and utterly untainted by consciousness, until that night she came home from the club. She had crashed onto her mattress, kicked off her boots and practically forced herself into a fitful sleep immediately, the way she often would before, when she was so ill her entire body was riling against her. It wasn’t really a dream, though, but a memory - Agatha’s memory. Zoe had a distant knowledge of everything she had experienced since she’d drank Dracula blood, but only rarely did she see actual events in such a clear and precise manner.

She distantly wondered if it was being shown to her out of spite, since she had been irrationally infuriated by Agatha’s existence in her mind the entire cab ride back from the club. Clearly that was all Agatha’s fault, whatever the hell it was. Distracting him, fine. Setting him up to fail, sure. Great. Snogging him, no. That was not part of the plan, no matter how ‘negotiable’ their plans had been to start with. It was far easier to be mad at yourself when there was an entirely separate entity you could blame your stupid actions on, at least.

In the depths of her mind, Zoe could smell the salty, stagnant air in the hold of the Demeter, feel the subtle rock of it on the water, as she watched the proud and sickly form of her great, great Aunt simply decide to commit suicide for the sake of everyone else’s safety as though she were deciding whether or not to wear a hat that day. Her chestnut curls were matted on the ends with blood, but her smile was as casual as anything as she bid the Captain to let her blast a hole in the side of his ship, while he and the rest of the crew took out a lifeboat.

He pleaded with her, but she insisted. Insisted that the curse of the vampire could never reach England, told him to lie about where the ship went down (no wonder they had trouble finding the bloody thing), and then came a part of the memory that it seemed even she had tried to repress. Perhaps, in case Dracula lived, in case he tasted her blood again, he wouldn’t know.

Agatha pulled a neatly tied but clearly bulging collection of papers from the inside of her habit with shaking, raw fingertips and pressed it into the Captain’s hands.

“I want you to make sure this gets into the hands of Dr. Abraham Van Helsing.”

“Van Helsing? Family?” The Captain asked distractedly, still slightly shaken from learning her plans. He had grown an attachment to her, Zoe could see it plainly, even if Agatha had dismissed it entirely.

“Yes, my older brother. He’s…a trifle eccentric, but knowledgeable in all the right areas, in the event that Dracula ever does reach England, someone needs to know what I know. It’s my entire account…from the convent up until this morning, all of my research. Read it, if you like, but just make sure it gets into the right hands. He has acquaintances in London. A doctor, I know, by the name of…Seward I believe. He’s mentioned him in his letters…”

The rest of the memory blurred and sped by after that, giving her glimpses of what she knew to be the last moments of Agatha’s life. Zoe had always been told that she’d died at Dracula’s hands, but no. It was just as he’d said earlier. She’d died trying to kill him, twice now. And she’d died smiling at almost accomplishing it. The last look he’d given her was somewhere between respect, contempt, fury, and a disturbing but brief expanse of silence which Zoe distantly placed as longing. Even Agatha only seemed to realize in retrospect that the last thing the Count did before throwing her on the deck to save himself was try to memorize her face.

When Zoe awoke, it was with an immediate and clear knowledge that, regardless of any other information she’d gleaned, she needed to see if that letter existed. Her family would’ve kept it, she knew, though whether somewhere at the institute or in their family home, she wasn’t sure. She would have to find out. Clearly, information did not travel untainted through generations.

The lower levels of the Jonathan Harker institute were fully modernized, as sterile and clinical as you could get, but there were still parts of the old ruin of a building that stood before that kept the old occultist spirit of her family, something she herself had tried desperately to wipe out. It didn’t exactly look good for a scientist to have a family name that was synonymous with the study of life after death and mystical phenomena. Over time the Van Helsings had begun to quantify the study - of vampires especially - into as much of a science as they could, to the point that it didn’t feel particularly supernatural anymore – though deep down Zoe knew that wasn’t exactly true.  Now, more than ever.

Whether all of her associates would agree was a concept she would need to consider at a later date. Dodging as many members of the staff as humanly possible, she made her way to the stairwell. The elevator only went so far.

It took her a proper two hours at least, battling her way through dust laden relics and paperwork from '60s utility bill’ old straight back to 'turn of the century insurance voucher’ antique until Zoe found it: a large wooden chest with her grandfather’s initials barely visible in peeling letters. Inside was an assortment of oddities, some more interesting than others, but in a fading manila envelope (obviously not its original home) she felt the warning crinkle of 19th century parchment. A precursory glance through the first few pages left her with three critical bits of information:

These were exactly what she’d been looking for, and more even.

A good three quarters of the contents were in Dutch.

Somehow that didn’t stop Zoe from comprehending it

She’d headed straight home after that, as though the hounds of hell were at her heels. It was not, however, because she thought Dracula’s warnings about her colleagues were worth any weight - or so she firmly reminded herself. She was only excited. So excited apparently that she fell into an unexpectedly deep sleep atop her fully made bed in a chaotic swirl of typewritten copies no more than four hours later, despite not being tired at all.

——

Bzzz!

Kat’s eyes shot up from where they’d been blearily zoned out on her barely written essay towards the front door of her flat. She hadn’t been expecting anyone, and given it was almost 11 pm - not exactly the witching hour but certainly late enough to be weary, she was cautious as she approached the door.

“Who is it?” She asked, cursing the lack of peephole in these bloody doors.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” a smooth, lightly accented voice easily permeated the door, and Kat’s eyes widened in excitement followed by a brief moment of panic. Shit shit shit. She bit her lip as she rushed for the nearest reflective surface to ensure she looked at least semi-appealing. A stretch, but…fine, she settled, pulling her hair down from her sloppily done ponytail at least, just before returning to pull open the door.

For a moment she forgot how far up she needed to look to meet Dracula’s gaze, finding herself without the aid of her platforms barely eye level with his sternum and had to quickly redirect her focus pseudo-casually away from his chest hair to find his dark eyes. This apparently amused him judging by the small smirk at the corner of his mouth.

“…Hi there.”

