#broken brolly

[brummiereader]

PREVIOUS PART

Hopelessly Devoted (PART FIVE)

Summary: After your tearful departure from Small Heath, you find your way back in the town you bid farewell to quicker than expected, Inevitably back to face the very man who told you to leave. Will your unavoidable confrontation with Tommy threaten to put an even heavier strain on your already fragile relationship?

Warnings: Language, angst, mutual pining, mentions of blood

" Fuck, fuck fuck!" you sobbed dropping your keys on the floor as you furiously wiped away your tears. With one sharp kick in frustration to the old wooden door at your current predicament you slumped down onto the cobbled floor as the clouds broke open and a deluge of rain poured down on you. Great.

" Y/N?..." You heard Polly's voice say in the darkened alleyway, her heels echoing loudly through the back row of house as she hurried over to you, holding her brolly up from the torrential rain now pouring down on the entire town. Yes that's right, Polly. You was back. Your dramatic departure filled with tears and sorrow in attempts to escape both your broken heart and Tommy's fury lasted all but one day. One fucking day. You quickly learnt upon your arrival in London after meeting with the Landlord that there had been a mistake or, what you had determined to be an absolute bollocks of an injustice. There was no letting, or at least there wasn't anymore. Greed knows no bounds and the Landlord your cousin had spoken of was no different. With little sympathy he quickly explained to you that he had let the property out to someone else, favouring their six months advance in rent over your measly one month deposit, leaving you on the doorstep of the flat you hoped you would call home with a puff from his cigar and a snide smirk as he slammed the door In your face. " Y/N?" Polly said as she helped you up from the ground, her eyes wide in confusion." You should be in London. What are you doing back here love?" She questioned as she pulled you under her umbrella, rubbing you arm up and down in attempts to warm you up.

" I was. But like everything in my life it was a disaster. I can't do anything right " you said as you sniffed back your tears bending down to pick up your keys.

" Disaster? You've only been gone twenty-four hours. What could have gone so wrong that you found yourself back in this shit hole?" She replied looking around her as she kicked a clump of mud off the end of her pristine black boots.

" Landlord had a better proposition, six months worth of rent in advance" you replied as you wrapped your hands around your body from the cold.

" Greedy bastard" she replied with an irritated huff on your behalf. "What about your cousin, you couldn't have stayed with her?"

"She's not there. Neighbour said she went to Hull on holiday. A holiday, In winter, who does that?" nobody does Polly thought to herself, especially not somewhere as bitterly windy as Hull. This was all too much of a coincidence for her liking. There was only one person that could have arranged all this within the space of twenty four hours and he was currently sat in the Garrison with her two other nephews and half a bottle of whisky in his hand. Deciding to spare you any further misery for one day she kept her suspicions to herself, but not without mentally taking note to give her meddling nephew a sharp smack to the back of his head the moment he had sobered up and the warm lull of alcohol had worn off. " I have two weeks left of rent on this place Pol. I kept a key just in case" you said turning to look up at your bedsit window. " He's changed the fucking locks on the back door, I can't get in!" you started to sob again as you looked down at the keys in your hand." Pol what am I supposed to do?"

" Come on, you'll stop at mine" she said hooking her arm in yours as she started walking you out the alleyway.

" Pol, Tommy...I can't " you said as you abruptly pulled away.

" Yes you can. You'll stop in Ada's old room. And as for Tommy, you let me worry about him. Understood?" she replied, not giving you a chance to argue otherwise as she took you by the arm once again. " I doubt you'll see him anyway love. He'll be in the Garrison until the early hours drowning in his sorrows"

" Sorrows? What's he got to be sorry about, thought he had everything made?"

"Y/N, there's something I need to tell you..."

" Bewitched, she bloody bewitched you!" John slurred as he raised his glass of whisky up to the ceiling whilst he precariously tried to pour a steady stream of the amber liquor down into his mouth, half of it inevitably spilling onto his freshly ironed shirt.

"No. Y/N bewitched me. Bewitched me since we were kids" Tommy said as he slammed his glass down onto the table, reaching in his pocket to pull out a pack of cigarettes.

" Fucking hell, that good was it Tommy?" John laughed with a snort as Arthur threw a cushion at his head causing the remainder of his whisky to tip over onto the plush crimson sofa he was laying on. Polly would certainly have his head for that.

" Wouldn't fucking know anymore, it's been five years" Tommy mumbled under his breath lighting a cigarette as he let his body fall back into the arm chair. But he did know, he did remember. He'd thought about you every night since the day he boarded the train for France. Thought about the small whimpers he would coax from your lips as he rocked his body into yours. The way he'd wrap you tightly in his arms after as you drifted off to sleep, listening to the gentle sounds of you breathing as his own eyes became heavy, and he joined you in peaceful dreams. Now all he heard was the sound of shovels on the four walls of his room, reminding him of what he had lost, what he had endured in those lonely nights away from you. Not that he would admit it of course.

" So what's your plan Tom?" Arthur said as he looked down at his drink, swirling the amber liquor from side to side before downing it. For once, he was the lesser drunk out of the three. Polly had given him strict instructions to go easy on the whisky and watch that Tommy didn't drink himself into oblivion. What Polly really meant was to not drink at all, but all Arthur heard was " go easy". And he had, albeit within his own limits before he too was too drunk to stand and ended up as hammered as his two younger brothers.

" Bloody Plan. I don't have a plan" Tommy lied as he stood up, leaning his arm on the mantle of the fire place to keep himself steady as he looked into the flames.

" You not going to London after her then?" Arthur asked as a heavy feeling of guilt started to sit uncomfortably in the pit of Tommy's stomach. The truth was Tommy did have a plan, one that had started to play on his conscious like the many other things he had added in the last twenty-four hours.

" She won't be in London for long" Tommy replied as he flicked his cigarette into the flames.

" Jesus Tom, what you done now?" Arthur said as he stood up, handing him the bottle of whisky to further dull his guilt.

" Something I'll regret no doubt" he said taking the bottle, intent on finishing its contents before Arthur grabbed it back. Pulling out your gold watch from his trouser pocket Tommy rubbed his thumb over the front, the wear and tear of the years he had kept it by his side more noticeable the longer he looked at it. " Fucking women eh?" Tommy said as he cleared his throat placing the watch back in his pocket.

" Your fucking women. You don't half pick 'em" John replied as he sat up rubbing the back of his neck as he placed a cushion over the whisky stain beside him, hopeful Polly wouldn't notice.

" Nah, Y/N was an angel" Arthur said resting his hands on his stomach as the four glasses of sharp liquor started to weigh down his heavy eyes." It's the other one I didn't get. You had it all Tom, what the hell was that?"

" To piss Y/N off" Tommy said shamefully when the front door creaked open and you and Polly walked in from the rain.

" To piss me off?..." You said, standing their stunned having heard the entirety of their conversation.

" Y/N..." Tommy said stumbling your name out as he turned to face you, his eyes wide at the realisation you had heard his spiteful confession.

" What the bloody hell are you lot doing here? You're supposed to be in the Garrison" Polly said as she shook the rain from her umbrella, her eyes darting between you and Tommy and the death stare you was sending him. It was all about to kick off.

" Grace was to fucking piss me off?!" You shouted as you marched over, grabbing the bottle of whisky from Arthur's hand and launching it in Tommy's direction.

" Jesus fucking Christ!" John shouted as he jumped out the way, dodging the bottle that landed on the floor beside him as a barrage of other objects came flying Tommy's way.

" Y/N, darling, I didn't mean it like that..." Tommy attempted to say with his hands out as a vase of flowers landed on him, gashing his arm. "Fuck!" he yelled as he looked down at the shard of glass lodged in his skin.

" She got you good there Tom" Arthur chuckled, amused at the fact his little brother was finally getting his dues. " Stay still" Arthur said getting up as he rubbed his hands together ready to play the surgeon. Looking sheepishly over to you Tommy watched as you turned around and stormed out the house.

"Y/N wait!" Tommy shouted as he pushed Arthur's hands away, pulling out the piece of glass stuck in his arm with a loud grunt. " Y/N it's pissing it outside, come back in!" he yelled after you as he ran through the living room, stumbling over the edge of the coffee table in the process. Drunk, one arm bloody, hair disheveled, he looked a mess, a desperate pathetic mess.

" Fuck off Tommy!" you shouted, arms crossed as you walked rapidly down Watery Lane.

" Y/N I didn't know! I didn't fucking know!" He yelled back in the middle of the street, awakening the whole neighborhood as the rain continued to violently pour down on the small town. " I thought it was you. Isaiah, Kimber's men...what, what else was I supposed to think?" he said coming to a stop as you continued to ignore him." You started all this you know, five years ago when you broke my heart!"

" Shut up, shut the fuck up! You screamed as you span around, storming back to him having had enough of hearing the same broken record non- stop for five years. Coming face to face with him, Tommy took a step back. He had never seen you this way, this angry this furious, the softness of your face replaced with a rage he had created. "Have you ever, ever once stopped to think that when you left me on that platform when you didn't look back, you broke my heart too!"

" I did look.."

" Shut up Tommy, just stop!" you cut him off unwilling to entertain anything he had to say as the whirlwind of anger stormed within you.

" Y/N" Tommy said reaching his hand out for you that got quickly slapped away by your own.

" I may have broken your heart first Tommy but every day since you have broken mine over and over again. I waited Tommy, waited five years. Watched you move on with that barmaid, stood there as you accused me of stabbing you in the back" you sobbed, the bitter reality of your unrelenting devotion towards him and all the years you had wasted trying to please him cutting sharper then any cruel passing comment he had ever made." All because I loved you...because I couldn't let go" you sobbed as the anger that had been building in you rapidly left, leaving you stood there deflated.

" Sweetheart please.." Tommy pleaded hearing the hurt in your voice as he gently cupped your cheek, slowly moving closer to press his forehead against yours.

" I'm not your sweetheart anymore. I'm done Tommy." you cried turning around as Tommy's hand dropped from your face.

" Y/N!" Tommy shouted, watching you walk away as he stumbled forward slipping over the wet dirt covered ground, the half bottle of whisky he had drunk dulling his usually sharp reflects. " Have a look everyone, take a good fucking look!" he yelled watching the neighbours curtains twitch from behind their windows, his yelling bringing the whole street's attention to the commotion he was responsible for. "Tommy Shelby on his fucking knees begging, happy now Y/N. Y/N!"

" Bloody hell, get up Tom. You're making a fucking scene" Arthur said looking around the street as him and John pulled him up from the ground.

" How much has he drunk?" Polly said storming over with Tommy's coat as Arthur and John held him up.

" I don't know half a bottle, maybe more" he replied as he brushed the rain off Tommy's face." He's alright Pol, ain't you Tom?"

" Arthur, I told you to keep an eye on him. He's a miserable bastard when he's drunk" Polly said looking to her nephew as she placed the coat around Tommy's shoulders.

" Would you all just fuck off..." Tommy slurred, pushing his brothers off him as he walked off into the night.

" Tommy where you going?" John called out ready to follow when Arthur put his hand out.

" Let him drink it off John boy" Arthur said watching him stumble around the corner.

" Don't you mean sleep it off?"

" Drink it off. Tommy's barely slept a wink since him and Y/N broke up"

" Best we leave him to it. The drink will force him to sleep whether he wants to or not" Polly said as she ushered her nephews back to the house. " Come on, in" she ordered them as she turned around to shut the door. " One day, just one day I'd like us not to be the talk of this town"

" Tommy, Tommy! You sick Tommy?" Curly said as he bent down to Tommy laying in a heap of hay inside one of the horses stalls on Charlie's yard early the next morning, his hand grasped tightly around another bottle of whisky he had presumably found on his way there.

" Nothing the hair of the dog can't fix" Charlie said as he bent down lifting Tommy's peaked cap up as Tommy slowly opened his eyes . " Think he's had enough of the good stuff, get him a glass of vinegar instead Curly" Charlie said as Tommy grunted at the idea of his Uncles hangover cure.

" Vinegar, I'll go get vinegar for you Tom. We'll have you back in shape in no time" Curly said as he hurried off out of the stall.

" Tommy get up, you're laying in horses shit" Charlie said as he grabbed the bottle of whisky from his hand. "You won't find what your looking for at the bottom of a bottle Tom" Charlie said as he poured its contents onto the cobbled stable floor beside him whilst Tommy watched the only thing that dulled his self-inflicted guilt slip away. " Y/N?" Charlie said as he turned the tin water bucket upside down to sit next to him, handing him a cigarette.

" Written across my face is it Uncle?" Tommy said as Charlie leaned over to light the end.

" Always did find your way back here, sleeping with the horses when you two would have it off. That and a bowl of cold water on you when she'd find you the next day" Charlie said as Tommy let out a scoff of a laugh looking down at the cigarette between his fingers. " She still comes in here. Find her siting there watching Curly brush the horses like she did when she was a kid, like when you were both kids" he said as he nodded to the bench in the corner of the stall as Tommy rested the back of his head on the wooden enclosure whilst the memories of happier times flooded back to him.

" Started when her dad died. Would bring us here to get away from her mum and Polly's sharp hand on the back of my head" Tommy chuckled as he breathed out a cloud of smoke. " Just wanted her to enjoy the quiet" he sighed rubbing his thumb along his brow as last night's drinking started to catch up with him. How long would he keep doing this?

" Times changed" Charlie said as he looked over to Tommy's eyes fixed on the bench in the corner where you'd both sit " So what did you do this time then Tom?"

" What haven't I done?" Tommy replied as he stood up adjusting his coat around him.

" Still breaking her heart?" Charlie said looking up to Tommy as he watched him pat down the horse he had for company the whole night, thankful he couldn't repeat his drunken rambles.

