#everyone wants to be griffiths right hand arm. man.

[hawkfawun]

one of my favorite character dynamics has to be

"His silly rabbit? is that what he calls you???"

"No".

[berserkstuffandmore]

Doll Griffith Ficlet

Guts had a habit of touching Griffith’s doll vessel. Mainly to remind himself that his commander, his friend, was still there. Griffith never seemed to notice. If he did, he never mentioned it. Guts was glad. He didn't want to confront the festering worry, anger, and guilt he felt.

On days like this, when it was just him and Griffith, Guts would stroke the cool porcelain skin. He felt at ease when he did this. It helped him think. Most of the time. Sometimes, however, it wracked him with guilt. Griffith wasn't human anymore. Griffith couldn't lead his men into battle anymore, and it was all his fault.

“Guts?” There was no getting used to the disembodied voice. Guts always got goosebumps. It seemed to surround him even as it came from one source.

“Huh?”

“Penny for your thoughts.” Griffith said as he turned his head towards Guts. “You look like something is on your mind.”

“How do you see?” Guts asked, trying to distract Griffith. He was curious. Griffith seemed to always know where everyone was. It was uncanny. The living doll could even pick out a person in a building while on the street. Freaky was the only good way to describe it in Guts’ opinion.

“I'm… not sure… I just… see.” Griffith’s face was sculpted into a permanent soft pout. Though, Guts knew that if it could move, it would have a quizzical expression. Perhaps he'd be looking up slightly with his lips pursed and brow furrowed.

“Whaddya, mean you're ‘not sure,’ you can't just not know that!” Guts knew how he saw. It was an easy answer. Eyes. You saw with your eyes, but Griffith didn't have real eyes. The man shrugged as best as he could with a doll's body.

“Well, I know where everyone is, but I see their souls as well as their bodies…” Griffith brought a porcelain hand up to look at. Contemplating something as he flexed his fingers. “I'm constantly aware of those around me without having to think about it like it's a reflex.”

“Hmph, that answers nothing.” Guts crossed his arms. He was tired of Griffith’s vagueness.

“I'm sorry, but I do not know this body as much as I'd like.” Griffith’s tone was distant. “There is so much I do not understand.” If he could frown, Guts was sure Griffith would be. “I apologize. There is still much for me to process…”

“No, no… it's, uh, it's fine.” Guts mumbled. He felt awful. He caused this. He should have died in Griffith’s place. It hurt knowing his friend was having trouble with his body. It wasn't even really his body. It was a doll. “How ‘bout we go back to camp…” He said as he stood and grabbed Griffith’s cold hand. “I'm hungry.”

“Right, I've gotten used to not needing to fuel myself with food.” Griffith chuckled as he walked beside Guts. He just nodded. Sometimes, he wished the man wouldn't talk about his situation. Even if he had brought up the topic himself.

At camp, Guts reluctantly let go of Griffith’s hand. The two walked through the crowds of men. All of whom were sneaking glances at the living doll that was their commander. Griffith seemed to not care. That was good. Guts hoped that he'd never care. He hoped that Griffith would stay unbothered and cool headed. Just like he always was.

[justmeinatree]

01 - the greatest show : the preacher in the pulpit

Summary : a group of misfits, a mysterious leader, a string of murders, and life on the road.

TW : transgender misconceptions & hardships in victorian era europe

Word Count : 5.6k

Series Masterlist

“in the name of the father, the son, and the holy ghost. amen.” priest davies recites, his right hand in the air, making a sign of the cross above the heads of the entire congregation. making this the two million, eighty three thousand, nine hundred and sixty seventh time she hears those words. or so it felt like.

it’s not that she didn’t like the idea of god, it’s that she didn’t like learning that the church seemed to be ran in a way that opposed to a lot of the practices they’ve been taught. but she could never admit to that. it’s much too radical thinking. the year is only 1849, mind you. 

the problem she’s facing stems from a lifetime of church practices and church school and a super tiny church town. a lifetime of learning to submit, although really it didn’t feel as extreme as it sounds. she didn’t hate it, didn’t know anything else really. 

she sees the life her parents lead, the life everyone in this town leads, and she likes it. loves it, honestly. wants it. but she holds such a big, life altering secret. one that unfortunately wont let her lead that life. surely not in this part of the world, anyway.

looking around the small church, she notices mister wright, misses wright hanging onto his arm, their three kids trailing behind them. then the griffiths walking down the aisle, misses griffith obviously about ready to give birth, if her swollen stomach and awkward little waddle are anything to go by. and then who could forget mister morris, approaching his 50s, sitting in the back corner, a spot he’s now claimed as his own, since misses morris passed away a few months ago. it made her sad to think about, they’d been together 35years when the ol’gal passed on. 

she loved watching people, families, go about. it gave her an opportunity to disconnect from real life thoughts, and place herself into a beautifully conjured up imaginary story. one where she actually has the chance at love and happiness.

“timothy” her mum snips, pulling her from her thoughts, pulling her from her full happy fulfilling fantasy, shaking her head and looking over at her mum, as she goes on, “hurry up, we need to get to your uncle’s in time for lunch. your cousin oliver has some news to tell the family.”

and she’s not sure whether it’s hearing her name, the useless event that’s about to happen, or the fact that her mum makes such a big deal about everything, but her stomach has turned and fell and shattered.

as she rolls her eyes, sliding out of the pew, following her parents and little sister down the aisle, she murmurs, “we know oliver’s going to announce that he’s finally engaged to betsy.”

“oh stop it, you,” her mum snaps again, turning to look at her with sheer annoyance in her eyes. “why do you insist on being such a party pooper ? can’t you ever just happily go to an event ?”