“Good evening… I apologize for the late hour. I hope you weren’t turning in. I’m a bit…nocturnal.”

“Oh, no,” she persisted with carefully controlled enthusiasm, glancing back at her sofa where her laptop still sat. “Me too, honestly. Just doing class work. It’s my night off.”

“How convenient,” Dracula said, seemingly pleased. “I brought something for you. I thought you might find it useful in your studies.”

It was only then that Kat took note of the large, leather bound book in his left hand as he offered it to her. Finding she had to grab it with both hands, she was surprised to feel the richness of real leather pliant but sturdy in her hands. Her fingers traced the slightly raised letters on the binding. It appeared to be proper gold leaf, and the pages had a patina of wear to them despite its otherwise unblemished appearance. She carefully opened it, looking through the first pages carefully.

“How old is this?” She breathed, for a moment too intrigued to look up, which considering what was standing in front of her was saying a lot.

“Late 18th century, but it’s an English translation of a much older volume. I used to own a copy in Romania, but I’ve had to…restock my library. It’s not a very good translation, to be honest, but it does contain a great many things the modern world seems to like to forget…for better or worse,” he stated with a strange, knowing lilt that finally drew her attention back to him.

“Is that where you’re from? I wouldn’t have placed that from your accent,” she asked, cautiously stepping back from the door in silent invitation for him to enter.

He hesitated, mouth opening as though to protest, but just as quickly closed it and stepped over the threshold in one large stride, looking satisfied as she moved to shut the door behind him.

“I haven’t been home in many years,” he responded truthfully as he turned to meet her, watching her appraise his approach with the all but expected antsiness born of equal amounts unease and desire. Fight or flight or another F-word the body knew well but the mind didn’t quite know how to factor into the equation.

Kat held the book against her chest, her mind’s subconscious attempt at shielding against a known threat, even while her feet carried her a step towards him.

“Thank you - very much. I’ll guard it with my life,” she 'swore’ dramatically, attempting to lighten the suddenly thick atmosphere.

“Oh, nonsense. Consider it a gift,” Dracula assured her.

“Oh, I couldn’t-”

Kat found herself silenced by one long, cool finger pressed against her lips, and her breath staggered.

“You Brits are always so polite,” he remarked with an exaggerated sigh, bringing his thumb together with his forefinger and cupping her chin lightly, craning her neck to meet his eyes. She distantly registered the uncharacteristic sharpness of his nails, though her first thoughts were full of anything but fear.

“I saw your eyes light up when you saw it. You know you want it. Don’t you?”

Dracula’s voice turned to a whisper and she nearly forgot how to speak. And when exactly had he gotten that close? She swallowed, eyes wavering from his eyes to his lips.

“Yes. Yes, I do…”

He arched a brow. “Then take it.”

Kat didn’t need to be told twice. The white-knuckled grip she had on the book relaxed slightly, and without looking away from his hypnotic gaze she extended her arm and placed it on the shelf beside them, successfully removing the weak barrier it had created between them. Then without another thought she’d launched onto the tips of her toes and crashed her lips against Dracula’s self-satisfied smirk.

She’d barely adjusted to the bruising pressure he’d returned when it had been ripped away again to her initial gasp of protest, but his hand gripped the full length of her hair and yanking, bared her throat for him to attack instead. Her head spun, feeling almost delirious for half a moment as his tongue drug an icy-hot path up the hollow of her throat, something akin to a growl reverberating through her ear and directly to her core. His teeth drug downward in the same path his tongue had taken, and just like that her feet had left the floor and he had a stranglehold on her hips, the bookcase digging into her back.

——

Zoe knew it wasn’t a dream from the heat alone. It began at her center and flung outward through her limbs like an internal wildfire, until even the tips of her fingers thrummed with it.

The vision was blurry at first, like from the eyes of a fly on the wall (knowing the vampire,  a very real possibility) except she could feel it. Feel the iron grip of his hand pinning her wrists, the ache at the base of her spine as her back arched into the force of his thrusts, measured and unrelenting. There was no delay for human error, no stagger or pacing for control - just pure hunger made flesh. The ripped remains of her camisole clung uselessly to her breasts, and he let loose her wrists if only to obliterate it further so he could set upon them with blunt teeth and tongue.

Her black lacquered nails dug jagged lines into his back that vanished as soon as they appeared as she came apart beneath him, just one of many occasions that blurred in her lust addled mind. Ever the consummate showman, an arm snaked beneath her, arching her petite form further upward to meet his chest as he rocked forward, the headboard hitting the wall hard enough to scrape paint. But the show was reaching its expiration, Zoe could hear it, echoing through the chambers of his mind.

The thundering of her heart, the singing of her blood like a siren’s call. It was becoming harder to ignore, to drown out, and the beast was struggling to stay hidden, a crimson haze seeping into his eyes. His head buried into the curve of his lover’s neck and he let out a low wolf-like keening muffled into the midnight of her hair that all too soon erupted into a growl. His hand gripped her throat, and just as she clenched her thighs around his hips like a vice to draw him in, his teeth sunk deep into her flesh.

Suddenly Zoe could no longer feel the bursting pleasure/pain of her ecstasy, but taste it. She could feel the heat of the blood as it coated his mouth, thick and sweet with surrender…

She finally jolted awake with a force, half launching herself off the bed like she’d been restrained by it. It was still dark, her entire body throbbed, and worst of all she could still taste the coppery tang of the girl’s blood, tangible and tingling on her tongue. And she wanted more.

—–

He’s such a little shit, I swear he thought this up all on his own and I had no input whatsoever ;)  Do let me know what you think. I haven’t written anything smutty in ages, so spent forever trying to make sure it actually worked out alright. 