" Since I boarded the train for France, so I've been told"

" You were too young Tommy. You were about to go off to fight. You could have left her a widow when she was still a kid herself. But I'm guessing that's not all you've done." Charlie said as Tommy listened and let his Uncles words sink in. " Make it right Tom. She's been good to you, she don't deserve this"

" Think I ruined all chances of that Charlie" Tommy said giving up, straightening his peaked cap out as he walked out into the bitter morning mist.

"Bollocks. Bite the bullet and do what you got to do Tom, else you'll spend the rest of your life looking down that whisky bottle" Charlie said as he walked off, throwing the empty glass bottle into the cut.

"Vinegar Tommy" curly said running up to Tommy as he squinted through the fog, watching his Uncle walk off into the yard.

" Save it Curly, for when I'm really down in the dirt, ey?" Tommy said as he patted his shoulder, forgoing the idea of drinking Charlie's sharp remedy to bring him to his senses. His words had been enough. It was time for him to pay the piper and own up to his mistakes if he ever wanted to win you back.

It had been a week since your return to the town you thought you had bid farewell to and a week since you had last seen Tommy, having avoided every one of his attempts to talk to you. After a sharp word to your landlord Polly handed you a new set of keys to your bedsit the very next day. But with only one weeks worth of rent paid left, and your unexpected return ticket from London costing more that you thought it would, your savings were dwindling. Polly had offered you help even asking you to come back to the betting shop, an offer you was convinced Tommy had been the first to suggest. Declining both propositions and adamant on showing Tommy you didn't need, nor want his help you decided to look for work elsewhere, and with three job interviews lined up for today you had high hopes your money troubles would soon pass. Fixing your hat in place, you pushed a small pin into the side firmly securing it from any gusts of wind that threatened to blow it over. With one last glance at your appearance in the mirror you turned around, the smile on your face dropping and a scowl quickly replacing it at the sight of the growing flower garden currently occupying every surface of your bedsit. Seven bouquets of flower for each day you had been back, each with their own card hand written to you from Tommy himself. Fuck sake. Gaudy, flashy, over the top. Not like the beautiful posy of meadow flowers he would spend time picking for you on your birthday. You thought to yourself as you glared at them opening your front door only to be met with another ridiculously large bouquet in your face.

" 'Scuse me Mam" the young boy said as he stepped back. " Delivery from Mr Shelby"

" Jesus fucking Christ" you mumbled under you breath. You had no space for them and was frankly getting fed up with his pitiful gestures. After the relentless messages he had left you it was time to send him one final of your own so he understood exactly what your thoughts were on his grand displays of love. Pulling the card out from within the bouquet of red roses you scoffed at the message before reading it aloud.

" Roses are red..." you said without finishing the rest of the card before ripping it up and placing it back within the flowers as the young boy shuffled on his feet, his eyes quickly darting away. " Send them back Archie" you said with a huff as you shut your door.

" But Mr Shelby he..." the young boy replied nervously before you stopped him.

" Archie it's alright" You said bending down to his level as you placed your hand on his shoulder " Don't you worry about Mr Shelby, he won't do a thing. The only person he will get angry at is himself after his brothers tease him about this, alright?" You smiled as he nodded his head in reply. "Send them back at noon when Arthur and John will be there. We can't let them miss out on the opportunity to get one over on him can we?" you giggled as the young boys muddy cheeks dimpled into a grin. " Go on" you said handing him a penny, winking to him as he ran to the stairs, jumping down the rickety wooden steps two at a time. That will keep him at bay, you thought to yourself as you too headed down the steps jumping off the last one, your mood suddenly brightened again. Little did you know your scheme to keep Tommy away would only backfire when the result of another stupid idea Tommy had concocted to get your attention was about to play out.

" What do you mean the position has been filled?" You asked as you stood in front of the manager of the postal office, having only just arrived for your final job interview that day.

" Sorry Mam. The Position was filled this morning" he replied clearing his throat as he shuffled the papers in front of him.

" But it's only eleven thirty, I'm the first to be interviewed on the list" you pointed out to him at the paper on his desk. This was your last hope. The two previous interviews, well, lack of interviews were disastrous. One only lasted all but three minutes and the other place was shut before you even arrived.

" We erhh, we found someone yesterday" he said packing his documents into the draw as he quickly stood up taking the other pile of files sitting on the side.

" Yesterday was Sunday"

" Mam I'm sorry. I can't help you, the position has been filled" he said as he looked to the door not wanting to be asked any further questions.

" Shelby Company Limited" you scoffed, noticing the business card on top of the pile of documents in his hand. " He's been here hasn't he? Told you not to give me the job?" you huffed crossing your arms as you bit your bottom lip trying to hold back the tears welling in your eyes. Your heightened emotions never failing to show themselves at the most inconvenient of times.

" He said you already have a job, he was quite adamant about it. He..." the manager replied as you put your hand up, stopping him from making any more excuses for him.

" Save it " you said wiping your eyes as you turned on your heel, heading for the very man you knew was to blame not only for this failed job interview but the two others as well. Thomas fucking Shelby. Was this his way of getting you to talk to him, for him to see you? Well he was going to get just that, and five years worth of pent-up anger coming his way too.

NEXT PART

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[salllzy]

The deal #1

Being an omega in Hell was not ideal, being an omega in a contract with the King? Was far worse. The terms of the contract were simple, he was to provide the King with an heir, male or female it didn't matter. After the birth he was to cut all contact with the Royal family and never interact with them again, to say that the interactions with the King were cold was an understatement, once a week he was called to the king's room where they would have sex and he was left dissatisfied and longing for more. The deal with the Queen hadn't been intended, rather he had been trapped between a rock and a hard place. Vox had greatly injured him during the last extermination, the media demon had used it to attack him while he had been fighting with angels. The Queen had found him before he could get to his daughter and she had tortured him until he had agreed to her demands. Once he provided an heir, he would be set free, or if the King grew bored of him. They were the only ways he could get his freedom back. The only reason he kept going was because of his daughter, his princess, he endured so that he could go back to her. Then he got the news that he had been dreading, he was pregnant, the King had taken the news in stride, but other than a brief flicker of interest? Alastor was left to do it himself, attend the appointments, shop for maternity clothes, he dealt with the cravings, the pain in his breasts, the lactating, he dealt with his swollen ankles and bad back by himself. It was times like this that he wished Sarah was here, she would make a wonderful older sister if given the chance. She had always wanted a sibling or two, but well, her mother had run off with a French man to have a better life. Afterwards, he had been left to care for an infant daughter, and the thought of having another relationship didn't cross his mind. In Hell he had tried his hand once more with Vox, only it hadn't worked out and it had led to a toxic relationship. Vox had always been pushing him, to modernise, to change his appearance, to try different things. Alastor had no problem with wearing different clothing or changing his hairstyle every once in a while, but he was the Radio Demon, radio was his medium and as much as Vox hated it, he wasn't going to change. It had led to a fight of all fights and they had broken up, or rather he had beat Vox into a bloody pulp and then tossed the ring that Vox had gotten him back at the media demon. Sadly Vox hadn't received the message and for years afterwards, he had been constantly trying to 'woo' Alastor back. He had no intention of ever going back to Vox.

Then his due date arrived and he had wrongly assumed that the King would perhaps be a bit more interested, but he wasn't. The birth had been long and difficult, there was no midwife to help him and more than once he had feared that he would lose the baby before they had even taken their first breath. When he had heard the cry of a baby he had almost collapsed with relief, but his work hadn't been finished, there was still the afterbirth to deal with. Once he had cleaned her up, a daughter, he had given birth to a daughter, there had been a knock at the door. He wasn't even given enough time to answer before the King walked into the room and removed the baby from his arms, he was then grabbed and tossed out of the mansion, blood and amniotic fluid still covering him. Acid rain began to pour down, causing his skin to burn. A brolly appeared and he looked up, red eyes meeting red. "Oh papa, let's get you home." With that the pair of them disappeared into the shadows, unaware of the figure standing near a window watching them. Gold eyes turned to his daughter when Lilith had proposed the idea he hadn't been on board at first, then Lilith had told him not to worry and that she would take care of everything. Silently he would admit that the Radio Demon was everything that he desired in a partner, powerful, cunning, and unafraid to get his hands dirty if it meant protecting his own.

But what he couldn't abide by was a cheater, he wanted someone who would commit to the relationship with him. The Radio Demon was incapable of it.

[idontknowreallywhy]

Reading Nevermoor to the 8 year old…

Chapter 9

Had a long discussion about the mechanics of the brolly rail, and which end of the umbrella you’d hold on to and how it would be strong enough (we’ve broken a lot of flimsy brollies in our house). It sounds fun and like flying but she thinks her hands would get sweaty.

Very interested in the dead fireblossoms.

We do not like Baz. He’s too obsessed with what people look like and doesn’t care what they actually are like inside. And he treats Morrigan like a Thing.

Nunya is a hilarious joke…

We like Jupiter’s low voice. She thinks it would give people goosebumps and maybe stop their brains working properly. Can he control people like that because he stops Baz talking?

Surely the Wunderous Society people don’t believe in the Wundersmith as well? It’s obviously just a story… she is clear about this because Jupiter said so.

Noelle is awful… maybe the worst yet.

At this point we are guessing that Morrigan’s knack is ‘confidence’ - because she was really brave and did the right thing even though people might then bully her too.

The jelly drop was hilarious. She did feel a bit sorry for the toads… but thinks Hawthorne is funny. Hopefully they can stay friends.

[willkimurashat]

Writing Patterns

Thank you for tagging me @queen-of-boops @justtuesdays @mrsbsmooth and @0shewrites0 💕💕💕

Rules: Share the first paragraph of your last five published works or as many as you are able and see if there are any patterns!

1. Serendipity

She couldn’t see a thing. Neither the shape of the room, nor the edges of the bed, or rather the mattress propped against the wall, pillows haphazardly thrown on top and barely covered with a blanket. She couldn’t see the last sunrays penetrating through the open window, casting their amber glows across her skin, painting shadows over her curves, outlining the planes of his carved out body, and highlighting the perfect angles of his slim face.

2. You Don’t Spell It, You Feel It

Do you believe in fairytales? I sure did, without shame. When Santa dips his cookies in milk and the chimney becomes a little too tight for him to squeeze through. When stuffed animals become your closest friends and come to life at night for you to confide in them your deepest secrets. When the rainbow maps the location of the treasured gold, destined to be lost and to never be found. Fairytales make us believe, and believing makes life worth living.

3. Beloved & Beloathed

Many things in life come in pairs. Sometimes they’re inseparable, like scissors, or glasses, or a Twix bar. Sometimes, they’re at opposite ends, tugging on each other for balance, like left and right, hot and cold, heaven and hell. Yet other times, they can exist on their own, but are only really useful when they’re together. Like paintbrush and watercolor, or a pair of chopsticks, or buying two shirts during the sale where the ad clearly reads “Buy one – get one free.”

4. We Spoke in Flower

I always hated the rain. Ironic, given I live in England. I just never got the appeal of the aesthetic. It’s rather difficult to look on the bright side, when all you see is grey skies and your skin doesn’t receive enough vitamin D. Runny mascara is much too angsty for me; the cold droplets almost piercing through my goosebump-covered skin, reaching straight to the bone. Leaky shoes, damp socks, dirt-splattered trousers, soaking wet collar. And umbrellas. Of course, umbrellas are always a pain. I’ve just given up on carrying them altogether – what’s the point anyway? I lost count of how many brollies I’ve broken or how many times I’d left one at home, naively hoping the sun is there to stay, only for it to start pouring. A useless invention, if you ask me.

5. Snog, Marry, Die

Oxford dictionary defines vengeance as a “punishment inflicted, or retribution exacted for an injury or wrong.” Anyone would hardly ever connect a free summer holiday under Mallorca sun, surrounded by hot singles, with “an injury or wrong.” And yet, each day spent locked in the villa, with the islanders constantly lying to her face, overexaggerating, following her around, stirring drama, and cheating behind her back chipped away her sanity. Piece by piece. Cell by cell. Atom by atom. Until she was way beyond her boiling point. Until the only thing that filled her, was the idea of punishment for all the wrongs she had to endure. Vengeance.

Tagging: @libelle949 @tammyisobsessedwith @operationnope @ellegreenwxy - no pressure! And sorry if you’ve already been tagged👉👈

[thesealfriend]

In my defence:

¹ I dislike wearing gloves for sensory reasons and I will put up with them for Dangerous Things (like oven cleaner), but if the bleach is going on my head it can go on my hands too, I have gotten peroxide burns a few times and it was much less unpleasant than dealing with gloves

² For similar reasons, I dislike waterproof clothing (and umbrellas) and would rather be a bit soggy (or stay dry using layered hoodies) than put up with the textures and sounds and faff. I own a good jacket and a brolly, and will use them if I have to, but mostly I just find it helpful to be able to go "see, I am not foolishly unprepared, I am simply choosing not to bother currently". Also, I will wear shorts in wet weather on purpose because I'd rather not have to deal with soggy jeans/trousers/etc once I get where I'm going.

[indorset]

Reader insert #2

Prompt: None. Inspired by this scene in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.

Summary: An explanation to the gif above. Unknowingly (I didn’t plan on it when I started writing) set in the same verse as “visiting Hogwarts”.  Can be read as a stand alone.

Words count: 801.

Rating: G

Warning: none. Though if anything comes up to you, do let me know. 

A/N: I couldn’t resist the forehead touch (again). It’s so soft, just like Newt Scamander. 

You casted a drying spell as you discarded the broken brolly aside; London’s weather was as rainy and gloomy as ever. A pile of papers and envelopes on the floor caught your attention. Casting a quick Reparo at the brolly, you picked up the mails. The flat was dark and quiet.

“Newt, I’m home!” You called out. 

Our home, you smiled at the thought. You have been living together for two weeks now, and it still felt like a dream. There were some adjustments to be made, small arguments over who stole the blanket at night, but you wouldn’t trade anything in the world for this domesticity that you two shared. 