“i don’t even understand why i need to go, and why this is even an event,” she sighs. “besides, it’s not like i’m ruining the party, we already know that’s what it’s going to be, right ? it’s useless,” she trails on, getting cut off now that they’ve reached the back of the church, father davies shaking hands with her parents.

the priest now turns his attention to her, a warm smile on his face, taking her hand in his, “was nice to see you timothy, i look forward to seeing you next weekend.”

and as she’s always been taught, she keeps a tight lipped smile, nodding her head in affirmation, before father davies shifts his attention to her sister, emma, following the same routine. a firm handshake, warm smile, a bid to a good week, and a promise to reunite next weekend. same time, same place. same, same, same. always the same. 

which, as mentioned, wasn’t terrible. she loved the idea of meeting a nice man, settling down, finding love. obviously the idea of kids was wiped off the table the moment god decided she’d be born in a body with a penis. 

but it was okay, she wasn’t angry with him. god, that is. figured that he did this for a reason. 

she was angry, however, or maybe frightened was the right word, with the people of the congregation. she’d heard stories of what happened to people like her. and although, she’d hoped her parents loved her too much to even think of something so awful, she knew, downright, that it wasn’t the case.

and that’s what she’ll never understand. if god is perfect, and his creations are perfect, why was she such a terrible creature ? why was it impossible to fathom that maybe a girl was born with a penis ? and why was she doomed to a future of white walls, straight jacket, botched early versions of lobotomy, rape, abuse, starvation, prison, complete segregation, and quite possible death ? why was love a concept she could only ever dream of ?

all thoughts that plague her mind on a daily basis, especially while she’s hiding in her room, stood in the dimmest light she can function in, dress draped over her small frame. she only had the one, tucked away in the depths of her drawers, something she pilfered from the seamstress’ shop years ago now.

she felt bad in the moment, assuming that whoever’s order it was would be proper upset, hopefully not taking it out too roughly on the poor seamstress. misses white could hold her own though, as delicate as she was with her craft, she could tear you apart if you so much as looked at her wrong.

and how she longed for such a badass attitude. generally she got a huge burst of confidence on the off times she had the opportunity to put the beautiful pale yellow dress on. but it was quickly wiped away whenever she’d hear so much as a tiny creak, immediately brought back to reality, shrugging the garment off, and hiding it all over again.

but in this moment, she was following her parents, walking side by side with her sister, down the road to their uncle’s house. and when she looks down, seeing her polished black shoes laced up intricately, her black, firmly pressed slacks, crisp white shirt buttoned up to the top, and tucked in tightly, a little bit of her light seems to fade.

she almost forgets, when she’s going about her life. her true colours, her true spark, that’s become an intricate part of who she is, typically shines brightly. you’ll rarely find someone that doesn’t love her presence. men, women, young, old, she gets on with everyone. a feat that’s not always easy, especially in their little village. 

and she supposes that’s the irony in this situation. if all these people knew her secret, they’d shun her completely without so much as a second thought. but nothing about her would be different. other than the name, and the cut/fit of the cotton hanging off her body.

but then, when she hears the word timothy, or she catches a glimpse of her clothing, and she’s begrudgingly reminded that she is in fact, a penis having human, and that means that she has to be a boy. and those are the moments you can almost literally see the spark leave her soul entirely.

she wonders if one day she’ll lose that shimmery glimmer of hope and love and light and joy. if the more she’s reminded that she must be timothy, the more difficult it will be for that spark to find her again. almost as if the spark is looking for her, and gets mistaken whenever it sees timothy, continuing on its journey to find her, flashing right past her stupid boy name and her stupid boy clothes.

“timmy ?” she hears softly, coming from right next to her.

“yeah, em ?” she hums, giving her head a shake, forcibly throwing those awful thoughts around her head, hoping to smash them up so badly with the force of it all, that they’re at bay for at least the rest of the day.

“you look sad. are you alright ?” emma asks quietly, still slightly too young to understand much of anything, but old enough to know that it’s crucial to keep her voice down, as to not garner the attention of their parents.

“m’alright honey bee,” she plasters on the biggest smile she can muster. which truthfully isn’t all that hard, in the presence of her little sister. if there was anyone she’d ever feel comfortable confiding in, it was emma. unfortunately, at the ripe age of 7 3/4, god forbid you forget the 3/4, emma’s still a bit too unpredictable in the secret keeping department.

“have i ever told you that i love when you call me honey bee,” emma smiles wide, eyes peering up.

“don’t think you have actually,” she hums in thought. “do you remember the day i gave you that nickname ?”

“sort of,” emma hums, the memory now very faded, as she was barely 3 years old when it happened. “you and i had gone for a walk. remember you slamming the front door and storming off. remember being scared when i heard the loud bang.”

“sorry about that,” she murmurs, nodding, as she remembers that morning like it was yesterday. remembers the loud screaming match she had with her mum, remembers storming off in a fit of furry, pacing the front of the house for a moment after having slammed the door. remembers adorable little emma, shyly peering through a crack in the door, asking quietly if timmy was alright. remembers the instant calming effect her little sister seemed to bring.

“remember going for a walk with you,” emma hums. “i could tell you were mad, i could feel it off you. but you were trying to hide it from me.”

“never told me that,” she murmurs, in thought. “you know, you saved me that day. you calmed me down so much, i just couldn’t stay mad with you around. you were so cute, running around, so innocent and happy, trying to make me laugh.”