Tag List: @charlesdances @break-free-killer-queen @mephdcosplay @punk-courtesan @crowley-needs-a-hug @hoefordarkness @bellamortislife @my-fanfic-library @mymagicsuitcase @littlemessyjessi @crazytxgradstudent @desperatefrenchwriter @violetmarkey @iloveclaesbang @carydorse @vampiregirl1797 @imagineandimagine @mr-kisskiss-bangbang @ss9slb @hyacinth-meadow @dreamerkim @chelsfic @malkaviangirl @gatissed @allfandoms-writings @alhoyin @girlonfireice @isayhourwrong

Anyone else want added and/or removed, let me know :)

[mithranqueersmusings]

Baby, You’re A Rich Man XXI

Chapter: 21/28

Rating: U

Summary: Ringo could never understand why that group of three boys made him feel so uncomfortable, or why the way George looked at him sent him into a panic. After a chance encounter Ringo discovers the truth and has no clue what to do with the information.

Tags: AU - Gangsters, Slow Burn, Smut, Eventual Romance, Violence, Angst

Pairings: George Harrison/Ringo Starr, John Lennon/Paul McCartney

AO3 link here / Fic masterlist here

A week had passed before Brian had asked to see Ringo for an 'assignment', he'd also asked the rest of the boys to come along. During this time Ringo had moved into the remaining flat on George's floor which was a strange level of commitment Ringo hadn't anticipated: they weren't living together technically, Ringo's things like his clothes and drum kit were at his place across the hall but he spent almost every minute of the day at George's. He had to admit he'd miss his old place somewhat, as dreary and depressing as it was, and he had the horrible feeling that he'd never settle into this new flat because it was just too nice. Not that Ringo didn't think he deserved nice things, but knowing that he was living there through his connections - a phrase he heard repeatedly now - rather than his own hard work made him feel a bit undeserving. Nonetheless he was more than happy to be so much closer to George, not to forget John and Paul either who he was increasingly getting closer with.

His flat was the same layout as George's only flipped, with luxurious furniture and a fairly nice view of the city. John suggested they threw a 'house warming party' which just consisted of another night of debauchery which took place in Ringo's flat instead of George's, but Ringo appreciated the sentiment. George also made the suggestion that they christen his new bed, which didn't take much convincing. Despite his slight discomfort in his new lavish surroundings, he had a real sense of belonging when he was with the other boys and couldn't be happier with how things had turned out. Ringo insisted that they ate a proper homemade dinner together rather than eating out as they usually did and it was such a success that they decided to do it at least once a week from then on. George had helped Ringo in the kitchen and they somehow managed to get a satisfactory dinner ready without breaking anything or burning the place down; next week would be John an Paul's turn, George was already planning on spontaneously becoming allergic to whatever they were going to cook. The four of them essentially did everything together, well not everything despite John's constant joking.

He'd worked a few more shifts at The Babylon and they'd gone very smoothly. Ringo worried he wouldn't be able to go back there after everything that happened but as soon as he had his sticks in hand he felt unstoppable; the constant reminder that security had been increased and were watching him specifically helped too of course. Shane had been massively relieved to see Ringo on his first shift back, giving him a tight hug which neither of them were really anticipating. The rest of the band thought Ringo was pretty 'cool' for having survived the whole thing, but were still a little standoffish. While the physical wounds were completely healed by this point, Ringo couldn't deny he was still a little subconsciously shaken about the whole thing but he just tried his best not to think about it. Upon hearing that Brian wanted to see him, Ringo felt irrefutably nervous about the whole ordeal but he just had to remember how much Brian had insisted that he would be protected now. It was a cold Thursday morning when the four of them were called back over to Brian's house, Paul once again woke them all up on time. They'd started eating breakfast together every so often, although John almost always refused on the basis that it was too early to do anything but going back to bed, which is what they did that morning.

"I think he enjoys torturing us by getting us up so early." John mumbled into his cup of coffee.

"It's 9 in the morning John, it's hardly the break of dawn." Ringo smiled, although he wasn't feeling too chirpy himself.

They all piled into Paul's car and headed back over to Brian's house, which Ringo was pretty excited to see again. George Martin met them at the door once more, although he seemed a little more serious this time. He led them into the lounge and offered them all a drink before vanishing to find Brian again, who entered a few minutes later.

"So lovely to see you boys!" He beamed, approaching them all individually with a handshake before taking the same seat as he did last time "How have you all been keeping?"

They all spoke over one another lazily which made Brian chuckle, he had a cup of tea brought in by George who then moved over to the window. The atmosphere in the room was a little tense, at least Ringo thought so, and he gripped George's hand for comfort.

"Now, I've got quite a big task for the four of you. I could've given it to someone else, but I really think you're perfect for this." Brian began, shifting to get comfortable in the chair as he stirred his tea "It's a great chance for you all to really prove yourself, and would be a great way of throwing you into the deep end, Ringo."

Ringo shone a nervous smile at the mention of his name which resulted in another small laugh from Brian.

"One thing I really want to do as well is remove you four from the environment here, this Chapman business is really heating up and to get you out of harms way would just be a massive relief for myself." He paused to take a sip of his tea "I'll just cut straight to the chase, I want to send you boys over to Germany." He paused for a response.

"What's in Germany?" George asked when he realised nobody else was going to speak.

"Hamburg." Brian said with a smile.

"And what's in Hamburg?" John asked with a chuckle.

"Well we've got quite a few connections over there in the clubs and so forth, but I've been getting a lot of reports lately that a certain group has been trying to muscle their way onto the scene." Brian explained "The issue is we don't know exactly who's doing it, and the people I have over there are far too known to really do anything about it."

"I think I see where this is going." John murmured.

"What I would like you boys to do is go over there and suss this whole situation out. That city is just filled with rambunctious lads like yourself, and I think you'll really fit in there. Ringo, you would join one of the bands in one of my clubs and see what information you can gain there, while the rest of you boys do what you do best." Brian paused again and awaited a response.

"How dangerous could this whole thing get?" Paul asked politely.

"Well it's hard to say, of course. The city itself is rather dangerous, I suppose, but I would insist that Ringo doesn't get involved if anything turns violent. The aim of this whole thing is to discover who's trying to take over our territory, and put to a stop to it. I'm not above offering them money, but ideally I'd rather settle this without any loss on our part. Does that make sense?" Brian smiled.