You were sorting through the mail– Muggles, while blessed for their invention of electricity and the sewage system, had managed to send all sorts of bills to be paid– when you heard a muffled clang toward the bedroom’s direction. 

Probably inside his suitcase, you thought, since the bedroom remained dark. You put the sorted mail on the mantelpiece and discarded the rest with a flick of your wand, then quickly made your way to the source of the noise. 

The suitcase sat open on the bed. As you approached, you caught sight of a picture of Newt and you by the bedside table, illuminated by the faint glow of streetlight. You drew the drapes and whispered Lumos, electricity bills be damned. Your face broke into a big smile as you picked up the picture. Newt kept many photographs around the flat: of you, of the two of you together, portraits and sketches of his and your beloved creatures. Your favorite of the two of you had ended by his side of the bed. Your finger traced his face as he softly gazed up at you. Even in a photograph, you could still see his freckles, dotting like stars. 

“Merlin’s beard!” The shout from inside the suitcase startled you. Putting the picture down, you hurriedly took the steps descending down to the wonderland that is Newt’s suitcase.

“Newt! Is everything alright?” You found him hunched over by his desk, cradling his arm close to his person, his great blue coat laid abandoned nearby. 

“Y/N! You’re back!” Newt’s bright, sunny smile immediately abated your worries. You couldn’t help but grin back at him. But that didn’t last long. 

“Stars! What happened?!” You gasped– there, where his skin was visible, were teeth marks in shades of reds. Newt’s white shirt was soaked with sweat. You started to examine him profusely. Those looked like–

“Murtlap’s bites?” You ran your fingers gingerly over a mark by Newt’s collarbone. His shirt was unbuttoned down the first three, leaving his chest half exposed. You felt Newt’s breath hitched as your fingers brushed against the angry red of his skin. 

“Yes. I have been… observing different reactions one might get when bitten by a murtlap. So far, it has been quite harmless. The only thing was that… flmns…”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that?” You looked up at him as he averted his gaze, cheeks pink. You didn’t realize your face was so close to him. You could see his constellations of freckles so clearly from here. 

“The only serious reaction was… flame out of the anus.” He mumbled the last bit. Your lips thinned as you tried to hide a fond smile at your magizoologist. Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them was published right before you moved in together. Only Newt Scamander would work on a revision so soon after the book’s premier. His compassion and dedication would never cease to amaze you. He did it not for recognition nor fame, but purely out of his compassion and dedication to the magical creatures.

“Let’s treat these bites, then you can go and update your manuscript, yes?” You brushed the sweaty hair out of his face and pressed a kiss on his freckles, his cheeks warm under your lips. You started to pull away, only to find his lips on yours. You leaned into the kiss as one of Newt’s hands caressed your face, the other a comforting warmth at your waist. 

You reluctantly pulled apart and rested your forehead against his. “Exactly how much flame out of the anus are we talking about?” You said cheekily.

Newt’s face is a whole other shade of red that you had never seen before. “I would say it depends on the diet one consumes.”

Your laughter rang through the space. If this was how it’s like with Newt, you couldn’t wait to spend the rest of your life with him. But that would be for another day. While the future was exciting and full of possibilities, you were content and happy at this moment in time, surrounded by the fantastic beasts and the love of your life. 

[missameliep]

Love Thy Neighbour - Part 1

Book: Desire and Decorum AU (Modern Days/Neighbours) Pairing: Prince Hamid x Elizabeth Foredale (OC) Rating: Teen and Up  Word count: 5k

Summary: After a bad date, it seems the universe heard Elizabeth (OC) and decided to grant her wish. But will she accept the gift or will she throw it away like a broken brolly? Notes: * All characters belong to Pixelberry (Briar Daly, Prince Hamid, Bartholomew Chambers and Yusuf Konevi), except OC. * English is not my first language. * No Warnings. Just a silly and fluff story. * I want to thank @princess-geek​​ for being my beta. Thanks for always being so kind to me! 😘

* This is my submission to CFWC Silly Love Stories and I don’t know if we could do this or not, but I did... This fic is a combination of two of the prompts (Day 3. Roommates/neighbors (canon or AU) and Day 5. Meet cute), and this part of the story focus on the meet cute. Thank you for hosting this event @choicesficwriterscreations​​, the prompts were really inspiring! 

The soft jazz is replaced by the city’s very own symphony the moment Elizabeth steps out of the pub. She was a little bit tipsy, which is unusual for her, especially in a weeknight, and free – or so she thought, until the masculine voice called her name.

They already said their polite goodnights inside, like good-manners commands. The date was officially over. Elizabeth could pretend not hearing it and keep walking. And so she does. But he calls again, much closer, and his hand touches her arm. She can no longer ignore him and a defeated sigh escapes her lips before she turns around to face him.

“Oh, sorry,” she apologizes like she always does. This urge to apologize, even if you did nothing wrong, is it some inexplicably British characteristic engrained in their genes, or simply her own eagerness to avoid conflicts?

“We should do this again,” the man suggests with a smirk, leaning closer and staring at Elizabeth with those bedroom eyes again. “Or perhaps I can change your mind about that night cap...”

Seriously? Is he expecting to bed me? How absolutely clueless can he be?

Taking a step back, Elizabeth says the first thing that pops in her head, “Wait for my call.”

Her voice is firm, her tone is serious and she does not laugh. And this is enough to make him smile, also gives her the chance to reunite with her friend, who forces herself not to laugh too.

Linking her arm with Briar’s, the two rush to the pedestrian crossing, and in the blink of an eye, reach the opposite sidewalk.

“Wait! You didn’t get my number!” the man shouts.

The two do not look back, zigzagging their way around patrons exiting another pub. The soft summer breeze tousles their long hairs and carries their giggles through the night. The liquor consumed in the pub in this past hour enhanced their cheerfulness and darkened their cheeks, but did not steal their enviable skill wobbling around four-inch heels.

Faces flushed, they get in line and hop on the bus after a group of chatty tourists with their bags from a famous fast-food restaurant, that impregnates the air inside the vehicle.

“Were you as bored as you looked, Lizzy?” Briar asks out of breath, sitting in one of the last two seats on the back of the bus.

“More!” she admits, taking the last spot, and the persistent smile fades from her lips. “I thought London’s dating scene would be more exciting…”

“It usually is. It’s rare to end up with two guys as snobbish and boring as the ones your grandmother tries to set you up with.”

“Lucky me then!”  

Tonight was the first time in many months Elizabeth willingly went to a date, engaging in most of the expected pre-date rituals, including almost biting every single nail out of anxiety, wondering if this would be the one to end her unlucky streak. However, this was not it. This date makes into her Top 5 Worst Dates, which is quite an accomplishment considering the list includes the time she almost set her own dress on fire and that one-time date night ended in a trip to the ER because Michael accidentally hit her nose with his elbow taking off his shirt and then fainted at all the bleeding and hit his own head at the coffee table which prompted more bleeding – a memorable night for all the wrong reasons, including the fact her father had to drive both teenagers to Edgewater’s hospital and the awkward conversation with him that followed.

“At least they were easy on the eye,” Briar nudges her friend’s side.

“That is true. And the only other reason why I stayed,” Elizabeth admits at last, concealing with one hand the flush that reddened her cheeks. The first reason was to prove a point to herself, which she partially did. “But good-looks do not compensate for all the rest… I’m still shocked that he was being serious about scientists not sharing their findings with the public… It felt like Twitter was talking back to me...”

“I still think you should’ve accepted his invitation.”

“Not funny.”

When Briar speaks again, she mimics the man’s pretentious accent. “Have you been to the Cornwall, Elizabeth? The weather is exceptional this time of the year!”

“I barely survived one hour with him. How would I endure an entire weekend?”

“Booze,” Briar replies not skipping a beat. “Drunk Lizzy is easily amused. And you could always shag him and shut him up…”

“What?” Elizabeth gasps, looking around to see if someone else is paying attention to their conversation. Lowering her voice so only Briar can listen, she states, “I will not sleep with him so you can go sailing in his yacht!”

“That’s rude. How many times one must tell you it’s not a yacht, it’s a Sunseeker?” she retorts, stressing the brand’s name like the man did, correcting the two of them moments ago.

Elizabeth playfully slaps her arm, and their laughs are muffled by the rush of new passengers hopping on the bus. Amidst them, a tall man in a navy-blue suit with dark hair perfectly styled back, who looks like a walking ad for one of those ridiculously expensive watches. His dark eyes scan everything around like a kid in an amusement park for the first time and he smiles to himself, trying to hold at one of the vertical poles near a group of teenagers.

“Look at that!” Briar practically shoves the mobile on her friend’s face, reclaiming her attention back. “Another match! And he texted me! Should I text him now? Maybe I should wait. No, I’ll text him.” She answers her own questions, already typing, then glances at Elizabeth. “And since you insist on not creating your own profile,” Briar says with non-veiled criticism, “I can ask if he’s got a cute friend and we could go on another double date this weekend.”

“I’m done with dating for now, Briar…”

“You can’t give up after one bad date.”

“You know it’s way more than one bad date…” Elizabeth sighs, and her gaze fixes at the window, contemplating the buildings sliding, a pensive expression Briar knows well enough.

Taking a deep breath, Briar smiles and tries to lighten the mood, “Without going on a bunch of awkward dates now, how will we get the material for our exceptionally funny anecdotes in the future? Imagine how boring it would be to tell the story of how you met the one on the very first attempt… Who wants that?”

“The one?” Elizabeth tucks some curls behind her ears and stares quizzically at her friend. “We’re not twelve anymore, Briar…”

“Hey! Don’t you quit on me, Lizzy!” Briar points a finger at her and chides, but her tone is light, and the words lilt with laughter, “You got me believing in all that gibberish in the first place.”

“If there really is something like that, maybe I’ll just sit at home and wait for the one to knock on my door. If it’s meant to be... he’ll eventually come, right? I hope he likes coffee...”

While Briar protests, delivering a passionate speech to demonstrate how wrong she was, Elizabeth smiles and watches people moving around when the bus sighs to a stop once more.

Some passengers occupy the recently emptied seats, and the man in suit clumsily draws back, letting people walk past him. Neck stretched, he surveys the space at the back and moves forward, distancing from the door in the hopes of an emptier place to stand. Judging by his awkwardness, Elizabeth wonders if he ever used public transportation in his life and is reminded by her own awkwardness when she first moved to the city.

“You have to put yourself out there, Lizzy,” Briar concludes, and Elizabeth looks back at her. “And take chances. Otherwise, how you’ll meet someone?”

“For once, I just wanted the universe to throw a nice guy my way and say: Hey! Here you go! You deserve a good one! Take it!”

“Life will not literally throw a guy on your lap, Lizzy,” Briar says, between giggles, “That’s not how it works and you know it…” The woman was still talking when the engine purred. The bus sped up, jostling the passengers back and then to the side, when the driver made a wide turn to the left.

Not everyone was prepared for that turn, it seems.

The sudden move draws a surprised gasp and an unintelligible interjection from one of the passengers standing at the back. The person slides, unable to find purchase as if standing in the deck of a storm-tossed ship. At last, the tall figure falls over Elizabeth.

It takes a moment for Elizabeth’s brain to process what has happened, but when it finally does, she realizes the man in the navy-blue suit had landed on her lap, and was currently sitting there with his mouth hanging open and eyes open wide, scanning the surroundings in confusion. When his stare lowered meeting her gobsmacked expression, she froze, unable to look away or say anything. They hold each other’s gaze for many breaths, a mixture of curiosity and embarrassment. Impossible for her not to stare. His warm tawny skin almost glows, even under the fluorescent light. The man lingers in place, perhaps distrusting his own legs, perhaps not knowing the proper etiquette to follow when you find yourself sitting on the lap of a complete stranger.

“…And I want a million pounds!” Briar’s voice dripping with laughter resounds and breaks the haziness that fell upon them.

The man quickly pulls himself up, and a string of apologies flies from his mouth. His voice is deep and melodious, and he’s got an accent she doesn’t recognize.

Did he overhear our conversation?

Discreetly, she steals a glance at Briar, who definitely doesn’t have the same concern.

Giving her a thumbs up, her friend mouths soundlessly, “He’s cute!”

“I am terribly sorry, miss,” he repeats, a hand resting over his chest and his dark eyes focus on her and only her.

His words convey nothing but honesty, and maybe a hint of shame. But some people are exceptional liars, as Elizabeth knows too well.

At some point, he admits not riding the bus very often.

“I’ve never took this bus. And I wasn’t expecting that turn and –”

“It’s alright. Really…” Elizabeth reassures him, under Briar’s and the man’s attentive gazes, and he stops apologizing.

“If you’re hurt, I can take you to the ER.”

“Thanks for your concern, but I’m fine,” she says again, and his worried frown is replaced by a smile that grows wide, dimpling his cheeks, and almost reaches his ears. This is possibly one of the most beautiful smiles she has ever seen, not only because of his perfect lined white teeth, but mostly because it is genuine and makes his eyes sparkle like they hold entire constellations in his orbs.

Am I staring? That’s creepy.

“Are you certain?” he asks, his eyes lingering on her face. “I feel I should compensate you for this nearly injury I caused…”

“Oh, no. There’s no need. Just be careful,” she says softly, without meeting his gaze, pink blooming on her cheeks and neck. “I can’t guarantee I’ll break your fall next time…” The words sound way more flirtatious out loud than they did in her mind, and it is too late to take them back when a grin parts his lips.

“I’ll remember that. Or perhaps I should keep you around. For safety reasons, obviously.” He winks, and Briar muffles the lowest squeal with her hand.

Unaware of the thoughts racing in Elizabeth’s mind, Briar gives her an encouraging nudge, but instead of talking to the man, Elizabeth stands up.