“remember all of that,” emma smiles at the memory, always having been really close to timmy. the sibling bond, sibling love, was very strong between the two. “but i dont remember how we fell on honey bee.”

she smiles, laughing quietly, the memory crystal clear in her mind, “you had ran ahead, stopped by a large tree, remember you twirling around under it. anyways, i had caught up to you, when a bee flew out from the tree and kept bothering me. i was swatting away at it, when you yelled at me to stop. told me that clearly the honey bee had mistaken me for a pretty flower.”

“i said that ?” emma giggles, covering her mouth with her hand. 

“you’ve always surprised me with the things you say,” she laughs. “i think you surprise everyone with your well advanced view on the world. anyways, i dont think i’d ever felt more special, more beautiful, than i did in that moment, on that day. been calling you honey bee ever since.”

she can see the smile light up emma’s face, a memory emma’s obviously happy to now tuck away into her brain, the story finally complete in her mind, just as they walk up the pathway to their uncle’s house.

they all spot aunty jane, standing out front, hand extended in the air, waving at everyone. here we go, she thinks to herself.

finally, finally, back home, she mutters to herself as she shuts herself into her bedroom. sitting on the edge of her bed, elbows rested on her knees, head dipped down into her hands, taking lung fulls of shaky breaths.

“can’t do this, can’t do this, can’t do this anymore,” she mumbles quietly to herself, silent tears dripping down from her water filled eyes.

her brain feels like it’s imploding, her heart feels like it’s much too heavy for her chest, her stomach is turning, and she’s so god damn sick of it all. if she hears the name timothy one more time, she’s sure she’ll be gouging her eyeballs out, shoving knives in her eardrums, and swallowing arsenic for good measure.

she hadn’t noticed that her body was wracking through tremors, as she was trying, fuck swears she’s trying, to take proper breaths. but all of a sudden, her chest is too heavy, her lungs feel swollen, her throat is too tight, and the air just can’t get to where she needs it.

she blinks through some tears, the feeling of a panic attack nothing foreign to her. actually, it’s become a fairly usual occurrence following family gatherings. she can usually do her best to ignore the obvious fact that she’s imprisoned in a “boy” body on normal days. but put her in the presence of others and she struggles more and more each time.

and the unfortunate reality, the only way to make it all better, is to pull out that beautiful yellow dress and slip it on, cover her awful body with a garment that mirrors what she’s been picturing in her mind for almost a decade and a half. 

today, however, it’s still early, everyone’s still awake going about their business, a much too dangerous situation, she thinks to herself. which honestly, only makes the panic worsen. 

but, she can’t calm down, she can’t think straight, she can’t fucking breathe, and rational has flown straight out the window. she needs her dress, needs it. fuck it all, she needs a good strong inhale before her brain goes into the fuzzy abyss of no return. 

in a flurry of pure panic meeting the influx of adrenaline, she quickly stands straight, her head spinning uncontrollably from the lack of oxygen. her hands fall on her dresser, holding herself up, all of her strength and power coming from the rush of knowing that the dress will make it all better. her light at the end of a dark, panic ridden tunnel.

rummaging haphazardly through her drawer, clothes being thrown about in her room, because she needs, needs, needs that fucking dress. needs it now. nothing else matters, every ounce of her being is redirected and focused on dress, dress, dress.

her brain barely registers the yellow fabric through her gaze, only clicking once her hand wraps itself in soft cotton, a strike contrast to the rougher material of her usual, very well used, pants and button ups. 

and almost as if she’d been given pure cocaine, injected straight into her brain, for the strongest, most instant high, her body starts to calm. the mere presence of her dress enough to bring her back, feet solidly planted on the ground, breaths coming easier.

but it’s not enough, she needs to feel it, needs to see it, needs, needs, needs anything that isn’t such a grandiose expression of boy. so with the dress now laid out gently on her bed, she grips into her shirt, ripping the buttons right at the seams, as she tears it off her body, the garment joining all of her other clothes strewn across the room, with her slacks quick to follow.

and once she shimmies her way into her dress, her lungs finally, fucking finally, pull in the large breath of oxygen they’d been searching for. her brain starts to relax, the fuzzy blindness of panic and terror and pain starting to lift, as she looks down at herself, her body now mirroring what she’s always pictured, what she’s always wanted.

taking some calming breaths, letting the much needed air reach her brain, her body relaxes. she can feel her fingertips again. can feel her toes as she wiggles them. can feel the goosebumps on her skin as a chilly breeze flows through her open window, her arms hugging around herself in pure search of comfort. 

she can feel the silent tears wetting her cheeks, as she keeps crying quietly, the feeling of elation so overwhelming. going from pure, intense, rage ridden panic, to pure, intense, serene calm, throwing her brain, her body, for a complete loop of emotion. she felt almost lightheaded at the whirlwind of a switch that was just flicked in her mind.

and she isn’t too sure when it happened, or how it happened, the last 15 minutes having been too much, too much, too fucking much, but she finds herself laying in bed, eyes closing as her body screams at her to regulate, to shut off, to rest. 

so without a second thought, without her usual level headed moment of judgment, without her ability to assess that no, she should not be taking a nap in the middle of the afternoon, wearing a dress, when anyone could walk in, she ends up asleep. the panic attack having been the worst she’s ever experienced, every ounce of her being shutting down now that the adrenaline had crashed and her body felt peace in the envelopment of a beautiful yellow cotton dress.

at first she isn’t too sure what it was that woke her up. maybe she’d been asleep longer than she ever anticipated when she closed her eyes. maybe it was the newfound nip to the chill in the air that came with the darkness of early evening. maybe it was the lingering smell of whatever her mum was cooking up for dinner. 

but the moment she hears the loud gasp, followed by a booming shout of her father’s gruelling voice, she seems to remember the faint cry of her name. her god forsaken, stomach turning name. the faint cry coming from her sister’s sweet little melodic tone, obviously coming from far away in the kitchen, announcing that supper was about to be served. and naturally, when she couldn’t answer, thanks to her sleep ridden body, her father came trudging up the stairs looking for her.