"What about my job here?" Ringo asked, he felt rather stumped by the whole situation.

"Oh, don't worry about that, George is already working on finding a temporary replacement." Brian gestured behind him to where George gave a small smile in response.

"How long would we be there for?" George asked, he was rubbing the back of Ringo's hand with his thumb.

"I can't imagine it'd extend any longer than a month. A week or two, I'd estimate." Brian took another sip of his drink.

"I don't want to step out of line or anything, Brian." John began "But is taking us away from the city we know and are protected in only to place us somewhere unknown with a potentially dangerous group of people really the best idea?"

Brian just chuckled "I understand your concern, of course. If you are all opposed to the idea, I can offer it to someone else, but I thought it'd be a great opportunity for you three to show what you're capable of, particularly with the messy episodes over the past few months." There was more of an edge to his voice now.

"Do you know how big the group is?" Paul asked.

"Not definitively, but if nobody can identify them they can't be that large surely." Brian said with a smile "I have a lot of respect for you boys, and I trust you to do this for me. So what do you say?"

There was a pause for a few moments, each of them looking at one another before George spoke "Can you give us a minute to talk about it?"

"Oh, of course. I'll head out to the garden, come and find me when you're done." Brian didn't hesitate to get up then, heading out of the room with his tea in hand and George following behind him.

Another silence followed before they were sure the two of them were far away enough from the room.

"What do you think?" George spoke first, squeezing Ringo's hand.

"I dunno... I've never even been out of the country before." Ringo said sheepishly.

"Well I say we go." John blurted out determinedly.

"Really?" Paul asked surprised. "Why so sure?"

"I've heard a lot about Hamburg from some of the other lads, and it sounds like a right riot." John grinned.

"John it's not a bloody holiday." George scoffed.

"Well we can't work all day, can we?" John sat back comfortably, crossing his legs over.

"What have you heard?" Ringo asked, with Brian out of the room he instantly felt more relaxed.

"Drugs, drink, music, prostitutes - you name it, its got it all." John said.

"We literally have all of those things here." George replied with a chuckle.

"No, not like this place. It sounds like sin central, I'm telling you. I think it'd be fun."

"Not sure I'm happy with how excited you are for prostitutes, darling." Paul spoke up now "But it would be nice to get out of this place, maybe get away from all the glitz of it all."

"I'm all for it, would be nice to get back here and those Chapman bastards have been dealt with." George said "But only if you're comfortable with it, love."

"Its just a lot, you know? It sounds like it could be fun, especially if all I'm really doing is drumming. I just don't want to be like dead weight." Ringo was warming to the idea, but the unknown aspect of it all was certainly frightening.

"You wouldn't be you daft git." John laughed "That's the whole point, we do all the dirty work you just be your normal charming self and get us some information."

"But how do I even do that?" Ringo asked.

"Ringo, what's my favourite colour?" John raised his eyebrow.

"Er- Green, why?" Ringo stammered.

"And how do you know that?" John leaned forward in his seat.

"I think Ge-" Ringo paused "Oh... Now I feel proper daft."

"It's not rocket science. All you have to do is talk to people, find out what you can and we'll do the rest." John was still laughing.

"Well in that case, I suppose I'm on board then." Ringo chuckled.

"You sure?" George asked and Ringo nodded in response.

"That sorts that then!" Paul said with a smile "Now, can anyone speak any German?"

Brian had been quite delighted at the news, he explained that they'd have to be staying in somewhere on the 'lower scale of things' to not draw so much attention to themselves and told them to pack that very same night. Their flight left London the following afternoon and they had to be up and ready in the morning for a long drive.

"I thought you'd have a private jet or something." Ringo said as he packed up his clothes into a suitcase, he didn't even own one prior to a few hours ago.

"We're not that loaded." George chuckled as he rifled through his wardrobe.

"Are you excited?" Ringo asked, he had the horrible feeling that he was the only nervous one.

"A little bit, but it's still work, you know? Just hope things go as smoothly as they're supposed to." George sounded more serious now "Especially if you're getting involved now, I've gotta start doing things properly."

All packed and ready to go, the four of them spent the evening at George's having a little to drink and trying their best to get an early night. Ringo struggled getting to sleep, tossing and turning throughout the night as the fear began to take hold of him. George groggily awoke after an hour of Ringo's continuous movements, he didn't say a word but moved up closer to the smaller man and wrapped his arm tight around his waist. It calmed Ringo instantly, and while he couldn't silence the constant worries in his mind, he felt more able to overcome them with the safe feeling of George beside him. He just had to remember John's words and Brian's emphasis of how important his safety was.

The follow morning came abruptly in the manner they always did whenever something important was going on: Paul knocking repeatedly on George's door with a groggy John stood beside him until Ringo finally got up to let them in. At times George never even locked his front door because it just made life easier for everyone, despite Paul telling him it was a stupid thing to do. There was to be a car arriving in 10 minutes which was just enough time to drag George out of bed and into something half-decent. Despite the importance of the whole situation, at this point it really just felt like a strange holiday to the four of them and Ringo couldn't deny that he felt a little excited. They all had a cup of tea and pieces of toast were lazily passed around before they managed to squeeze into the lift with their suitcases. There was a driver waiting for them outside the building with a rather swanky car, Ringo felt a little like a celebrity as they all piled inside. On the back seat was a letter from Brian addressed on the front simply to 'Boys'. Paul seized the letter before John lazily sat on it and read it aloud to them; it detailed what hotel they'd be staying at, the clubs that were in need of investigating, the band Ringo would be joining and most importantly that they should call him at the end of every day to update him.

"Bit much." John snickered.

"This is some serious shit." George chuckled "Can we try to not fuck this one up?"

"Like you're so perfect." Paul made himself comfortable as the car began to drive off "Are you forgetting when you knocked out that bloke onl-"

"Only to find out he was one of ours, yeah whatever." George interrupted with a smile "Let's just do this one properly, alright lads?"