“Oh! Look! That’s our stop!” she says and shoots a glance at Briar, who looks confused but also rises to her feet. “Excuse us.” The man moves out of their way, and she whispers a thank you.

When the doors open, she dares cast a last glance at the man and the smile that accompanies the quick wave of goodbye of his hand is far less genuine this time. Perhaps disappointed his charms did not work on her. He really was charming, though.

The bus speeds up, and her eyes follow it.

“That’s not our stop,” Briar states, arms crossed in front of her chest and a disappointed look on her face.

“I thought we could go for ice-cream. It’d definitely cheer my night.” Elizabeth says breezily, another decision she regrets considering how phony she sounds.

Briar’s heels tap on the sidewalk following her, and she hisses, “Lizzy, you are unbelievable.”

“Excuse me?”

“Life just threw a geezer guy at you, like you wished for and what you do? Run away!”

“First, I wished for a nice guy. And second, that was just a coincidence. Or worse, he was eavesdropping and put on that little show…”

“Even better! If that’s true – which I don’t think is the case, by the way –, it means he was really invested and not afraid to make himself look like a completely fool in public because of you...”

Elizabeth lowers her eyes, and fidgets with her ring. No use crying over spilled milk, like mamãe¹ used to say.

“I didn’t know what to do. And I barely escaped one obnoxious dude tonight, I should not push my lucky.”

“The only reason I’m not fighting you over this now is because I love ice-cream. But whenever you complain about your love life in the future, I will remind you of tonight and how you ignored fate… Perhaps you just left your soulmate on that bus like a broken brolly…” Briar muses.

“Soulmate?” Elizabeth echoes and stops to look at her. “Aren’t we getting way ahead of ourselves here? That was just a random stranger on a bus. A cute one, I admit. What if he turned out to be a serial killer?”

“What if he turned out to be a great guy?”

“Guess we’ll never know.” Elizabeth shrugs and resumes walking down the street. “He’ll be the Schrödinger’s mate of our future anecdotes.”

Briar snorts with laughter and links her arm with her friend’s. “You’re such a nerd.”

 A few days later

Elizabeth holds the door open for her friend and once inside, Briar halts in front of the lift staring at the bright red metallic door.

“Do we really have to climb the stairs?” Briar’s voice sounds even more nasal when she whines her question, even though she already knows her friend’s answer by heart at this point.

“You can take the lift, Briar,” Elizabeth replies with a smile, her tone as light as the green summer dress swaying with each of her steps, “I’m just not taking it with you…” The memories of Briar’s primal screams echoing inside the confined metal box and ringing inside her ears still vivid despite it being over a year.

“What if it breaks again?”

Elizabeth looks back at her and then at the lift’s door, probably a reminiscence from the original one installed in the 1970s. The malfunctioning lift and the bad plumbing and the terrible mobile reception due to the freakish thick walls built to survive bombings are the main reasons the rent is unusually affordable in this area of the city. But Elizabeth does not mind any of that. She was lucky enough to get a flat adorned with one of the beautiful white porcelain tubes, a view from the street with the charming red brick façades and the trees of heaven, and the perfect light that brightens her mornings when she drinks her mug of coffee by the window. Why would she complain? Instead, she will happily climb the stairs to the cosy flat on the third floor and call it exercising.

“Considering how old this thing is, it’s very likely to happen sooner or later…”

“I don’t want to be trapped alone!” Briar says, watching Elizabeth disappear around the corner.

“And I don’t want to be trapped with you and your powerful lungs.” Elizabeth’s voice resounds from the corridor, while she keeps walking.

A moment later, heels click on the floor behind her. Judging by the sound, Briar is sprinting.

“You know, if I did not do that,” Briar starts, catching up with her, “we could’ve been trapped God knows how long! You should thank me, Lizzy! And my lungs!”

“We were only trapped because you convinced me to break the rule in the first place. I’m not falling for that again…”

Briar sighs and follows her friend upstairs.

“Just so you know, I’m counting this as exercising and I’m not going jogging with you tomorrow…”

“Fair enough.” Elizabeth giggles, and looks over her shoulder.

The rest of the way they do not talk. Dragging herself dramatically slow, now and then, Briar mops about being too tired or mumbles about exchanging her for a friend who lives in a building with a usable lift. They have been friends far too long for Elizabeth to take her threats seriously.

“Grandma sent bonbons. I’ll let you have some if you ever make it up here...” Elizabeth utters a little louder to her friend, but receives no reply, she probably hasn’t reached the second floor to add dramaticity.

Elizabeth crosses the doorway, and the lights flicker to life with a buzz. Stepping into the poorly lit corridor, and halfway to her flat, the lift door flies wide open, almost hitting the wall and a tall man carrying a large box manages to extract himself out, pushing an even larger box with his foot. He’s got a full beard and black hair, and his face brightens when he smiles at someone inside apartment 3C – the one where Miss Thompson used to live until a month ago.

“These were the last ones,” the man says, and he speaks English with an accent.

“Thank goodness!” a voice comes from the apartment, and she assumes it belongs to the white man with brown hair who walks outside. Grinning, he takes the box from the other man’s arms and goes back inside. The bearded man picks up the remaining box and follows him.

“Where do I put this one?”

“Are those shoes? So, bedroom,” the reply comes from a third masculine voice inside the apartment – a somewhat familiar voice. Where did I hear it before? She muses, but cannot put a face to the voice, while they keep speaking, and no one seems to remember to close the door.

Forgetting good-manners, Elizabeth allows her curiosity to get the best of her. Walking carefully to stifle the sounds of her footsteps, she halts in front of the door. Any sign of Miss Thompson’s former presence has been erased from the living room where now stand two dark haired men with their backs turned away from the door. Contemporary furniture and a wide-screen television replaced the old upright piano and the vintage burgundy couch, where she sat to drink tea with the former resident many afternoons. Without the wallpaper, the room seems brighter but also far less welcoming. It lacks life. A rather dramatic change from what it used to be, and it makes her wonder about the new residents.

Oblivious to her prying eyes, the two talk in a low voice in a language she does not recognize while the bearded man from the corridor fidgets with wires from the television set, the other man, equally tall and dark-haired, inspects the content of a box over the coffee table. The black trousers and white dress shirt he’s wearing are too elegant to be moving furniture around and contrast with the casual clothes of the two she’s spotted on the corridor.

Raising his eyes from the box, the man in white chuckles, and Elizabeth catches a glimpse of his face. His smile is wide and genuine and must be the most alluring one she has ever seen. The voice is not the only familiar thing about that man.

Finally, recognition dawns on her.

But it cannot possibly be him, she tells herself. That would be too much of a coincidence!

The sound of heels tapping on the checkered floor startle her, and she jumps back. Her heart races but Briar doesn’t judge or tease her for spying, on the contrary, her attention already captured by the men inside.

“Are those your new neighbours?” Briar says softly, peeking around Elizabeth. “Oh! They’re handsome. Do you think they’re single?”

Elizabeth shrugs and tries to pull Briar away from the doorway.

“That lad looks awfully familiar, doesn’t he?” she whispers, and Elizabeth purses her lips and fidgets with a curl. A slow mischievous smile curls Briar’s lips. Her eyes sparkle and Elizabeth knows that she knows.

“Ohmygod! That’s the cute lad from the bus, innit?” Her whispered words do not sound like a question at all, and the grin on her lips an indication she is enjoying this discovery way too much. And there’s nothing else Elizabeth can do about it now, besides trying to reach her own flat. She turns around, but a hand around her wrist stops her from moving.

Ignoring Elizabeth’s warning glare, Briar raps her knuckles on the door.

“Welcome to the building!” The brunette’s nasal voice rings loudly, and the men turn to look in their direction, surprise turning into appreciative smiles that accompany their thankful words.

“Only my friend is moving in, though,” the bearded man says, and Briar’s grin almost reaches her ears. “We're just helping him out.” The man nods, indicating the smiling white man who returned to the living room, possibly attracted by the sound of conversation.

“That’s nice, innit?” She says, her eyes flicking from her friend and back to the man in the white shirt. “My friend Lizzy lives right next door. 3B. If you need anything – and I mean anything at all – just knock on her door. She loves to help!”

“You are very kind,” the man in the white shirt says and his eyes focus on Elizabeth, a persistent smile on his lips.

Despite the friendly expression, Elizabeth notices there’s no sign of recognition in his expression. At all.

How could he not recognize Briar? Or me? He was literally sitting on my lap. And I know he took a good look at my face…

The way her stomach sinks almost makes her consider this feeling is in fact disappointment.

Perhaps I overreacted that day and it was just an accident.

After they parted that night, there was absolutely no expectation of ever seeing him again. London is a huge city. Millions of people live here. And she rarely rides the bus, especially that line. Hence, how would they meet? Yet, against all odds, he was standing right there, looking at her like that, not remembering how rude and awkward she acted.

Mustering the courage to end that interaction before she died of sheer embarrassment, Elizabeth politely welcomes him and wishes them all a good evening, then drags Briar with her.

When the door closes behind them, the laugh Briar was holding escapes in a loud snort, and then she bends with all the laughter she cannot repress anymore.

Elizabeth stares at her for a moment, watching her face turn redder and redder, then put the purse and shoes on the closet. The situation is absurd, but a mere coincidence, she tells herself, while filling the electric kettle with water and turning it on.

Wiping the tears from her eyes with the tips of her fingers diligently to not smudge the mascara. “Apparently, it’s not only death you cannot cheat on...”

“That’s just another coincidence,” Elizabeth says matter-of-factly, and walks to the bedroom. The other bouncing right behind her and into the room.

“Lizzy, you can call it whatever you like, but you can’t escape fate!” Briar flings herself on the bed, and her chin rests on her hands. “What did you say that night about the one knocking on your door? It’s so very likely to happen now…”

“He still can be a horrible person,” she mouths soundlessly, pointing at the ventilation, reminding Briar how the sounds can be carried from one flat to another.

“He’s got friends who are helping him move,” she points out, “He cannot be that bad.”

“Who knows? We know nothing about him.”

“And whose fault is that? If you let me talk to them, we would have plenty of information. I’m trustworthy and people open up to me like that!” Briar snaps her fingers.

“It doesn’t matter. He didn’t remember me.”

“How do you know?” Briar eyes her and smirks. “Were you expecting him to just throw himself at you again?”

“I was certainly not!” Elizabeth retorts, but the look on Briar’s face indicate she was not convinced.

“Besides a guy like that with those fancy clothes probably dates only those... gorgeous... long-legged women…  with perfect hair… who look like models… and not someone like me…” Elizabeth says.

“You say that like you were a bridge troll and not a beautiful woman yourself. Give yourself some credit.”

“I’m just saying…” – Elizabeth shrugs and removes the earrings and necklace and returns them to a drawer – “You saw his clothes… His stuff… I’m not this dude’s type. And he’s not mine either.”

“Oh, please! He is totally your type! Tall with a nice smile.”

“That’s not my type.”

“It totally is,” Briar retorts and starts listing her friend’s crushes, using her fingers. “…and Harry’s friend from Eton, Michael, and that older guy from the library... the one who had to duck to walk into the reading room –”

“I only said Nathaniel was intriguing!” Elizabeth cuts her off. “His knowledge about poetry was fascinating.”

“Right! Poetry…” Briar winks. “And last but not least, Luke Harper and his million-dollar smile.”

“We are friends.”

“You looked too dreamily at him for just friends.”

“It doesn’t matter. He’s dating Cordelia now and they’re perfect together.”

The kettle hisses, and Elizabeth walks back to the kitchen.

“I’m making tea. Fancy a cuppa?”

Briar nods, and Elizabeth turns back around, opening a box over the cabinet. “Peppermint?”

“Chamomile for me.”

Pouring the hot water into the mugs, she catches a glimpse of Briar when she sits on the chair by the window and resumes the preparation.

Elizabeth hands Briar the mug and sits on the other chair. Their gazes are drawn to the quiet street and they smile. They know each other well and long enough to communicate even in silence. The same thought on their minds. Taking the reels of their lives and moving to London was something both planned since they were teenagers, and they made it. They are living the dream. Well, almost. Elizabeth lives in a great neighbourhood but in an old and neglected building, while Briar lives with two of her older cousins at a house at Hounslow. Though she will not complain much; it’s still London and she is always welcomed to stay for the night either at Elizabeth’s or at their friend Annabelle’s flats.  

After a few moments, both sipping their teas and lost in their own thoughts, Briar touches Elizabeth’s arm. “Lizzy,” she starts speaking in a low conspiratorial tone, avoiding her words to be carried away to the ventilation, “if you fancy your hot clumsy neighbour, don’t miss your chance. You may regret it later.”

Elizabeth puts the mug down, and fidgets with it for a second, nails tracing the floral pattern, until a smile curls her lips. “You forgot rule number three: neighbours are off limits. Too much drama.”

“Says who?”

“Miss Thompson. And she was very wise.”

“You know she dated Mr. Lee from 5C, Karl from 4D, that guy from 7A and –”

“None from the same floor. That’s rule number four. In case you broke rule number three. Chance meetings are easily avoided that way and the highest the floor, the least likely for them to use the stairs. So, you’re safe.”

“What if you break rule number four?”

“Then if things go bad, you have to move out. That’s rule number seven.”

“Is that why she moved?”

“Bad knees. Apparently using the stairs often for so many years took its toll…”

“That’s silly. Miss Thompson’s rules do not apply when it comes to fate… That should be rule number five.”

“Actually, rule number five was that one about the locks,” Elizabeth corrects her. “Which reminds me that I still need to fix mine.”

“Don’t you dare!” Briar puts the mug down, eyes bright with mischief, and the words just spill from her mouth as the ideas pop in her head, “You should use that as an excuse to lock yourself out of the flat and ask for his help. At night. Oh! Wearing just a bathrobe and sexy lingerie.”