“what in god’s sacred name is on your body, young man ?” she hears bellowing through her room, through the entire house really, and what a crude, awful way to wake up this is. she barely has the time to blink her eyes open, let alone give her brain a moment to steady itself and register its surroundings, before the booming stomps of her father’s feet can be heard echoing through the room, and probably shaking the floorboards enough for some dust to trickle down below them onto the lower floor of the house. 

she feels her father’s hand wrap itself in the garment, at chest level, giving a harsh enough tug to pull the upper half of her body clean off the bed below her. “i asked you a question, timothy,” he shouts right in her face, “where the fuck did you get this and why is it on you ?”

fear. pure, stricken, fear. she feels her heart stop, she feels the her stomach fall to a pit so low she didn’t know it could even go that far. she feels a prickling warmth spread through her entire body. her lungs seem to stop working, as she stares into her father’s disgust filled eyes, waiting for an explanation, none of which would be anywhere near good enough for him.

“i- i-“ she stutters around the shakiness of her breath, chest twitching, trying to gasp through any bit of air, soft voice working its way through, “it’s not what it looks like.”

in a fit of pure rage, her father pushes at her chest with force, such pure disgust evident in his eyes, as he lets go of the garment, letting her fall back against the bed.

by now, with the booming commotion, her mum and sister were standing in the doorway, curious eyes peering past the man of the house, to see what it is that’s got him so riled up.

she can see the shock in her mum’s eyes, hand covering what she can only assume to be her wide open mouth, jaw slackened with surprise. she can see the worry and confusion in her little sister’s regard, not totally grasping the scene in front of her, but old enough to understand that whatever was unfolding was nothing good. she can’t even look at her dad, the disgust she saw earlier, too much for her to look at again. it was already burned on her brain anyway.

she’d never been made to feel so ashamed in her life. she’d never felt so alone, so disgusting, so dirty, so small, so fucking revolting. she was trembling harder than she ever has, her gaze stuck on her hands resting softly in her lap. her ears were ringing so loud she could barely hear the conversation now happening between her parents.

fear. so much fear. what would happen now, who were they going to tell, where would she go, what would they make her do, how was this going to end ? 

her ears catch bits of sentences, “did you know ?”, “is that dress yours ?”, “send him to the asylum,” “give him a chance, maybe father davies- ,” “he’s a fucking worthless whore cross dresser !”, “we can’t just- ,” “get this sorry excuse for a son out of my face,” “daddy, dont- ,” “i never want to see that disgusting face again.”

it all went by in a blur, and the next thing she knows, her door is slammed shut, all wandering eyes closed off by the dark wood separating her from the world. 

still trembling, still shaken by the events, still gasping for breath, and for the first time, she can’t get the dress off fast enough. she tugs and rips and shimmies at a blinding pace, angry at the garment, angry at herself, for causing such a mess.

having lost any ounce of appetite, she spends the evening in her room, tucked in the smallest ball her body can wrap itself in, hiding away in a corner of her room, sheltering herself from the entirety of the world, while simultaneously attempting to comfort herself in any way she can.

she’s disgusting, she’s dirty, she’s a fucking abomination. what was she thinking ? what was she doing ? how could she humiliate herself like that ? she really felt like the lowest form of human there was. she’d never felt such deep shame in her life. 

she wasn’t sure how long she’d been squeezing herself into such a tight ball, angry thoughts swirling through her mind, until a soft, barely there knock can be heard from the other side of her door. at first, she wasn’t sure it had really happened, until she hears it again, more urgently this time.

her limbs hurt, joints creaking, as she untangles herself for the first time in god knows how many hours, padding quietly to the door, opening it just a crack, peering out into the hallway to find emma looking up with her big, innocent gaze.

opening the door more than just a crack, she beckons her sister into the bedroom, closing the door with a soft thud.

“are you okay ?” emma asks quietly, going to sit on the edge of the bed.

“you shouldn’t have seen that,” she hums quietly. “surprised mum and dad even let you come talk to me.”

“they’re asleep, it’s late now,” emma murmurs, shrugging. “they’re making you go to confess your sins to father davies tomorrow,” she explains, “overheard them talking after dinner.”

“of course they are,” she rolls her eyes, a silent tear running down her cheek. “this isn’t good emma. i’m in a lot of trouble.”

“just do what they say,” emma whispers, her own eyes filling with unshed tears. “they’re mad, but- but it’ll get better right ? can make this better ? i can’t lose my brother,” emma whimpers, afraid of the future, concerned for her favouritest family member.

“i’ll try,” she murmurs wetly, tears running freely down her cheeks, as she wraps her arms around her sister. she has to do what’s right. can’t leave her sister. can’t be a girl. she cannot be a fucking girl. she needs to be the big brother emma’s always loved and needed and came to for everything. she just needs to be.

or so she tells herself all night long, when the thoughts are too loud for her to get a wink of sleep, watching emma curled up next to her in comfort, holding onto her brother’s shirt for dear life, the only way she could reach a proper state of rest after the events of the day.

without having slept a wink all night long, her brain muttering through different thoughts, different scenarios, different possibilities, different outcomes, and enjoying the slight moments of peace when her gaze catches her innocent, sleeping sister, she starts to notice streams of light working their way through the small window. the sun slowly rising on a brand new day, full of hopes and dreams. or so she wishes. at this point, she isn’t too sure that hopes and dreams are still a part of life that she’s privy to.