"And who put you in charge?" John raised an eyebrow.

"Oh I'm sorry, lets put the alcoholic, nymphomaniac, coke-addict in charge in a city filled with drugs and prostitutes." George glared but he was still grinning.

"Bastard." John kicked him playfully "I'm not even a coke-addict."

"Well let's keep it that way, eh Johnny?" Ringo laughed and the tension of the car immediately depleted.

"Nobody has to be in charge, we work better as a team anyway." Paul said as he put the letter away in his jacket pocket "Today we should just focus on getting used to the city, settling in and that, before we start anything proper."

"Sounds like you're in charge." George quipped.

The journey to the airport continued in a similar manner, with a slight edge of nervousness under everyone's voices but nothing but playful jokes being told. It was a strange sight for the four of them to be so casually dressed, even if Paul was still wearing a blazer, but it made everything feel significantly less official which did wonders for Ringo's nerves. He'd never even been on a plane before, something he'd already been harmlessly teased about, and he was worried that it would only be the beginning of a series of frightening events. The drive down to London was very long indeed, but luckily they had the radio and one another to stay entertained. All four of them fell asleep at different points on the journey, Ringo was the only one who wasn't purposefully woken up by the rest of them.

"I say we do a crawl of all the clubs, for research purposes." John suggested as he lit a cigarette, they were about an hour away from the airport.

"You don't have to give us that bullshit, John, we're not Brian." George said as he offered out his lighter "Not that I'm opposed to the idea o'course."

"As long as we don't get too shitfaced. I don't see a problem with it." Paul smiled, his seal of approval on a plan usually meant it went forward, Ringo noticed.

"Would be nice to see where I'll be playing for the next few weeks." Ringo suggested "I hope they bloody speak English."

"Music's a universal language, you'll be fine." John chuckled.

"If we're all gonna be sharing a room, can we make a promise now that we're not gonna be bringing anyone back to the hotel? I'm not having my sleep disturbed because John likes the look of some rent-boy." George said.

"Such a prude George, I swear. What happened to you?" John nudged him.

"Look, if you had your own room you can do as much freaky shit as you please but not if I'm in the room, alright?" George nudged him back with a laugh. "Shag them back at their place, in the bloody street for all I care."

Ringo fell asleep a second time before the car finally stopped outside the airport and he was awoken by a soft rocking from George and a tender kiss on the lips. They all performed a variety of strange stretches after they toppled out of the car. A 2 hour flight still awaited them which none of them were particularly looking forward to, but at least the longest part was over now. The four of them all smoked a cigarette before actually heading inside, their driver was gone and they were left alone to their own devices. Brian had tickets waiting for them which Paul went to collect while John went off in a search for coffee.

Getting onto the plane was a strange experience for Ringo, it was a lot smaller than he had anticipated which gave it the strange feeling of not being real. George and Ringo had been seated together with Paul and John in front of them, with the two remaining aisle seats being left for unfortunate passengers who were going to have to put up with their crude conversations for the entirety of the flight. Ringo tried to hide his nerves when the plane began to take off but he was gripping George's hand so tightly he worried he might pull it out of its socket. Once they were in the air Ringo could relax again, as long as he didn't think about how high up they were, and the four of them began to chatter away. John made a pledge to try ever drug offered to him while in Hamburg which earned a roll of the eyes from Paul.

"Forget new drugs, you're gonna come back to England with about five new diseases." George laughed which only spurred John on further.

John expressed his excitement for their red-light district, claiming that these people weren't like 'normal prostitutes' which made Ringo laugh. According to what he'd heard from members of the family that had been sent to Hamburg, it was one of the most depraved and raunchy cities in Europe which was apparently a haven to John.

"I do worry what you'd be like if you didn't have me sometimes." Paul admitted somewhat seriously "Shagging every Tom, Dick and Harry that came your way."

"I'll be honest Paulie, I worry what I'd be like without you too." John replied with a soft kiss.

Both Ringo and George managed to fall asleep at one point, resting their heads on one another despite knowing that once they woke up their necks would be aching, which allowed John and Paul some private time that they no doubt would've capitalised on had there not been an elderly gentleman sat beside them. The 2 hours flew by, rather literally, compared to the car journey down to London and before they knew it they'd landed in Hamburg.  It was approaching 4 o'clock now and the four of them were desperately hungry for some food. They hurried off the plane and seized their suitcases to find another driver waiting for them outside the airport who drove them to their hotel. The city didn't seem to be as debauched as John had described it to be, but it was still fairly early in the day.

The hotel was a welcome change of pace for Ringo, it was incredibly plain and somewhat dingy which was always more comfortable to him than luxury. Paul checked them in at the front desk, he was given a single key between the four of them, where the receptionist gave them a curious look as they walked up to their room. Ringo didn't want to imagine the thoughts the woman was having about what four young men were doing hurrying into a single room while it was still light outside. The room itself looked better than they had all anticipated, they had a small lounge with a radio which split off into a bedroom with two double beds with little space between them.

John immediately jumped onto one of the beds, kicking off his shoes and stretching out onto the sheets. They all followed suit, Paul leaping onto John and rolling around to lie beside him, while George pulled Ringo down onto the bed. It devolved into pure childish antics as John began tickling Paul, who retaliated by hitting him with one of the pillows; before long the four of them were jumping around pelting each other with pillows and diving down onto the creaky beds in fits of laughter. It was pure lunacy, but Ringo couldn't have wished for a better start to this whole ordeal, for no matter how serious or dire things got he knew he'd always have these three with him every step of the way.

[pghroads]

The Beechwood Bumps

So it's been a while!  After I covered most of the main problems that bug me that were created over the last 100 years, the city/state didn't really do anything especially crazy.  Until... The Beechwood Bumps™.

Even though our city has a million fundamental problems with its infrastructure that cause constant gridlock it seems to have turned it's sights in recent years to speeding. I suspect the approach is something like:  

1. Get a 311 call from one or more citizens  

2. Do a traffic study of said area  

3. Implement some solution

This is probably happening all over, but there were two notable projects near where I live in Squirrel Hill.  