“What?” Elizabeth gasps.

“Better yet. Nothing underneath.” She shoots a meaningful look at her friend whose face is frozen with shock.

“That’s ridiculous!” Elizabeth says at last, voice raising with outrage, “I will not do such a thing!”

“Suit yourself.” Briar leans back in the chair and sips the tea.

“Besides, if you’re right, I don’t have to do anything, just have to wait until he knocks on my door…”

“I know I’m right. Wait and see. It can happen any minute now.”

They share a look in silence, and instinctively peek at the door, waiting for something to happen. The last time they dared the universe, a man fell on Elizabeth’s lap, perhaps he could just come and knock, despite the functional doorbell. Who knows?

After a long pause in the most absolute silence, Briar speaks first, “Okay, I don’t know how it works exactly. It might take a while. But mark my words: It will happen.”

“Or you are simply mistaken,” Elizabeth teases and leans back on the chair too. Sipping the tea, she revels on the fragrance of the peppermint, while contemplating the gentle sway of the tree crowns blown by the breeze outside.

Two sharp knocks on wood startle her and Elizabeth almost drops the mug.

Her eyes widen and her head whips to face the door, and then back to Briar, whose attentive gaze is trained on her. Elizabeth’s lips part and the words almost topple, “Did you hear that?”

Briar’s head bobs, and the other puts the mug down on the table. Her fingers run through her curly hair, pulling it back, and she raises to her feet.

Barely two steps towards the door when a snort of laughter resounds. Elizabeth looks back at her friend, who was trying to cover her laugh with her hands.

“Was that you?” Elizabeth leans forward and playfully slaps her arm. The guffaws erupt in the kitchen. “I cannot believe you!”

“You should’ve seen your face!”

“Seriously, Briar? Have you no mercy on my nerves? I almost broke my favourite mug.”

“Admit it, Lizzy!” Briar says almost breathless, “You’re not as sceptic as you think. And you tried to fix your hair, which means I’m 100% right!”

The admission does not come, at least not in the form of words.

=====

Notes:  Mamãe - Portuguese word - means mum, mamma, mama; a (name for one's) mother. 

[bluegamercatlady]

Bouncing blue baby AU- chapter one

Chapter one

It starts with angst

It was a cold dark rainy night. Few people were on the streets and the few who were, carried umbrellas and wore raincoats. The only sounds to be heard were the tap of footsteps on the wet pavement and the patter of rain on the ground and in puddles. Miles Prower, a yellow twenty-year-old anthropomorphic fox with an extra tail, walked alone. He was wearing a tatty grey Trench coat and held a black brolly. As Miles walked along the streets, he heard people whisper and mutter comments about him under their breaths. Parents hushed their children and people sidestepped him on the path. Many people would stare when they thought he wasn’t looking.

 Deformed. Mutant. Flawed. Freak. Weido.

 He’d known this from a very young age, bullied because of his deformity, his extra tail. His tails had never caused him any pain or discomfort and he could move both tails normally. But he was still abnormal. A genetic defect. Or something like that.

 He’d been found abandoned as a baby. Left in a basket, wrapped in a little pastel blue blanket with only a note stating his name. He was only a few days old. He was put into an orphanage and left there. No one adopted or fostered him. Though, who would want him?

 People would stop and stare at him walking down the road on a regular basis. Sometimes, teenagers and adults yelled offensive remarks and comments and young children would innocently ask why he had two tails. Other times, discrimination against him would be more physical. Thugs would hide in alleys and wait to pull him in to beat him up and threaten him. He was cautious when strolling past secluded and hidden alleys. He’d been caught out once before, someone heard his cries for help and came to his rescue, where he was already heavily bruised and bloody from the assault. He was never again foolish enough to be cornered.

 Miles wasn’t completely unfortunate in the genetic lottery. He was incredibly intelligent. He had a knack for mechanics, even as a small child. He had a workshop of his own and business was booming. Whether simple fixing tasks or complex commissions from clients, such as fancy cars, planes and even assisting in building spaceships. He could afford a pilot licence and had a rickety old bi plane he was repairing and giving a new paintjob. This was a gift from when he worked temporarily as a mechanic for GUN. Of course, he was paid too. Quite well by all accounts, actually.

 Miles gazed at his reflection as he passed a puddle. The image blurred as the raindrops distorted it. The reflection of houses, street lights and shop signs appeared hazily on the ground and puddles. Occasionally, a car would drive past, adding to the sounds and sights of late-night downtown life. It was a small town, hardly the Hussle and bustle of the city. Nothing particularly interesting happened there.

 Or… At least Miles thought so…

He was about to pass a pitch-black alleyway, when he heard it. A baby crying…

 Miles stopped and stared down the alley a moment. He could have misheard or imagined the sound. It wasn’t a smart idea to go into an alleyway so late at night while alone, he’d learnt that from experience. A streetlight was located at the mouth of the alley, casting a gloomy glow in the area. The houses either side of the alley were vacant and derelict. No lights shone from inside and an old rusty rubbish skip and broken empty wheelie bins took up most of the space outside. The rain was the only sound now, pattering against Miles’ brolly. He was sure he heard a… There it was again! A baby crying…

 There didn’t appear to be anyone in the alley. No beggars or homeless people and most importantly, no thugs. Miles decided to approach, cautiously. Looking in every nook and cranny, thoroughly observing every little detail and taking mental notes to remember. There wasn’t anything particularly suspicious in the area.

 Then… At the end of the alleyway, tucked behind the skip and chain link fence, he found a basket. He carefully leaned forward, peeled back the soft fabric and revealed a blue baby hedgehog that couldn’t have been more than a couple hours old. Miles gawked for a minute. He’d been abandoned in the same way, almost. He glanced around to make sure he hadn’t missed one of the parents hiding nearby. Nothing… Who would abandon a perfectly healthy new born baby?

 The blanket and onesie the baby was in, was soaked through and he was shivering. Snot was dripping down his nose and fat tears streamed down his face. No wonder he was so upset. Miles also noted that he had a Chaos mark on his forehead, but that wasn’t important right now. Miles pulled out his mobile phone and dialled in the emergency services number, listening to the instructions he was given. He scooped the infant up and tucked him into his trench coat, to keep him warm.

 The police and ambulance were there swiftly. The police took Miles statement and contact details, while the paramedics examined the hoglet.

 Miles went to hospital with the infant and watched from a viewing window as the hospital staff put him into an incubator and attached an IV line to give him fluids and help him recover. He was severely dehydrated according to the doctors, wouldn’t have survived the night if Miles hadn’t found him. Miles was pretty shaken up after that experience.

 That night, as Miles fumbled with his keys and wicker shopping carrier bag, packed to the rim with his groceries, to get into his deserted flat, he found himself thinking about how lonely it was in the flat. Sure, he could hear his neighbours squabbling and music could faintly be heard from the top floor, but it wasn’t the same as having a companion or someone to care for. He couldn’t have any pets in the flat, as there was a strict no pets rule from his landlord.

 It was not a terrible flat though. It was in a quiet neighbourhood with a low crime rate. It was secure, warm and dry and most importantly, safe. The occasional bickering and slightly too loud music never lasted long or led to any further drama or violence. He got on with his neighbours quite well actually. Though, he had to ask the crocodile living on the top floor to turn down his music once when it was late. The crocodile was understanding of this and they had become friends from then on. The two other tenants became good friends too. The Crocodile, Vector even set Miles up on a date with his previous girlfriend which was very thoughtful.

 He laid in bed, contemplating. The more Miles thought about it, the more he remembered how lonely and isolated his childhood was. The percentage of foundling babies that find their parents is rare to say the least. Spent in care, surrounded by other children and care staff, not really paying attention to him. Again, he thought, why would anyone want a deformed child like him? He didn’t even get a foster home to go too. No knowledge of where he came from or who he was before. If he was completely honest with himself, it sucked.

But… A perfectly healthy baby abandoned just like that? Why?

 He wondered if the hoglet would suffer the same fate. He mulled it over in his mind again and again. The idea that he would be giving the child to that destiny made guilt grip his heart in a cold vice.

 NO! Miles wasn’t going to let that happen. He sat up from his bed, picked up his laptop, switched it on and began to research. He already had brought books for this in the past so when he had previously considered fostering with his girlfriend, so he had a rough idea on how to go about fostering. He never got around to it once his girlfriend had died. He was too heart broken and felt like he would be replacing her in some sort of way. They had gotten assessed and licensed for it, so they were ready to take in children. He just hadn’t gotten around to visiting the orphanage once he had come to terms with her death, either. It brought back too many painful memories for him, as well as the thought of doing it alone would be too much too soon after grieving. If he was going to do this, he was going to be well damn prepared for it.

This is the start

Next

[penelopecar]

Yeah, the weather was fucked, the events of the evening had been fucked- actually, Penny thought, the entire week had been fucked so why not spend Wednesday night paying homage to the weird and wild by getting suitably blacked out at a blackout party? Admittedly, it wasn’t the best remedy for a broken heart and a troubled mind but it would have to do for now, since Penny was short on friends and surprised that Sasha had invited her at all. In reality, it had been a long time since she’d felt like the pariah of Darkwood, 2014 but the feelings were surfacing again all too quickly and instead of hiding away in her parents home like she had done the first time, she was going to to party until she didn’t care anymore this time.

When she met a familiar figure in the shadowy streets of Darkwood, she raised the case of Rekorderlig cider in her hand, “Blackout Party, innit,” she chimed with confidence, as if she hadn’t just learned about the concept herself. “Might as well. I’ve nothing better to do in this weather and I don’t fancy standing ‘round here with my brolly like a twat all night, d’you?” 

[lewdmeridian]

Brolly’s Routine

The Prince woke up earlier than anyone in the castle, including his own servants and assistants. Unlike other rulers and authority figures, Brolly preferred to take matters into his own hands, and that involved patrolling the kingdom, arresting criminals and stopping any illegal activities taking place during the wild nights of New Meridian and Canopolis.

He could always count with the unconditional support of his soldiers, but still, in order not to be a burden to his men, he trained his body from a young age; a bit of fruit and a protein shake followed by fifteen minutes of meditation to clear his mind, so he could focus on the next part of his morning routine; warm-up exercises.

Stretching his arms and legs, Brolly would usually wear light clothes, like a t-shirt and shorts. Some of the people that worked for him thought he loved the sight of his own body, as he always did his exercises in front of a mirror, but nothing further from the truth. The only thing Brolly could think while warming-up was to get better every day.

Next, it was fencing; after putting on his fencing jacket, he would train alone, honing his skills. He was a promising swordsman, but knew he was still far from reaching the same level his mother had. The way his jacket hugged his muscles gave the impression that he wasn’t wearing anything at all...

After the fencing training, it was time for kick-boxing. His muscular arms and legs weren’t just for show. In fact, he never had his own looks in mind when he decided he’d become a reliable warrior that could protect others. He simply wanted to get stronger, to be able to face any challenges. Taking off the fencing jacket, he was now wearing just shorts, throwing punches and kicks at a practice dummy. The sweat rolling down his pecs and abs, and the way his biceps and triceps tensed every time he threw a punch... Just one of many reasons the oblivious redhead was considered the most prized bachelor in the whole kingdom.

Finally, Brolly decided to end his routine with weight-lifting. Tales of him fighting against Axeton, the -supposedly- incredibly dangerous Gigan terrorist spread like wildfire; the prince being able to stop a direct kick from the criminal by puffing out his chest, or how he managed to keep the giant in a choke-hold were just a couple of the less exaggerated rumors. What was undeniable though, was that he had the body of an Adonis; as he kept lifting more and more weight, his muscles bulged as if they were to to tear off his skin. The huffing and panting would be enough to get anyone hot and bothered... Good thing he always trained alone, or people could get the wrong idea. He didn’t know, but he stole many dreamy sighs from the cleaning staff, as well as his fellow soldiers, both women and men alike. After all, who could resist the urge to be held between those strong arms and against his perfectly chiseled torso? How many people actually wanted to kiss every single inch across his body?

Fifteen minutes of cool-down exercises later, Brolly hit the showers to get ready for the business part of his day; he was still the crown prince and every problem in the kingdom wasn’t going to be solved through brute force, after all. No one but him should know, but he spent enough time in the shower relaxing, closing his eyes and letting the warm water fall down his body before grabbing a soap bar to lather his body. Could it be that the prince actually dreamed of feeling the hands of someone else caressing his body and admiring all his hard work? With how stoic he was, it would be quite a shocking surprise to know he craved to be worshiped by a passionate lover that could melt away his worries with the gentle touch of their hands, taking their sweet time to touch him all over...

The sound of something falling abruptly brought him back to reality though; no one else should be around, much less inside the showers at that hour. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he went to investigate, and noticed something lying on the ground... It was a tiny camera!

The flustered prince quickly crushed it in his hand and put his clothes on to look around for any other devices... Was he being spied by an enemy nation?! ... Or by a pervert? He found another camera hiding behind some of his training equipment, that he quickly disposed of... Who could do something so abhorrent?!

☁ “Hey big bro! You finished with your training or what? You look like you heard Andy of the Cosmos was getting cancelled!” Gamp, Brolly’s little brother, walked into the gym and smiled at him. However, his little smug smile disappeared when he noticed Brolly holding a broken spy camera in his hand.

☁ “Oh, look at the time... gotta go!” The little scamp was in cahoots with Peahen, the android from Lab 8 that could create portals out of nowhere; turns out they put those cameras and sold the videos to the several people in the kingdom who had a crush on the crown prince! Brolly will have a stern talk with his little brother later, but for now... He’ll have to live with the fact there are spicy videos of him floating around, much to his dismay, and to the rejoice of his fans.