she gently pats emma awake, watching her stretch out her limbs to waken them for the new day ahead. they both pad downstairs, noticing that it’s fairly quiet in the house. too quiet really. usually by this time their mum is muttering about the kitchen, getting their breakfasts ready. their father is typically shining his shoes, making sure his hat and tie are on straight, awaiting his breakfast before shuffling out the door and off to work.

but today, they couldn’t make out a single sound, the eerieness to it all not going unnoticed, creating a heavy swirling in the bottom of her stomach. did they abandon their children ? was she their reason for leaving ? was all of this entirely her fault ? now she was left to raise emma as her own, the two of them against this cruel world ? no, no, she figures it can’t quite be that bad. she needs to stop psyching herself out. they surely wouldn’t have left without emma.

now in the kitchen, emma notices the small piece of paper on the table, reading aloud, “father davies is waiting for you, timothy. after the confession of your sins, we expect to see our son back.”

she notices emma blinking up at her, all of the questions bouncing around her head seen clearly through the confusion in her gaze, “how would you not be their son ?”

“because i was wearing that dress,” she murmurs quietly, a short sentence full of shame, hatred, humiliation.

“but a dress doesn’t make you a girl,” emma pipes up, completely oblivious to the situation at hand. and how could anything but confusion and oblivion be etched on emma’s face when the concept of transgender has not even come close to being introduced to her. why should it ? people like this don’t exist. not out in public anyway.

“no, but my brain does,” she sighs quietly, shaking her head and snapping back into reality. “look, honey bee, i clearly have to go to the church. dont want to upset mum and dad any more than they already are. you wait at home, yeah ?”

“but -“

“no emma,” she shakes her head, “can’t come with me this time. need to do this one myself. mum and dad, or me, will be back soon, yeah ? here, have some bread and jam,” she hums, taking a plate and bringing it to the table. “next thing you know, someone’ll be home. you can work on your crochet in the meantime.”

“are you going to be okay timmy ?” emma asks quietly, almost shyly, ever worried for her brother.

she smiles sadly, not wanting to ever cause harm or worry to her little sister, giving her a kiss on the head, “i’ll be fine. eat, do something fun, and i’ll be home in no time.”

and with that, she sets off, the door closing gently behind her, as she walks down the familiar path leading to the town centre, and more specifically, the tallest building right in the middle of it all, the church.

she walks in quietly, the pit in her stomach having only grown larger and deeper and pittier. is that even a thing ? she’s not sure, but what she is sure of is that upon noticing father davies, her chest tightens, her lungs struggle to breathe, her head is absolutely swimming with worry, and is it possible to poop out your stomach ? because she thinks she just has.

“ah, timothy !” father davies smiles, turning around when he hears the shuffle of the large wooden door creaking closed. “good morning, son.”

and she swears, swears, that up until this point, father davies has never called her, son. surely out of spite, after having whatever conversation was had with her parents, and the entire ordeal makes her want to coward back and run out of the building altogether. but by sheer will, and maybe a little speckle of hope, she walks her way down the aisle, stopping at the last pew, sitting herself next to the priest.

“your parents tell me that you have some sins to confess,” he hums, looking her over, a gentle smile on his face, no foreseeable judgment in his gaze. yet.

as she sighs, her shoulders slumping a bit, she figures this is it. maybe telling her secret to father davies, to god, whom is surely listening right ?, maybe she’ll find a sparkle of hope. either way, confession has always been confidential. or so she’s always been affirmed. this is a conversation to be had with god. father davies is just like the interpreter. the messenger if you will.

“i was wearing a dress yesterday,” she mumbles quietly, still unsure of how much she can put her trust in the priest, but with having no one else to turn to, she has to put her faith in someone. and who better than a man of the church to turn to for faith.

“so i’ve been told,” he nods. “and what made you do that then ?”

“i like it,” she murmurs, shrugging her shoulders. “i dont see why it’s a big deal. i like wearing dresses. i- i-“ she sighs, the next part not something she ever anticipated telling to anyone. especially not this soon anyway. “i think i’m a girl.”

and at that, she notices the furrow in father davies’ eyebrows, notices the little hamster wheel turning very hard in his head, as he tries to make heads or tails of this situation.

truth is, he was not expecting that. maybe a confession of stealing, of being curious, because sure, who wasn’t at some point in their lives. but to be blatantly told that this boy thinks he’s a girl. well, it’s a little bit whacky, and a lot bit absurd.

as father davies sits, processing, not speaking a word, she sighs again, although this time with a slight edge as she’s maybe noticing that the faith and trust was misguided. “i dont understand why that’s so bad. if god made me this way, there’s a reason right ? father davies, if god isn’t capable of errors, why do i feel like such a mistake ?”

“you’re not a mistake, timothy. you’re maybe a little lost, maybe a little mistaken, maybe a little confused. but you are not a mistake, as you said yourself, god doesn’t make mistakes. maybe you just need some help in finding yourself, finding the man you were meant to be all along.”

the man. the man she was meant to be. her stomach plummets more, her heart beats more erratically, her fingers become more jittery, her head swims more and more. was she just mistaken ? no, no, she can’t be mistaken, she’s a girl. she knows. fucking knows that she’s a girl.

and as gut wrenching, as frightening, as confusing, as complex as this moment is, there is a click in her brain. a moment where the metaphorical fog has lifted. she is a girl, and she will do whatever it takes to have the freedom and happiness and love that she knows she deserves. 