First - on Dallas Ave, the city added basically "wiggle poles" in the middle of the street designed to slow down traffic.  

There are of course two things that make these weird 

1. It's on the uphill, where people already go slower   

2. It diverts traffic right into the area where a cyclist would be, huffing and puffing up the hill.  

Finally, they make it quite difficult to turn out of the cross streets with large vehicles, and are easily avoided by people who don't care about lines/laws anyway.  Given the random placement of these I’d bet $100 they got a 311 complaint from someone living on Dallas by Northumberland and Woodwell.

But this post isn't about that - that was just foreshadowing for arguably the most controversial traffic calming project the city has ever implemented, The Beechwood Bumps™.  For this I went beyond my normal lazing ranting, and did some "deep investigation" to understand how this happened.

What am I talking about?  Well, if you haven't been on Beechwood Blvd by the Frick Environmental Center, one day the city added a series of four very large speed humps.  The humps slow traffic from the speed limit of 25 to 15, and have cuts in them for cyclists.  

These humps are unusual for a couple of reasons - first, even though I've driven over 400,000 miles in my life all over the world, I've never seen speed humps in a through road.  They are always on private roads, side roads, cul de sacs etc... This is partly because speed humps on through streets slow emergency vehicles trying to get to where they need to be.  Even more odd, these particular speed humps slow you to BELOW the speed limit.  Third, the cuts in the speed humps allow people to partially avoid them (at the expense of cyclists), and Fourth - before the speed humps I never really considered this a dangerous speeding area, in fact I usually take this road over Shady Ave because it is a slow rolling, relaxing drive with no road rage.

That brings us to the history of Beechwood Blvd.  Beechwood Blvd is a curving scenic road between Schenley Park and Frick Park that was built right at the dawn of the automobile specifically for the purpose of giving these new car owners a place to go for scenic drives - the curves, etc.. are part of the design - it wasn't made for thru traffic as much as just a fun road to drive on.  Of course as the Squirrel Hill area built up, it's now almost entirely lined by residential housing, and the original road has been somewhat chunked up.  Nevertheless Beechwood is still a delightful place for a convertible, motorcycle or bike ride. 

Then the speed humps came - and road rage followed.  People who use Beechwood to commute seem to have a visceral negative reaction to the speed humps, using the bike cuts to avoid it.  Where before I never experienced any road rage - now I get people furiously going around the speed hump and riding my bumper.  Or you get people that practically stop at the speed humps.  Then there is the grey area - police were pulling people over for going into the bike lane to avoid the speed hump, but what rules affect motorcycles, can I use the bike cut or do I need to pop a wheelie over the hump?  The rage isn't just on the road - people took their arguments to NextDoor and Twitter and evidently there is a new public hearing on this due to the outrage (which i cannot find despite my searching, more on this later...).  It's certainly made it a less relaxing road to drive on for a number of reasons.

My main beef is the arbitrary nature of the speed humps - why the single stretch of Beechwood by the low populated Shaw Ave and Darlington Rd?  Especially when the Frick Environmental Center and an Elementary School are right near there, but no speed humps installed by those sites.  So I really wanted to dig into this - was it some councilperson or big donor’s front yard?  Why speed humps?  Why here and not the many other side streets that could use them.

Well - I did a "Right to Know" request (similar to FOIA) around the project after Dan Gilman was responding to wrath of citizens on Twitter.  He mentioned there was a traffic study so I figured sure, let's see this.

From what I could gather in my digging this project happened like this:

1. Between 1-6 citizens complained about speeding by the Frick Environmental Center (the city won't release details on citizen complaints but anecdotally i figured out someone I knew was one of these complaints - so there are indeed real citizens behind this).

2. A traffic study specifically centered on the Frick Environmental Center was commissioned

3. Funding for some of the solutions proposed in the study was secured

4. A public meeting was held around the topic

5. Something roughly 35% of the suggested plan happened 

So what does the traffic study say?  It seems like they put speed monitors on the north and south end of the Frick Environmental Center, and found an average speed of 33.2 and 33 in a 25 mph zone.

33 in a 25.

Otherwise known as basically the speed all traffic goes in most 25 mph zones everywhere (although shoutout the to record setters they found that got to 61 mph).

Okay... so the speeding doesn't seem that bad.  I would guess the average speed in the 25 mph Homestead Grays / High Level bridge is 48mph, so why speed humps here?  

Well - they sent a physical crew out as well, and "observed" that people were hesitant to cross the street at the Environmental Center, and that is basically impossible for people coming from Dallas to get there (oh boy do I know this).  So they suggested putting in crosswalks and fixing the Dallas area so it has sidewalks (currently it has a gap).  It's also worth nothing the only stretch that was slower was to an avg of 29 mph between Darlington and Shaw.  This make sense because the 90 degree turn in the road naturally slows people down.

They also said "look the road is wide, which encourages people to speed", and there were 18 crashes over a 5 year period which resulted in a total of one pedestrian injury, and no major injuries of any crash.

So let's lay out the facts:

1. One to six people complained about the area

2. The study found people go basically the speed they go on all other roads in the city

3. No pedestrian has ever been hurt seriously in the area, and there is average of 3 accidents per year (in a section larger than the study area)

4. A public meeting was announced where only a handful of people attended (I believe the way it was marketed contributed to very low awareness)

5. A plan was implemented which only partially addressed the recommendations

One particular piece of number five was that the original study was around getting access to the environmental center - and the suggested calming was for the north and south sides of the center.  However the north side was never installed, and instead humps were put near Darlington down the street (where the speeds were slower already) - why?  I reached out to a city engineer involved in the project and it turns out a speed hump on the north side of the FEC would affect the Great Race, so since they had the funds they put it at Darlington because they also felt it was hard for people coming off Darlington to get onto Beechwood - but take a look how many people that affects, around 12.

So I'm still not clear why the city decided to put speed humps here - it seems like they took the concerns of a few people over the 6,000 cars who drive this stretch every day.  