[pepperf]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Umbrella Academy (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Diego Hargreeves/Lila Pitts Characters: Diego Hargreeves, Lila Pitts, The Handler (Umbrella Academy) Additional Tags: Whumptober 2020, this is my favourite headcanon so far, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, what if Diego didn't get himself locked up in 1963?, he'd have done his vigilante schtick in Dallas ofc, so how would Lila have contacted him?, BY BEING THE WALMART CATWOMAN TO HIS WALMART BATMAN, I love this so much I have actually commissioned fanart, which you will see when it's done!, I have seen it in progress and it is SO AWESOME YOU GUYS, ANYHOW, oh and I should say that I'm going to write a follow-up to this one, bc the ending isn't really an ending, I just needed to stop there to fulfil the whump prompt, (''broken trust''), have I written enough tags now?, I could do some more, also I hate this title but I can't think of a better one so there you go, my favourite Catwoman is Michelle Pfeiffer, feel free to tell me yours Series: Part 12 of Diego whump Summary:

"Number Five," says her mum, the Handler. "Him and all his little brollies."

"What about them?"

"Get close, find out how much they know." She taps her lip. "The idiot with the knives, he might be your easiest target. How are you going to do it?"

Lila thinks about it. "Well, I do have one idea..."

[robertdowneyhiddlesbatch]

Delicate

Chapter 1: good dog

"Fuck me, Thor."

Y/n always thought that almost every time she entertained herself in bed. As an Aussie, Y/n had grown up on Chris Hemsworth, following him all the way from Home and Away. It was quite by accident, really, since her last foster mother was very much into soap operas.

As much as Y/n loved Thor Hemsworth, today's exclamation was a curse since she was sopping wet from the rain. Thankfully, she'd just made it into work, safe from the downpour.

"Told you to take a brolly!" Her coworker/roommate teased as she peeled off her coat.

In Australia, January was one of the hottest months of the year. In SoHo London, in the opposite part of the world, it was the wettest.

"Mhm, yeah. Thanks for that obvious tip!" Y/n shlepped into the back room and switched into her work clothes, after she barely managed to clock in on time.

"Any tips today?" Y/n asked Troy as she joined him behind the counter. She was referring to the tip jar she kept, hoping to collect money for her favorite charity.

Troy peaked a look from the window.

"Not many people," he answered as thunder broke.

"You mind if I bring my schoolwork out?"

Troy's family- well, his older sister- ran the coffee shop in SoHo: Beans and Books. Trish and her friends had combined their love of coffee and books to make a little café/bookstore, popular among the youth.

Y/n had been lucky to find a flatspace that Tony was renting, and was soon given a job at the café. Most of her transfer student funds went into tuition, books and rent, so working gave her some spending money.

"Nah, you should be good. Just look attentive if anyone comes in."

Y/n brought her work up to the counter, and was able to get plenty reading done since not many customers came. Troy took most orders from anyone who had come. But 5pm came around, marking the end of the work day. On drier days, it meant rush hour, but on an overcast day like today, they didn't expect many people. It picked up close to 6, and Y/n had to put her schoolwork away to focus on the customers.

A group of school students had left a covered table, with left over pastries still on the plates. Thankfully, they left a decent tip. Y/n was just taking away the last of the plates when something ran through her legs, making her drop the dishes.

Immediately the dog began lapping at the fallen pastries.

"Bad Bobby! Stop that!" The dog's human tugged on his leash, pulling him away from the mess he'd created.

"I'm so terribly sorry," the man leaned down to help Y/n clean up his dog's mess. "Bobby really wanted out from the rain."

"Oh, it's no big deal!" Y/n smiled at the capped man. "I just don't want him eating broken china, otherwise he's welcome to the pastries."

The man sheepishly chuckled and deposited the shards into the bin.

"Sorry for that, again. Perhaps I can buy some for him."

"That makes sense. The window's over there. I'll just be around."

Y/n showed him to the display as she went to put away the bin. Then she helped him pick some pastries and he ordered himself a coffee. The man went over to the checkout, and was looking around for his dog when he noticed the many bookshelves.

"Is that Cymbeline?" He asked, nodding to the shelf with the rest of Shakespeare.

"It's Shakespeare, isn't it? The owner likes to have all the books by any author, if she can help it."

"It's only, Cymbeline isn't as popular as the rest of his work."

"A shame, really. I quite liked the unfortunate story of Imogen and Posthumus. I don't know what's worse, dying like Romeo and Juliet, or having your lover not trust you."

The customer laughed gently at her woe as he paid for his things.

"I played in Cymbeline once. In a West End production."

"Must've been fun!"

"It was! Do you mind if I sit and read a while?" He looked out the window. "I don't think Bobby has a mind to leave."

"Not a problem! Help yourself."

The man thanked Y/n and went to get a book before he sat. Then he gave one pastry to his spaniel as he enjoyed another himself.

It was quiet in the shop for a while, only two customers in the thirty minutes. And then Troy came back from break.

"Bloody hell!" He screamed as he came in from the back door.

"Hey, Y/n! Do you think Thor might give it up if you blew him?"

Y/n immediately looked at the customer, who was looking at her with an amused brow.

"Y'know. Works for the both of you!"

Y/n slapped Troy's arm hard as he approached the counter. She eyed the customer and Troy instantly grew up, apologizing for his comment.

"Unfortunately, Chris Hemsworth is very married. With three kids!"

The guest laughed, unable to miss the loud reject in the small space.

"I'm going to stop talking now." Y/n blushed and focused on a chore around the café.

"Did you know, his wife's the Latina girl in the Fast and Furious movies? The one with Hobbs, not Letty."

"Oh, yeah! Man, I love those movies. No regard for physics."

"Still sad about Paul Walker, though."

"Yeah. I saw his movie, Hours. Kind of a flop, but it was cute!"

Y/n and Troy talked about the Fast movies for a while, then Troy went to do inventory for the next day. Y/n meanwhile, took a refill to her customer.

"So, you really fancy Hemsworth, do you?"

"Only since Home and Away. Soapy, I know. But that's mostly what they played at the foster home."

The man grew curious. "You're a foster child?"

Y/n and the man talked about her past, which part of Australia she was from, and how she came to London. She was studying journalism at Kingsway College, hoping to travel the world. Their conversation was interrupted by a loud crack of thunder, and Bobby jumped up from his spot, tangling his leash through y/n's leg as he went to his owner. The man picked up the pup while Y/n worked on releasing the leash.

She handed the man the leash back, and he offered to let her pet him, which she took him up for. Thunder roared again.

"O, that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth! Then with a passion would I shake the world.

"And rouse from sleep that fell anatomy, which cannot hear a lady's feeble voice, which scorns a modern invocation."

Y/n smiled as the man joined in finishing the quote from King John. They stayed staring at each other until Bobby whined.

"I should get back to work."

"Thanks for the coffee, y/n."

"Any time...um?"

"Ehehe. It's Tom."

Y/n smiled.

"Tom."

Y/n started walking back to the counter, but stopped in her track.

"Odin's beard! That would be Chris and Tom?" She asked, without turning to look at him.

"Eheh. Guilty," Tom replied sheepishly.

Y/n bit her lip. Damn!

"And I call myself a Thor fan!" She finally turned around, cheeks red.

"I've never missed a Marvel movie, and here I've missed you!" She whispered as she sat back down on the edge of her seat.

"Well, I don't look quite Loki like at the moment."

"So rumor confirmed! You really do like your classics."

"Well I should hope so. I majored in classics at Cambridge."

Y/n wanted to know more, but customers came in and she left Tom. Troy came out too, to help with the rush as the rain had stopped. The song on the store playlist changed and Troy began loudly singing along.

"That's what people say, mm mm!"

God, Troy loved his pop songs. Y/n happened to look up at the moment to see Tom having a sip of his drink.

Damn! That was Tom Hiddleston, she suddenly remembered. And Troy was blasting Taylor Swift. Y/n stomped on Troy's foot, making him stop singing.

"Ow! What the hell?" Troy cried at her.

"Change. The song." Y/n gritted at him.

"But it's T-"

Y/n grabbed Troy's shoulder and shoved him below the counter.

"Yes. And that's Tom Hiddleston out there!"

Troy instantly lifted his head to take a peak, but Y/n name yanked him down. Troy took the chance to change the song.

"Don't draw attention to him!"

"Sorry! Can you believe it? A famous person at our café?!"

"Yeah!"

"I gotta call Trish!" and Troy ran off to call his sister.

By the time he was back, Tom was ready to leave.

"Mind if I buy a box to go?" He asked, as if it were trouble.

"Not at all! Let me get you one." Y/n got a box and filled it with Tom's choice of pastries before ringing him up.

"I'm sorry about Troy," she said quietly. "He's a die hard fan of Taylor Swift."

"It's no issue. He's got good taste in music. I wouldn't stop reading Shakespeare just because he dumped me!"

Y/n smiled an apologetic smile.

"I hope you come again!"

"I hope to see you again as well. Good night, Y/n."

Tom began to leave, but Troy yelled.

"WAIT!"

Tom stopped by the door, feeling everyone's eyes on him. He pulled down his cap and sighed.

"Sorry, you forgot to sign the receipt."

Tom turned and walked back to the counter.

"Troy, I take it?" he asked as he took the offered pen.

"That's me, but if you could make it out to Trish, my sister."

Tom smiled and autographed the napkin to both of them. He turned to leave, but then walked to Y/n.

"I'm going to see a play at the West End this Saturday," he told her. "Would you care to join me?"

Y/n turned pink at the question and shared a look with Troy.

"I could pick you up from here."

"Y-yeah! She should be off!" Troy spoke for her.

"If...if it's not too much trouble."

"I think I can manage. I'll pick you up at around 5-ish?"

"I look forward to it!"

"Excellent. I'll see you then. Good bye, Y/n. Goodbye, Troy."

"Bye Tom! Bye Bobby!"

As Tom walked out the front door, Troy's sister came running in through the back one.

"Where is he?'

"Where's who?" Troy teased his sister.

"Tom Hiddleston, THAT'S WHO!" Trish growled at him.

"Oh, you just missed him a second ago."

Trish stood staring at the front door.

"Can you believe it? Tom freaking Hiddleston. In my café! How lucky am I!!"

"Not as much as Y/n. She's got a date!"

[cathygeha]

REVIEW

Don’t Scream by Margaret Murphy

Detective Jeff Rickman #3

 A bad drug bust

Young man on the run

Teenage girl brutally murdered

Her baby missing

  Serial killer on the loose

Drug lord wants his drugs & money back

Do they overlap

These bad men?

  Police on the job

Some good and some not so much

Personal lives come into play

But will they get the job done?

  Brutal dark and gritty murders

Police procedural elements strong

Character development excellent

No trouble following though haven’t read first two books

Mixed feelings but all in all an okay read.

  Thank you to NetGalley and Joffe for the ARC – This is my honest review.

 3-4 Stars

      BLURB

 Discover a brand-new crime thriller from a critically acclaimed, bestselling author. You won’t want to put this one down. A YOUNG MOTHER KILLED BY A THOUSAND CUTS Detective Rickman couldn’t take his eyes off the body. There was so much blood. A lacing of fine cuts: parallel lines, curls, sunbursts, whorls and geometric patterns. ‘The baby?’ he asks. ‘Is the baby all right?’ Rickman must dive into a world of exploitation and betrayal in a case that becomes personal for the whole team. CAN THEY STOP A TWISTED SERIAL KILLER, WHO TURNS HIS VICTIMS LAST BREATH INTO A NIGHTMARE? Don’t miss this captivating crime thriller with a pulse-pounding conclusion. Perfect for fans of Angela Marsons, Carol Wyer, J.M. Dalgliesh, Karin Slaughter, Matt Brolly, Ian Rankin, Mark Edwards and Charlie Gallagher. MEET THE DETECTIVES At six-foot-four Detective Chief Inspector Jeff Rickman is an imposing figure. He has the appearance of being a bruiser in a suit, thanks to his crooked nose (broken in childhood and badly reset) and assorted scars, one of which bisects his right eyebrow. He wears his chestnut-brown hair short, and anyone seeing him for the first time might mistake him for a tough nut. He’s handy enough with his fists to face down hard men, but women still feel safe in his presence. Detective Constable Naomi Hart is known for her cool Scandinavian looks. She wears her ‘almost white-blonde’ hair in a twist, accentuating the length and curve of her neck. Rickman is devoted to his partner and would never stray, but he does notice the men on his team noticing her. She is aloof from it all; there’s an air of a mystery about her and she likes it that way. Very much her own woman, Hart is ambitious, and can play the political game, willing to weigh up the costs against gains of working with people she really doesn’t like. In the interview room, she shows poise and control. She has a ready wit and a good sense of timing. PRAISE FOR MARGARET MURPHY “One of those tough, gritty crime novels that burrows under your skin and won’t leave you alone until you flip the last page — crisp writing, vivid characters, a bullet train plot, and a nerve-jangling aura of menace.” Richard Montanari “This is a book of which it could justifiably be said, ‘As good as Ian Rankin, or your money back’.” Phil Rickman, Phil the Shelf, Radio Wales “A chilling tale of murder, mystery and intrigue set in the murky underworld of Liverpool.” Big Issue “Murphy has steadily established herself as one of England's best crime novelists and this latest book is another tough, convincing tale with strong characters and believable police work. Recommended.” Jeff Popple, Canberra Times ALSO BY MARGARET MURPHY CLARA PASCAL Book 1: DARKNESS FALLS Book 2: WEAVING SHADOWS DETECTIVE JEFF RICKMAN Book 1: SEE HER BURN Book 2: SEE HER DIE Book 3: DON'T SCREAM DETECTIVE CASSIE ROWAN Book 1: BEFORE HE KILLS AGAIN STANDALONE NOVELS DEAR MUM HER HUSBAND'S KILLER

[write-place-write-time]

Found It

[ Can be read as a sequel/companion to "Lost It", or as a standalone ]

🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵

“Bit busy, mate.”