“i’m sorry father, but i must disagree. my parents have sent me to speak with you to confess to my sins. and other than stealing that dress, years ago, i dont feel as though i have any sins to confess to. i am a girl. and if no one can agree with that, well then, i guess we’re done here.”

with a solid kick of confidence brought on by her new inner realization, she stands from the pew, nodding her goodbye to father davies, and walking down the aisle towards the back of the church, seeing herself out of the building. 

on the walk home, her mind swirls with the future unknown. she questions what will come out of her short conversation with father davies. will he keep her secret, or will he have, what she can only assume to be, a very disgruntled conversation with her parents ? will he tell others ? what will her parents do ? what will the others do ? what about poor little emma ? 

the one thing she does know is that she’s absolutely done. so fucking done. if even the priest, messenger of god, cant hear her out, she has no reason to hold onto hope. especially not here. with her newfound courage, she finds herself skipping towards her house, a huge contrast in her demeanour since she first walked this path, just a mere hour ago. because really, whatever happens, she will be the girl she’s always known she is. she will. she has to. for her sanity, she fucking has to.

Part 2

……

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

A/N : dont worry your adorable little selves, we need a little background on our main character before we can meet our golden boy. harry’s on the way real real soon ! ✌️

tags : @daphnesutton @niallthebadboi @gorlsinmultifandoms @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite

[winchesterbrotherstan]

Altered Carbon- Out of the Past (1.01)

Pairing: Nova Griffiths (OC) x Takeshi Kovacs

Summary: When Nova is contracted for a new job, she's introduced to a part of humanity's past. The job seems to be a bust, but it becomes clear that it's anything but.

Warnings: mentions of suicide!, cursing, guns, rebirthing(?), sword+knives, blood, mentions of shitty parents

Word Count: 6441

“Just…” I sighed, looking out through the droplets of rain on the windows of the bus stop, “I just want you to be safe, E.J.”

“I know. I will be, Nov. I promise.”

“Alright, good. Look, bug, I’ve gotta run.”

“New job?”

I snorted, looking at his grin on the holographic screen. “Possible new target, yeah.”

He nodded. “Promise you’ll be safe too?”

I nodded right back, a smile on my face. “Promise, E.J. Love you, bud. Talk to you later, yeah?”

Another nod. “Go.”

I sighed as I checked the time.

Shit.

I was going to be late if I didn’t haul ass. I flicked the display of the watch away and pulled my helmet on. I straddled my bike and kicked the stand up. Hopefully, this payout would be worth it.

***

“Justice! Let the dead speak! Justice! Let the dead speak!”

The chant became static as I pushed my way through the crowd, and up the steps of Alcatraz prison. Lieutenant Ortega from the local police department had reached out and told me she would give me a ride up to the Bancroft residence.

“Griffiths!”

I popped onto my toes and saw the lieutenant waving me down. A blond man stood next to her, his face angry, but eyes seeming disoriented.

“Ortega, hey.” I held a hand out for her and she gave me a firm shake. “I’ve been trying to find you for the last twenty minutes.”

“These people are something else. Nova Griffiths, you’ll be working with this gentleman here.”

“Nice to meet you.” I stuck my hand out, and he did the same.

“You shouldn’t have come back!” A man shouted over my shoulder, cutting my new partner off before he could start his sentence.

The crowd’s chant changed, “No resleeving!”

“Well shit, let’s get outta here.” I gave Ortega a grimace, letting his hand drop.

We began to push our way back through, dodging the picket signs and the face painted protestors. A man with white and black markings on his face took a step towards us and pushed me out of the way. I stumbled backwards, and my partner reached out, preventing me from falling off my feet.

“You will not be forgiven!” The protester spat in his face.

I used the existing grip on my arm to pull myself back in front of him. I spat in the protester’s face and shook my partner’s grip loose.

“Well, that’s gonna keep him busy a while.” My partner guided me to walk in front of him as we continued to push through the crowd.

***

“Spirit savers and Afterlifers. 653 failed, and still they can’t stop yelling.” Ortega spoke.

“What is 653?” He asked, looking up from the paper.

“Something about spinning up murder victims to testify who killed them.” I kept my eyes on my feet, feeling nauseous.

“Why wouldn’t you spin them up if they’re witnesses to their own murder?”

“Archdiocese says you only get the sleeve you’re born with. Once it dies, they spin you back up for anything, even to identify your killer, your soul goes to hell.” Ortega looked in the rearview mirror. “What do you think?”

“I think no one in the archdiocese has ever been murdered.” He looked out the window, and then to me. “Nova?”

I snorted, finally looking up. “I think they’re all full of shit.”

He fell quiet as he observed the city. I studied his silhouette as he stared. The sleeve was handsome. Strong features, a strong jawline, a deep voice. Light colored eyes and swept-over hair.

“So what were you in for?” I asked, trying to get a sense of why he was so silent.

“Ah, little bit of this, little bit of that. Blew some shit up and killed some people.” He caught a look from Ortega in the rearview. “Some people just need killing.” He grinned.

I felt a grin rise on my own face, but Ortega didn’t seem to share the amusement.

“And how do you decide who deserves to die?”

My partner shook his head with a small sigh. “Depends on the day. I mean, anything can set me off. Interstellar dictatorship, genocide, people who talk to much.” He looked over at her for the last part before letting out another sigh.

I giggled, and Ortega shot me a look.

“Right now I’m feeling pretty hostile towards Laurens Bancroft, whoever the fuck he is.” He pulled something from his pants pocket.

“Oh, come on. Everyone knows Bancroft, he’s one of the first founding Meths.”

“What’s a Meth?”

“You don’t know what a Meth is? How can you not know?” Ortega chuckled. “You're dressed like one.”

“Like I said, I’m not from around here.” His demeanor changed.