What's the problem you might say - people should slow down!  Okay - well why not put speed humps on every single stretch of every road in Pittsburgh?  Clearly that would be ridiculous.  Why this part?  Maybe the city has a list of all of the major speed danger areas in the cities and is rolling out a ton of these, but I live right near this area and it wouldn't even have made my top 10.

I personally believe these speed humps should be removed - through roads should not have speed humps.  These are not major crossing areas for pedestrians - there seemed to be no study of the potential number of pedestrians that would be impacted.  Even with the speed humps, I've still never seen someone crossing here.  

It would be great if the city had a public record of total complaints of various areas to create transparency here.  I have a hard time believing this is the number one problem area - people FLY down Ayelsboro, which is not meant as a through street, thanks to Google Maps.  People FLY down many of our other roads including Wilkins, etc...  The solution can't be to put speed humps everywhere. 

UPDATE - wow right before I posted this the city doubled down on this madness and added more poles leading up to the humps, that require you to slow down and slalom, creating a totally ugly mess of this once beautiful, scenic road.  I think they might have done this because the speed hump crossing isn’t at the actual pedestrian crossing for some reason?  (Measure twice, build a speed thing once?) The city has to be trolling us now, right?

[agirlinjapan]

Red Data Girl: Ice Shoes, Glass Shoes (Story 1- Week 2)

Red Data Girl: Ice Shoes, Glass Shoes By Noriko Ogiwara A Translation

Read Part 1 of the first story here.

I hope everyone’s been having a nice holiday over the past week! My family and I had a quiet Christmas and now we’re enjoying a quiet few days until New Years.

During this time, I’ve gotten a lot of translating done! I’m finished with this first story in ISGS (what you’re reading now), and have moved onto the second story. The more I can do over the next few days, the less time it’ll take me to get the next story up, so I’m working hard!

There are only three parts to this first story, so next week will be the conclusion.

Happy New Year!

Red Data Girl: Ice Shoes, Glass Shoes By Noriko Ogiwara Story One: The Puppet Show- Miyuki Sagara- Third Year of Middle School- Start of Summer Part 2

Miyuki had been accepted into Keibun Academy in the summer of his first year of middle school. At the time, he had been participating in the “fall training session” on Mt. Haguro, one of the three sacred Dewa Mountains in Yamagata Prefecture.

As the acceptance had come without forewarning and Miyuki had been so caught up in his training at the time, he couldn’t remember much of getting the news except for a vague memory of mixed feelings. It had felt like he would get left behind if he wasn’t with his uncle Harunobu Sengoku. While Keibun Academy was an elite school, his acceptance didn’t feel like something he could brag about.

The day the acceptance had arrived, Miyuki had been days into his training regimen. He chanted sutras from midnight to dawn, then walked through the mountains during the day, barely sleeping, eating, or drinking. The routine had been grueling and had no apparent rhyme or reason, but during those days, he had come to understand one thing. It was shocking to know that Yukimasa came to a sacred mountain to do training like this even once every two years.

Yukimasa actually wants to do this?...

Miyuki had known that traveling around the mountain without sleep or food was part of the religious training that he was partaking in. What he hadn’t been able to handle, however, was giving up water. During the training, the participants completely forsook washing—their face, their teeth, everything. It had felt like breaking society’s rules.

There are plenty of people out there who say appearance is everything, but then they go around doing all sorts of unclean things. But Yukimasa?...

Whenever Miyuki thought about this, he could not imagine his clean-cut father going through the training. He would never do something with such questionable benefits. But that was what made Yukimasa such an unreadable person.

When Miyuki had gone to school after completing his ascetic training, normal life had somehow felt like watching a shadow puppet show. He hadn’t been able to fit in with his classmates who knew they were elite. That had been frustrating, but by the time he had realized why he was so frustrated, those feelings had grown to an unbearable level.

I’m only interacting with narrow-minded people who live narrow-minded lives here at this school. Everyone here looks like me, but that doesn’t mean that I’m the same as them deep down.

Once Miyuki had started thinking that way, things had quickly gotten a lot better. In the two years he had spent at Keibun Academy, he had become one of the most academically recognized students in the school. And the students around Miyuki had done their best to ignore his skillfully aimed sarcastic remarks.

But I can’t even compare Awatani Middle School, way up here in the mountains, to Keibun Academy…

Miyuki didn’t want to be here. He was only following Yukimasa’s instructions because of his father’s violence. But that didn’t change the fact that his present situation was attending Awatani Middle School along with Izumiko and the other students from the area, and being chauffeured back and forth by Mr. Nonomura. The current problem was how well was going to manage in this new school environment as a transfer student who had come out of nowhere.

Miyuki could tell that there was a laidback atmosphere to Awatani Middle School and that plenty of its students seemed oblivious to the world outside of their town. He couldn’t help but scoff at the fact that the school only had one class per grade as well. With so few students in the school, it probably wouldn’t take long for them to see through his forced demeanor. The groups of friends who had welcomed him at the beginning would start excluding him eventually. It was easy for Miyuki, who had transferred schools many times before this, to predict what would happen.

Or maybe I should start acting more laidback, too. I already finished the middle school third year textbooks at Keibun… I don’t have to study here. I don’t even have a desk in my room…

He also considered using everything he had learned at Keibun to make himself look smart and cool as a strategy to fitting in. That was new and novel to him as well.

Izumiko Suzuhara was with Miyuki for the car ride to school, although she appeared to be sitting as close to the opposite door from him as possible. As always, she sat there silent with her hands clasped on her lap, her eyes gazing out the window.

If he was going to have any fun thinking over his plans for fitting in, he would have to make peace with the knowledge that Izumiko would remain like that next to him for the entirety of the trip.

He would also have to make peace with the fact that Yukimasa had told him that he would serve this girl.

~*~

Because Miyuki and Izumiko were dropped off and picked up from school, they could never hang out with friends after class.