“Baker Street. Come at once.”

“Sherlock, I’m trying to -- No, Rosie, no biting! -- change Miss Nibs here--”

“Bring her along. I need you both.”

“For what?!”

Click. 

John Watson pulled the mobile away from his ear with a resigned glare. Young Rosie babbled and grabbed at it, wriggling herself out of the 18 month frock he’d just wrestled her into. John turned his glare to his daughter, who giggled at him unashamedly.

“Between you and your godfather, nudity is trending at an all time high,” he grumbled, though there was no heat in it.

****

Upon arriving at 221b, the Watsons were met with a perturbed Mrs. Hudson, dashing out the door with her brolly and handbag. 

“That boy is a menace, I tell you,” she said in between cooing at Rosie. “Got himself all aflutter and refuses to tell me why.”

John frowned at that. “Aflutter? Is he…?”

“He’s clean, of course, but he’s also cleaning. Sherlock Holmes, cleaning the flat!” She tutted, striding off towards a cab. “Good luck, you two!”

John and Rosie shared a look, making their way in and up to the flat.

The faint scent of lemon cleaner and fresh sugar biscuits wafted down the stairs as the Watsons entered their home away from home. The flat was clean. No sign of newspapers, weaponry, abandoned teacups, nor assorted baby-care items strewn about the space. Any paraphernalia of Rosie’s was organized in a designated area that John was impressed to find both conveniently out of the way and visible from all angles of the living room. 

The yellow chair from the corner was positioned across from his, angled in companionship with Sherlock’s own. There was a soft, cherry red afghan that John had never seen before draped over the back. The mirror above the mantle was clear of any chemical residue or hand-swipes (from clearing off residue to use the mirror for its intended function); even Billy the skull looked especially clean, as though the teeth had been brushed. The bison skull was free of dust, and the headphones had been replaced by a -- “Flower crown?” 

“John, Rosamund, hello!”

John turned from the baffling sight of the bison and its floral corona to where Sherlock’s voice had sounded behind him in the kitchen, and his jaw dropped. 

The consulting detective stood barefoot in jeans -- jeans -- a button-up white shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, purple dish-washing gloves, and a flour-powdered green tartan pinny. John gaped, trying to gather and understand the sight before him.

“Lock!” Rosie squirmed until her confused father set her down.

“Yes, hello, Rosie,” Sherlock grinned down at her, shucking his garish gloves and tucking them in the pinafore pocket before reaching out to assist the toddler in her steps toward him. “Your father’s gone quite fish-faced, hasn’t he?”

“And your godfather has gone domestic,” John shot back, fighting a grin. “What’s all this then? Have you finally had one-too-many nicotine patches? Therapist electro-shock you?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes as he scooped the girl up and brushed a kiss to her chubby cheek. “Shut up, you’re late.”

“Yes well, little Nudist Nancy refused to cooperate with her wardrobe. What’s the urgent business then?”

“I want to have sex with Molly Hooper.”

John sputtered, “Oi! Tiny ears, Sherlock!”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but his retort was cut off by John’s second sputter of, “Why the hell do you think Rosie -- a toddler, mind you -- and I would be able to help you with that?”

Sherlock maintained his same passive look, but the creeping pink tinge on his ears gave John insight to his friend’s nerves. “Well, seeing as you have experience -- three continents, was it? -- and the proof of said experience is currently chewing my apron strings, who else would I call upon for aid in such a matter?”

John blinked. “Irene Adler. Your mum. Mycro--”

“Please don’t mention my brother in this context lest I subject myself to eternal celibacy,” Sherlock grimaced. “The Woman is not a wise decision, as it would be ‘not good’ to consult a lesbian dominatrix in love with me about intimacy with another woman. Mummy is right out. She explained the whole ordeal when I was twelve and made Father blush so hard I think he still looks sunburnt. No, it has to be you, John Watson.”

He grinned and made his way back to the kitchen, setting Rosie in her high chair with a freshly baked and cooled biscuit that she immediately set her eight new teeth into. John followed, still baffled.

“Does Molly know you want to… y’know?”

Sherlock shot him an annoyed look. 

“Fine,” John capitulated. “Does Molly know you wanna get off with her?”

Those ears grew pinker as Sherlock busied himself with washing the baking materials like a normal adult human. “I don’t suppose how she’d know. She hasn’t asked.”

“She hasn’t asked? Christ, Sherlock. You two have been dating though, right? Coffee two weeks ago, dinner at Angelo’s last Friday?”

“Yes.”

“Did you by any chance, oh I dunno, kiss her goodnight?”

Ears were now pink to the bottom of their lobes. “Last date, yes.”

John grinned behind his friend’s back, snagging a cooling biscuit. “Did you snog?”

Huffing, Sherlock turned. “What’s the difference?”

Through his biscuit, John said, “Kissing is just kissing. Snogging is a bit more involved.”

Sherlock made a face and crossed his arms. “Juvenile.”

“Which means it wasn’t a snog, then?”

Sherlock shrugged. “It was satisfactory.”

“Oooh, ‘Dear Penthouse Forum’--”

“Oh shut up, John.” Sherlock dropped into one of the kitchen chairs, in a full pout-soon-to-be-sulk as he face-planted into the tabletop.. “It’s pointless and you are deplorably unhelpful.”

Daughter of deplorably unhelpful friend reached out with her tiny hand and patted her godfather’s curly head. “Lock! Okay?”

John sighed and sat opposite Sherlock. “Look, I’m taking the mick. You’re not the sexual deviant Janine crowed about in the tabloids, and you’re not the unwitting virgin that Mycroft and Moriarty claimed you to be.” He paused. “Are you?”

Sherlock’s answer was spoken low and into the tabletop. “No. The Woman once in Karachi. Janine… sort of.”

John blinked, fought off a triumphant I-knew-it grin, and cleared his throat. “Right, well, sex with Molly is a different beast, though. Molly Hooper is a friend. She’s your pathologist. You did say the L-word to her two months ago.”

Sherlock hummed, Rosie still petting his head.

“She’s not like Janine -- you actually want Molly. She’s not Irene -- you trust Molly.”

Sherlock mumbled something.

“What?”

Sherlock’s head popped up. “With my life, my body, my very soul if such a thing should exist. She matters most. She counts.”

John’s lips quirked up in the corner. “Yeah. And then Sherrinford…”

“I am quite wholly aware that I love Molly Hooper, John. It’s why I want this to go further. It’ll-it’ll mean something. For the first time.”

“Have you told her since then?”

The brief silence was answer enough. John nodded. “Well then that’s it.”

“Hmm?”

“You need to find it.”

“It?”

“Your courage,” John smiled softly. “You admitted you loved her under extreme, traumatic duress. Not ideal. But it is what it is. And what it is is terrifying.”

Sherlock held his gaze, not quite understanding.

“Look mate, Mary…” his voice caught on his wife’s name, his eyes sliding to their daughter who was peering at Sherlock in a very uncanny Mary-like way. “Mary said it first. She knew I loved her by our third month anniversary. She beat me to the punch, and what I never expected was the fear in her eyes right before she said it.”

“Fear?” Sherlock frowned. “Out of the two of you, Mary’s penchant for fear was far less likely than yours, army training notwithstanding.”

“Right. But Mary was like you, and affairs of the heart affect psychopathic geniuses differently than us poor mortals.” John fixed him with a knowing grin. “Mary was afraid of rejection, as anyone would be. But she did it anyway, like she always did.”

At this, Rosie slammed her little hands down on the table, demanding both men’s attention. “Mawee!” she crowed, proud to know her mother’s name.

They chuckled at her, Sherlock kissing her pudgy hand. “So I need to just… to just say it?”

“Well, don’t spring it on her like a booby trap or pop out of a cake with it,” John advised. “But yeah. Boiled down to its bare essentials, she’ll either return the sentiment and snog you silly, or she won’t.”

His friend blanched. “And if it’s the latter?” he whispered.

John smiles sadly. “Then you’ll at least know, and can begin to move on. But Sherlock?”

“Mm?”

He reached over, and in his awkward way, patted Sherlock’s hand. “It won’t be the latter.”

The men shared a look that only brother-in-arms and former flatmates would understand.

The look was was broken by Rosie clapping her hands and giggling madly. John tickled her belly. “Yes, all right, Miss Nibs, let’s treat ‘Lock to some chips.” He looked to Sherlock, who smiled gratefully. “This kind of battle needs a well-fed soldier.”

    ****

🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵

Sherlock was playing his violin when Molly arrived that night, a soft melody she had yet to hear. Possibly a new piece for his sister? He looked up as she came into the flat and dropped her bag and scarf on the coffee table. Hmm, she thought, the entire flat is spotless. He definitely wants to impress tonight.

“Hullo, Molly.”

She smiled at him. “Hi.”

He nodded to her yellow chair, still playing that light, tender song. She slid out of her flats and curled up into the chair, her oversized jumper pulled over her bent knees. As she settled in, she looked over the detective. He was so casually dressed, jeans and a white button up with sleeves rolled up, feet bare and warmed by the small fire in the hearth. Molly hugged herself, happy to see him so relaxed. He’d been through a lot since Sherrinford and their phone call. She too was still coming back to life from the ordeal and the knowledge of what happened on that horrible island and at Musgrave Hall. A particularly sweet note rang out, and she watched him feel it. Oh but she loved him. Doomed to, it seemed. Well, doomed might’ve been harsh -- destined sounded better.

The song ended as her ruminations did; she clapped quietly, smiling at him. He gave a small bow and set his violin aside, turning and gazing at her intently.

“Did you want me to order a takeaway?” she asked, curling her toes as he held that same searching gaze. “Maybe Chinese? My treat.”

“I love you.”

Molly froze. “Well, er, you got our cheque at Angelo’s, so this one is on me--”

“Molly Hooper.”

She stopped rambling, tears pricking at her eyes. “Sh-Sherlock Holmes.”

He came to kneel before her chair, his eyes still on hers. “I love you. I’m in love with you.”

She didn’t move, didn’t breathe. Sherlock’s hands, warm and sure, gently grasped hers. His pulse beat erratically under his skin, she could feel it match hers. Her heart was screaming, her mind refusing to remember the last time she’d heard him say it. When it’d been torn from him by his sister and her own pride. She simply stared at him, let his confession wash over her and through her like a sea breeze after a storm.

Sherlock slowly let her hands go, and he stood gingerly. John’s voice, so sure that Molly would requite Sherlock’s affection, taunted him in his mind. He cleared his throat, a curious and unfortunately familiar lump forming, and made for the kitchen, scrounging for the takeaway menus.

“Chinese, yes?” he called back to the quiet pathologist, his mouth working fast to fill the silence and not panic. "I’ll get it ordered. With rain imminent, it’s best to order now. You’re probably craving that house lo mein you like -- always are when you’ve worked in the lab, can’t figure out why though it isn’t exactly a mystery, probably just a chemical reaction to the, well, chemicals you’re working with that have you ravenous and craving sodium and carbohydrates and various proteins--”

He stopped abruptly at the feel of her small hand on his. He looked up and Molly’s cheeks were damp, tears slowly spilling down, but her eyes were kind, dark, and calm. 

“I love you,” she said simply. “I love you, Sherlock.”

She came up on her tiptoes and pressed her mouth to his, taking advantage of his relieved shock to -- as John Watson had predicted -- snog him silly. 

    ****

The takeaway was never ordered, but the fresh-baked biscuits were consumed heartily. 

The imminent rain arrived. 

The tidy flat remained so, save for the shed clothing upon the bedroom floor of a consulting detective and his pathologist.

[mz-hide]

Mowing the Lawn - Chapter 1

Aka: a Dragon Ball Z AU slash fic.

Chapter 1

Summary: Mowing the lawn (in almost every sense of the term). Goku and Vegeta have a secret relationship. Turles has a cute dealer and needs someone to smoke his pot with. Raditz thinks the only thing hotter than the weather is his moms' new lawnmower boy. Ships & Pairings: Son Goku/Vegeta, Raditz & Turles, Raditz/Turles, Gine/Seripa | Fasha, Bardock/Toma, Bulma Briefs/Yamcha, Brolly/Raditz, Brolly/Turles, Daiz/Turles, Daiz/Raditz/Turles, Bardock/Turles, Bardock/Toma/Turles        Contains: Gay Sex, Established Relationship, Casual Sex, Fuckbuddies, Recreational Drug Use, Alcohol, Blow Jobs, Secret Relationship, Everyone Is Gay, Alternate UniverseAlternate Universe - Human, Threesome - M/M/M, Threesome, seducing the pool boy, Dirty Talk, Smoking, Explicit Sexual Content, Resolved Sexual Tension, Open Relationships, Open Marriage, Age Difference, Sexual Roleplay, Friends With Benefits, Sexcapades, masturbation      

You can find the rest on my AO3 page (username: originalmonkeyhydes)