I eyed him. He was fidgeting with his hands. Ortega went on, reciting something from the beliefs of the Meths. I decided to unbuckle myself and slide into the middle seat. He took notice and looked down at me, eyebrows furrowed.

“How long have you been under?”

He looked away, sighing again.

“How long, man?” I whispered again.

“Two hundred fifty years.” He didn’t look my way again.

“Shit.”

We busted through the clouds, and I slid forward, still unbuckled. He caught me by the hood of my jacket before grabbing my upper arm, pulling me back into my seat. I swallowed my pride and buckled back up.

“They call it the Aerium.”

He leaned forward, eyes wide.

“Guess they don’t have this where you come from either, huh?” Ortega gave a teasing smile.

She guided the car to hover over the property as we sat in silence. He readjusted himself back in his seat, and Ortega seized the silence once more.

“So, where were you born? Home planet, that kinda thing.”

“Not here.” He was dead-pan.

“That’s a little vague.” Ortega chuckled.

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“That’s my abuela. She always said, Kristin, you can find a way to talk to anybody.”

“Especially when they’re trapped in a car with you.” He shot back.

She looked forward with a sigh, and I stifled another giggle.

“Our quick and messy little lives are so small to them. They build their homes up here so the clutter of our existence is out of their sight.”

We only shared a look in the backseat.

***

The landing of the hover-car was rough, accompanied by various quick remarks.

“Come on, last chance. Just give me a name.”

“Takeshi Kovacs.” He got out of the car and straightened out his clothes. “Look me up.”

Ortega immediately did so while I scrambled out of the car after him.

“Holy shit. Is that why…”

Kovacs glanced at me over his shoulder. “Yep.”

“You can’t be who you say you are. All the Envoys died.” Ortega tried to catch up with us as she shouted.

“All except one.” Kovacs caught me by the arm, pulling me to stand behind him.

I peered around his frame, only to see Bancroft’s multiple goons with their guns pointed toward us.

“Not another step, Ortega.”

“Aw come on. I’m Bay City PD and you know it, Curtis.” Ortega continued to walk toward them. “So lower your weapons and tell me where your boss is, because I really would like a fucking word.”

“Lieutenant Ortega, you’re trespassing on private property. Apparently, you’ve stolen one of our limos as well. I could have you shot.”

Ortega snorted. “Yeah, go ahead. Try.”

A police vehicle landed to our left, and Kovacs covered me a bit more with his own body.

“Why did you drive the Envoy? Isaac was supposed to do that.”

The police car door opened, and a man in a suit dragged a boy out.

“Look, I’m not drunk, okay? I was just loosening up a little. Let go of me.”

“We picked him up on a DUI.” The man explained to Mrs. Bancroft.

“Which is how we came into possession of your vehicle.” Ortega explained.

Mrs. Bancroft whispered something back and forth to, presumably, her son. She turned back to face us. “This is police harassment.”

“Yeah.” Ortega scoffed again. “There’s your kid, there’s your car, here’s your mercenary, and there’s your… new pet terrorist.” She gestured towards Kovacs, annoyed. “You’re welcome.”

“Bounty hunter, not a mercenary.” I scowled.

She walked past us, and Kovacs scoffed this time. “The terrorist can hear you. I’m standing right here.”

“Yeah, good. Cause we’re not done, you and me.” Ortega snapped at him before getting into the police car. I inched my way out from behind Kovacs until I was standing next to him.

Mrs. Bancroft chuckled as she walked toward us. “Forgive me. I’m Miriam Bancroft. We’ve not been properly introduced.”

She gave Kovacs a weak handshake, followed by a snake-like smile my way.

“Welcome to Suntouch House.” She turned on her heel, and we followed.

***

“Shouldn’t that be in a museum?” Kovacs asked as we walked under the branches of a large tree.”

“I have a weakness for Elder civilization artifacts. I collect them, among other things.”

“This must’ve cost a fortune to ship here.”

She hummed as Kovacs reached for one of the lower-hanging tendrils.

“A few lifetimes, as well. But cost was no object. This is the only Songspire tree on Earth. No one really knows what they are. They could’ve functioned as part of Elder civilization architecture. The largest ones ever recorded are thousands of meters high.”

The look on Kovacs’ face was one of recognition. “I know. I’ve seen them.”

“Stronghold. Of course.” She nodded. “Laurens is in his study. I’ll show you up.”

As if voice-activated, the elevator doors to her right slid open. Kovacs and I eyed each other before following her into the small room. Something felt off. We stayed silent as the elevator began to ascend. I kept myself tucked in between him and the corner, and Miriam stood opposite of him. She continued to eye him before beginning to play with her necklace. The metallic clicking caught his attention, and he looked up.

“Is it true you can look into a person’s eyes and know exactly what they’re thinking?”

Kovacs hummed. “No, Envoys don’t read minds.”

“What a pity.” She smiled.

Kovacs seemed uncomfortable, and the elevator dinged before anyone could say anything else.

“Good luck, Mr. Kovacs, Ms. Griffiths.”

Kovacs gestured for me to exit first, and he followed close behind. We let out simultaneous sighs as we heard the doors close again. We began to walk down the long hallway, trying to keep pace with each other. The study was silent when we walked into it, and I began to feel sick to my stomach.

“Mr. Kovacs, Ms Griffiths.”

We looked up to see Bancroft on the balcony of his study, drink in hand. “My apologies, my son failed to drive you here. You have to forgive my endlessly misplaced optimism.”

“That’s alright.” Kovacs looked back around the study. “The ride was very instructive.”