Miyuki could understand Izumiko’s embarrassment over the situation, but he decided to make the best of things and spend quality time with his classmates during lunch break instead. There was no reason for him to do nothing.

With so few students at Awatani, the number of clubs was limited. As a result, there wasn’t a soccer club. Instead, the more rough and tumble boys in their third year, Youhei Misaki, Tomoya Ogawa, and Kazuto Seya, went out onto the school field during lunch and kicked around a soccer ball as “practice,” claiming the lack of a club as an excuse. Miyuki had joined them.

Youhei and the others were under the impression that Miyuki had come from some sort of genius school where he had done nothing but study his entire life. He could be just as aggressive as anyone else though.

Those guys have absolutely no idea that I’ve been training to be a monk.

Everything Youhei and the others did was so opposite of how the Keibun students had conducted themselves that it was laughable. It would have been useless to say so to them, however. Instead, Miyuki had thrown himself whole heartedly into their lifestyle. If he felt at all ridiculous for hiding parts of his personality, surrounding himself with such wild students had kept him from noticing.

When Miyuki had first arrived at the school, he had noticed Youhei and his group scoping him out. In response, he had decided that a few minor changes to his demeaner were necessary to fully attract their friendship. With that said, while he kicked the ball around with them each day, he quickly forgot any misgivings he had originally had about doing so. Even if it had taken some adjustment, they were fun to hang out with.    

…So, I guess being a monk in training has become part of my hidden identity as well.

That felt a little strange, even to him, but it felt like more than a strategy for getting along in a new place. It felt like giving into the real him. Suddenly, Miyuki had friends that he could run around and blow off steam with. He could forget all the things that were upsetting him when he was with Youhei and the others.

That day, when he came back in from the school’s field after lunch and returned to his desk, Misa Koshikawa, the student president, came over.

“Miyuki,” she said self-importantly. “This is just a suggestion, but you shouldn’t lower yourself to Youhei’s pace. He’s trouble, and he never studies. If anyone’s going to fail the Sototsugawa High School entrance exam, it’ll be him, and they take anyone.”

Miyuki smiled at her. “So? I haven’t had time to study lately, either. It’s fine.”

Misa’s eyes went wide, clearly making some sort of assumption from his words.

“You don’t even think your parents would let you go to a trade school?”

“No, probably not.”

“…Is your family struggling that much?”

It looked like he was going to make her cry. Miyuki considered saying something along the lines of having been forced to transfer out of Keibun Academy because he hadn’t been able to afford the tuition.

When he didn’t answer immediately, Misa continued talking. “Don’t give up. If you keep taking your studies seriously, I’m sure you’ll find a way to go to high school. You could find a scholarship system if you did some research or something. I’m cheering for you, Miyuki.”

While thinking that the conversation had been very one sided, Miyuki wasn’t sure how much to correct the conclusion she had come to. He supposed that if he could get on this girl’s good side, the quality of his school life would probably improve.

“You don’t have to worry about me.”

“That’s a lie. I do have to worry about you. Your shirt’s ripped. That wouldn’t have happened if you weren’t hanging out with Youhei.”

Misa pointed a finger at him and he noticed for the first time that the sleeve of his short-sleeved button up was torn at the shoulder seam.

“Oh. Shoot.”

He thought about what would happen when Sawa saw the rip. Dismay colored his face. It wasn’t like he had other shirts he could wear instead.

“Poor Miyuki,” Misa said, her voice full of pity. But then she abruptly turned and went back to her seat. No doubt, she thought she was playing the role of a heroine.

Poor me, huh?...

Feeling a little weary from the whole encounter, it seemed somewhat impressive that someone would feel badly for him. Maybe it was a point of view he should consider as well as he crafted his identity here at Awatani Middle School. Maybe he really was a desperate third year middle school boy worth feeling badly for. However, he would have been more grateful to have his shirt repaired than to receive pity. Misa didn’t seem to be that sort of person though.

She’s not very helpful, is she?

Misa was pretty in an average sort of way and as the student president, she had influence. But Miyuki couldn’t say that he was particularly interested in her. He wasn’t interested in girls who lived their lives based on assumptions, even if they were easy to handle.

What Misa really enjoyed was observing the people around her. She believed that she was more attractive, more educated, and smarter than other people. However, she would learn better soon enough when she had to compare the real world to Awatani Middle School.

Here at Awatani, she probably thinks of herself as a princess. If you take social status out of the equation, Izumiko’s way closer to the real thing.

For some reason though, Miyuki was pretty sure that Izumiko would never be as full of herself as Misa was, princess or not.

Izumiko was taken such good care of—she was more like a queen. What Miyuki didn’t understand was why someone with such an upbringing spent all her time dejectedly by herself.

Whether Misa realized it or not, she was the hardest on Izumiko. It wasn’t her intentions to show off how mean she could be in front of Miyuki, but since it was so engrained into the atmosphere of the class after years of being together, there was no way for her to hide it.

Once Miyuki had noticed it a little and begun observing, it had been easy to see that the third year girls were split into two groups. Misa Koshikawa led one group while the other leader was Ayumi Watanabe. Ayumi was the tallest girl in class and, unsurprisingly, was the captain of the girls’ basketball team. Izumiko was part of this group. It seemed that Ayumi and Haruna Mita protected her from Misa.

From Miyuki’s perspective, Ayumi was a more sensible student than Misa. If nothing else, she had a determination to her that he liked. Her hair was cut short in a boyish style, and she had straight forward, no nonsense personality that was appealing.

If I started hanging out with Ayumi and Haruna, I wonder if Izumiko would start feeling differently about me…

However, Miyuki didn’t talk much to girls. He usually only talked to the ones who came up to him. Things were different in this class, though. It seemed like the boys were the ones who liked to go and talk to the girls and that was the way it had always been. As a result, Miyuki had never talked to Ayumi before.

But… Well, I guess I’ll have a chance eventually.

As Miyuki thought this, his next chance to talk to Ayumi rolled right around thanks to the gym teacher, Mr. Kawasawa’s, invitation to join the district track and field competition.

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