Being well in your twenties meant that visiting your girlfriend during a martial arts retreat could no longer be considered “sneaking out.” Especially if your old, slightly pervy master was not only aware of your intentions, but had subliminally encouraged you to do so. Even so, Yamcha was feeling too nostalgic of the old times to abandon the expression. It added some thrill to the cherished -once forbidden- habit. He was in high spirits, despite not having won the tournament. Against opponents like Goku, Krillin and Tien, he would have to have been delusional to think he ever stood much of a chance in the first place. Nevertheless, he couldn’t say he wasn’t proud of himself. All of master Roshi’s students had done extremely well. His girlfriend would have poked fun at him for not having won a medal, but it mattered very little. Yamaha knew she had a very special consolation prize in store for him that night, after all. As per usual, they’d gone out to the pub to celebrate. Master Roshi had had one drink too many, so Goku and him had to walk him back to the hotel. As the walked their old master waddle his way into the hotel’s entrance, Yamaha noticed a short, sleek silhouette leaning against a tree, right in front of their hotel. He didn’t have to look twice to know who it was and neither did Goku. Yamcha had noticed the way his friend had kept looking around after the finals. The man hadn’t participated that year, and had waited until the very end to make his entrance. Just to see Goku fight. And now he was casually hanging around their hotel, with no one around. There was no doubt who he was waiting for. “Hey, Goku, I’m thinking of sneaking out tonight. Bulma’s father owns a flat here in town, he’s letting her stay there. Do you wanna come with?”, he suggested, his eyes darting to the figure leaning against a tree, right in front of their hotel, “She probably has a couple more beers and something to snack on. You can come over, keep the party going.” Bulma probably wouldn’t have had anything in against the idea. Tien had retreated to his room long before and Krillin had wondered off with his girlfriend and her twin brother. Celebrating her victory in the female tournament, no doubt. Yamcha didn’t know how to feel about leaving his friend alone with that person. Goku, the other hand, didn’t seem to share his buddy’s worry. “No, thank you. I wouldn’t want to spoil your fun, guys.” Goku could be clueless at times, but he could sense that Yamcha had looked forward to that night for a reason. His friend looked somewhat relieved to be discharged of some moral responsibility. “You sure?”, he asked again, already turning to be on his way. Goku turned down the half-hearted invitation with a wave of his hand. “I’ll be fine”, he reassured. “Have fun!” And with that, Yamcha left him, daring to sneak just one last glance over his shoulder once he was at a safe distance. Only then he saw Goku make his way to the tree. The man moved a few steps forward to meet him. The young man couldn’t help but grimace. He’d seen them fight before. It had been the most brutal face off Yamcha had ever seen in a competition. The year they’d met on the ring they’d wound up with broken ribs and dislocated shoulders. They had both been disqualified. After that, encounter, it seemed they’d trained exclusively to face off again in the next tournament. Except, Goku had put on so much mass he had to change category. So their rematch had had to wait. Every casual encounter after that had been charged with unspeakable tension. Yet, for some reason, it didn’t seem to be solely confrontation now. There was something going on between those two, Yamcha just couldn’t put his finger on it. There wasn’t much more he could do but wonder, since he never stuck around enough to find out.

“You reek.” Such was the greeting Goku had walked over to. “You think?”, he wondered, hooking a finger on his collar, sniffing. “That’s odd, I did take a shower. At least, I think so.” Coal-black eyes darted to the medal that hung on the youth’s strong chest and back up again, without a word. Goku simply smiled. He knew the man’s pride would need to leave some things unspoken. “It’s been a while, Vegeta.” The man took a step closer. They stood like that, one breath away from each other, staring. The lack of a reply didn’t bother them. Most of their conversations were spoken in silence. “There’s beer on your breath”, Vegeta observed, matter-of-factly. “Been out celebrating with the gang”, Goku explained, amiably, “Just to have a couple of drinks.” “And your friend?” “He’s off having a couple more at Bulma’s, I think.” “I could use one or two myself”, Vegeta insinuated. Goku took the money he held up between two fingers, quirking a brow, in a way that was more knowing than inquisitive. He knew what he had to deposit in the awaiting palm in return. “Get a few. I’m not drinking if I’m drinking alone”, the older man instructed, putting Goku’s room key away in his pocket.   “Gladly. But it’s going to be hard walking you back to your hotel if we’re both drunk”, Goku pointed out, “Where are you staying at?” “Nowhere. I wasn’t planning to come. This was an impulse decision. I took the train this morning.” “You must be tired, the journey’s quite long”, Goku pointed out, blinking. “Not really. I slept on the train.” The younger man tilted his head, his eyes softening. His rival glowered as a precautionary measure when he saw him lean closer. “And you came all this way just to see me?”, Goku murmured. “I said nothing of the sort, fool”, the other man retorted, turning his head away. “What I said was that this was an impulse decision. That’s all.” Goku pursed his lips a bit. Then, he sighed, defeated, straightening himself up again. “Don’t come back with convenience store garbage. I don’t want cheap stuff.” “But there’s no other story nearby!”, Goku complained. “Good. Take a walk. The shower will be free by the time you get back”, the other replied, drily, as he walked past him towards the hotel. “Hey, ‘Geta?” The man turned to glare at him, irked by the nickname. “What’s in your impulse-decision-trip bag?”, Goku wondered, a sardonic, lopsided grin on his face. “None of your business, Kakarot”, Vegeta retorted, flaring up just slightly before storming into the entrance hall, with clenched fists. Suddenly, Goku was all too willing to take that walk to the nearest supermarket.

[kanna-ophelia]

Chapters: 1/1. 1700 words. Rating: General 

Ineffable Husbands Week Prompt: Rain / Storm / Downpour

Additional Tags: Love Confessions, First Kiss, Awkward Conversations, Awkward Kissing, Sappy, Post-Canon, Pining Crowley (Good Omens), Happy Ending, No one can sulk like a demon, Ineffable Husbands Week 2019

On AO3 

On Wattpad

Rain

The problem with living in London was that even in Spring it rained too bloody much. And the kind of human Crowley tried to be was not the kind who carried a sodding umbrella around just in case, thank you very much.

By the time he thought of magically producing one, that is, two seconds after the skies opened, he was already drenched to the skin, and surrounded by humans who might see. He sighed, looking for a place to duck away and produce a quick black brolly, when the rain suddenly stopped falling on him.

For a moment he wondered if he had accidentally arranged for the rain not to fall on him, which tended to be a bit of a giveaway, and then he felt a soft, radiant presence beside him.

“Your umbrella,” Crowley said coldly, “has ducks on it. With tartan bow ties. Do you have any respect for my dignity?” He reached up to share a grip on the umbrella handle anyway. His hand brushed skin that somehow send a warming glow right down his cold arm.

“None whatsoever. And they’re charming."

Crowley snapped his fingers and was dry, but not warm, except where his hand was against Aziraphale’s own. He shivered.

“Cold blooded serpent,” Aziraphale said fondly. The angel exchanged hands on the umbrella handle, holding it from his right, outside hand. Crowley wondered why, and then he felt a solid, heavy arm around his back, drawing him in close by Aziraphale’s side. “Here. Body heat should help."

Crowley could feel his mind break a bit. Heat. Body heat. Yes, it was warm. And also soft. And… cuddly. What was the angel cuddling him? He never cuddled him. Could he embrace back? He’d have to exchange his own hands first. Embarrassing. But. Close. Arm around him. Why? So nice. But, why?

He could hear Aziraphale chuckling softly in his ear, and decided to pull himself together. Right. Let go of umbrella. Put arm around waist, very casually. Cool. Right. No big deal.

Even through the overcoat, Aziraphale felt warm and solid and comforting, and Crowley forgot to do with his feet and tripped. His arm tightened around Aziraphale’s waist, and the arm around his back steadied him.

“Thankss, angel.” Now he was hissing. Just perfect. Cuddling under a white umbrella with cutesy ducks on it, tripping over himself, clinging to an angel, thanking him, and hissing. It was a good thing he had broken with Hell, because he couldn’t face the ridicule.

“You are very welcome, my dear."

A plump young woman with a rainbow undercut and a leather jacket gave them a quick smile as she passed, the kind of smile that Crowley had seen young queer folk give them before, that’s such a sweet old couple, look at them, hope I find someone like that one day. It always gave him a quick stab of pleasure, that they were acknowledged in some way, even if it was just a fantasy and Aziraphale was always oblivious to it himself.

“Have you ever thought about it?” Aziraphale was looking after the girl, thoughtfully.

“Thought about what?"

“What the humans assume.” Crowley stared. Aziraphale was still not looking at him, but the lips of his ears were pink.

He had to be sure. “What,” Crowley asked very carefully, “do they think?"

“That we’re lovers,” Aziraphale clarified and then, in case even that wasn’t clear enough, “that we’re romantically and sexually involved."

Crowley’s blood was pounding in his ears. “Have I ever thought about it?"

“Well, it’s a human pleasure, and one I’ve never experienced, although I’m sure you have. There doesn’t seem to be any reason not to try now, that’s all. Have you ever thought about it? I mean,” and no just his ears were pink now, “with me."

“Have… I… ever… thought… about it?” Crowley was having difficulty keeping his tongue in a human enough shape to talk. “In the last six thousand years, you mean? You… you… could you be any more bloody insulting?"

He pushed away and stormed off into the crowd, not bothering to look back. Maybe Aziraphale was standing looking forlorn and alone and confused and reflecting on what a heartless prat he was.

He hoped so.

Storm

He spent the next few days causing chaos as if he’d never been chucked off the payroll. He was a demon, after all, the original Serpent, and eventually Hell were going to realise what a precious resource they had and crawl back to him begging for forgiveness, and then he would—he didn’t know. Probably reject them. That wasn’t the point.

Storms, burst drains, network outages, public transport strikes, the latest episodes of reality tv shows being mysteriously wiped just as they were about to go to air, the entire cast of the Archers coming down with laryngitis, the entire South Kensington museum area developing the smell of sulphur and brimstone, which was conveniently similar to rotten eggs. He hadn’t worked so hard in decades. Centuries.

Crowley was prepared to ignore pleading or apologetic calls to his answering machine and voice mail, but there weren’t any. However, brides and grooms found that storms magically cleared above them on their wedding days, the city bankers had sudden changes of heart and made major donations to the poor while raising their employees' salaries, and despite the constantly rain and lightning, the daffodils and tulips had never bloomed so beautifully or resiliently in living memory.

Right. If that was the way it was to be, then, this was war. He… he was going to do something about those bloody ducks. He wasn’t sure what. Turn them pink and give them fangs, probably.

Downpour

He climbed in the Bentley, his precious Bentley, the only thing in the world that truly loved him and never let him down.

He screeched down to St James Park, pulled over, and pulled the break on just as he noticed the angel sitting quietly on the passenger seat.

“Isn’t that a frivolous use of a miracle?” he snarled. “And not very angelic, either, breaking into a car."

“No one is counting now, I think.” Aziraphale fidgeted, his beautiful fingers twisting around each other. “I didn’t trust you to answer your phones."

“I wouldn’t."

“Precisely."

Aziraphale glanced at him quickly, took in the frown, and dropped his gaze back to his twisting hands. “I didn’t mean to offend you."

“You did a bloody good job, anyway."

Aziraphale sighed. “Look, I’m sorry. Can we just forget it?” There were miserable tears on the edge of those golden lashes, and Crowley steeled his heart against them. “I can just find someone else, if I really want—"

“Who?"

Aziraphale blinked. “What do you mean?"

“Who do you have in mind, angel?"

“Well, no one in particular. I was just—"

“Six thousand years. Six thousand years, I’ve been in love with you, and too terrified to show you any signs of infernal lust in case I chased you away. I can just find someone else.” Crowley bashed his head against the steering wheel. “No one in particular. Oh, good, glad you had a convenient demon around for an easy first option, better than risking corrupting a human. Have I ever thought about it? Oh, angel, I hate you."

There was a long silence, and then suddenly Aziraphale laughed. It was his sweetest, lightest chuckle, and Crowley sat up and glared at him.

“So that’s it. I could feel you cared, but—in love? Really?"

“Don’t laugh at me. Yes, in love. Romantically and sexually, as you so clinically put it."

“I’m sorry. I really am."

“I know. It’s not your fault.” The anger suddenly drained out of him, and he just felt tired and hurting. “And I don’t hate you."

“Good. Because I love you."

“I know. I shouldn’t take it out on you. You can’t help being an angel. You just took me by surprise, that’s all."

“Crowley, my dearest. Listen. I’m in love with you."

He whipped his head around, snake-like, looking for a mistake, for the following “I am in love with all of God’s creations, even you, and you are my dearest friend,” but Aziraphale was blushing and trying very hard to look straight at him without looking away and how much courage did that take, for an angel that always glanced away from temptation, and that expression in his eyes, he had seen it before and it was for him and probably he should move or say something but wait, in love, he was in love and Crowley had just confessed too, hadn’t he, and Aziraphale had said...

Aziraphale sighed again, as if waiting for the noise in Crowley’s head to quieten down a bit was just too much for him, picked up one of his hands, and kissed it. Slowly, lingeringly. The back of his hand, each knuckle, one by one, fingertips, turning it over to kiss his palm and his wrist.

Crowley’s voice came back, hoarse and hissy, but there. “Romantically and ssexually."

“Yes, my dear. Or else I hardly would have proposed—"

Crowley grabbed his head and mashed their mouths together. It was awkward at first, all lips and teeth, but they pulled back a bit and lips parted more gently and tongues touched and it didn’t matter if it was awkward at all, it was everything, the mouth against his and the soft wide chest pressed against his narrow one and the arms around him.

“I love you."

“Yes, dear.” Aziraphale kissed him again.

“You love me."

“Yes, dear."

It was a good thing the Bentley didn’t have seatbelts or bucket seats, or the angel certainly would have had a seatbelt on and it would be hard to clamber half onto Aziraphale’s lap to kiss him again from a more comfortable angle.

“Really, beloved, we’re in public.” Beloved.

“The windows are all fogged up from the heater.” He trailed little kisses down a silky lovely neck, and Aziraphale made a noise.

“But the humans..."

The skies opened to a sudden downpour of rain. “Have better things to do than peer into parked cars like perverts. Oh, Aziraphale."

The angel’s hands were so warm, so soft and now cradling the side of his face. “Let’s go home."

“Which home?"

“Well.” Aziraphale kissed his nose. “You’re the one with the bed, dear boy."

“Right,” Crowley said happily, and Aziraphale’s hand was on his thigh, warm and possessive, all the way back to the flat. **** Comments, kudos and other support gratefully received. <3 Still working on my WIPS, but a little more slowly due to Ineffable Husbands Week! @IneffableHusbandsWeek