“Hmm, yes, I’m sure it was. Details are, after all, an Envoy’s stock-in-trade.” He began to walk down to the level we were on. “Or were, I guess I should say. Immersion and total absorb. Wasn’t that the term, hmm? Whatever answer you may seek, it is precisely where you are not looking.”

“You’ve read Falconer.” Kovacs finally spoke, eyes on me as I kept my own on him.

“I was alive during the uprising, yeah.”

“Yeah?” His eyes didn’t stray from mine. “So was I.”

“Oh, y-yes, my apologies. It’s all in the distant past for me, but for you, of course, it’s all rather different. There are very few of us now, who saw firsthand what the Envoys could do. Ah-ha. Yes. A-And I have to admit that I had a grudging admiration for you. Trained by Quell herself to be the most formidable fighting force that the galaxy had ever seen.”

“Well, that would sound better if we hadn’t lost.” Kovacs quipped.

“Although this might, might interest you.” Bancroft handed Kovacs a small leather-bound booklet. “Oh, it’s all corneal streaming now. There’s something about the simplicity of holding the written word in your hand. The very-very heft of it. As men have done for countless centuries before us.”

Kovacs seemed to leave the current plane of existence as he flipped through the book, fingers gingerly running over the pages. “Where did you get this?”

“I bought it at an auction. Supposedly, it is written by Falconer in her own hand. Judging by your reaction, it appears I might have got what I paid for.”

Kovacs snapped out of it, bundling the book back up and clearing his throat.

“Listen to me. I spent this entire morning being well and truly fucked around with, so, uh, let me be painfully clear. Some things can’t be bought. I’m not sure about Ms. Griffiths here,” he glanced down at me, “but I, for one, cannot. Now, I didn’t ask you to bring me back into this world. In fact, I fought a war to stop people like you from happening.” Kovacs began to step closer to Bancroft. “So, if someone doesn’t tell me right now what the fuck this is all about… I might very well lose my temper.” He smacked the booklet into Bancroft’s chest, and I felt my cheeks begin to grow flush.

“Understood. Now, this is a full pardon, signed by the president of the Protectorate.”

Kovacs only gave a look of disbelief. “Power is a matter of influence, Mr. Kovacs. And I have had a great deal of influence at the UN. If you agree to my terms, your sentence will be reduced to time served. And then I will open up a very generous line of credit in your name. DNA trace accessible. And when the investigation is over, you may keep this sleeve or choose another. To your own specifications.”

Kovacs said nothing, and I hung back. Bancroft turned to me.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you, Ms. Griffiths. Your parents will be pardoned as well.”

My heart immediately felt like it was going to blow a hole through my chest.

“Finally, I will pay you both a salary of 50 million UN credits. That’s a fortune. You can have any future you want.”

Blood kept rushing to my head, and my ears felt red hot. My vision blurred, and my body began to shake. I felt ready to pass out. Bancroft began to speak again, walking away this time. Kovacs gently put a hand on my waist and guided me to follow, sensing the loss of equilibrium within my body.

“All I ask is that you solve a murder.” Bancroft pulled a white sheet off a wall.

“Whose?” Kovacs stopped us both in front of the blood-splattered wall.

“Mine.”

“This is where I died. When Miriam found me, my head had been vaporized.”

Kovacs’ hold on me had grounded me enough for him to let go. He began to pace the room, and I looked over the brains on the wall.

“It’s an energy weapon?” Kovacs asked.

“Yes. A particle blaster. I keep one for personal protection in a biometric safe that only Miriam and I can open.”

Kovacs and I immediately shared a look, and Bancroft caught on. “Go ahead. Say it. Everyone else has. Either I committed suicide, or my wife murdered me.”

“But you’re still here, meaning your stack is intact, so… you must remember what happened.” The light hit Kovacs in a new way, and I noticed the scar on his sleeve’s eyebrow.

“I’m afraid it’s completely destroyed. RD’d, as they say.”

“So how?”

“Full-spectrum DHF remote storage backup?” I asked.

Bancroft nodded and Kovacs looked at me with a scowl on his face.

“Do you know what that is?” Bancroft asked him.

“Yeah. Just never met anyone filthy rich enough to afford it.” Kovacs scoffed.

Bancroft seemed like his pride was hurt, but he shrugged it off. “Well. I need to show you two something.”

He led us up the stairs to where he had been lurking when we arrived. Kovacs and I shared a look as we followed. I had to double my pace to keep up with Kovacs, who was more likely than not over a foot taller than me.

“Sometimes I come up here when I have decisions to make or difficulties to face.” Bancroft began. “I think about the ancient explorers, back when one could spend a lifetime pursuing the possibilities of the Earth, the oceans, the stars.”

My eyes flickered around the maps and old news articles framed up on the walls. Humanity had landed on the moon for the first time over 400 years ago. These artifacts must’ve cost fortunes.

Bancroft sighed. “I was born in London. When I first moved to what was then, of course, known as the United States, it still had the faintest echoes of the new and brash culture that it once was.”

I glanced over at Kovacs, who was tinkering with something on one of the multiple desks. Bancroft said something about the age of adventurers, and I heard the beeping of a screen. I pulled my eyes from Kovacs and followed his line of sight. A telescope spun our way, and Bancroft gestured toward it.

“Take a look. Tell me what you see.”

Kovacs and I shared another look, and he sensed my hesitation. He placed a reassuring hand on the small of my back before taking a step forward, peering through the eyepiece.

“It’s a Protectorate satellite. Military grade.”

Bancroft hummed. “It is military grade, but it’s not the Protectorates. It’s mine.”

Kovacs’ face took on an unreadable expression as he straightened up, making a subtle effort to keep himself between Bancroft and I.

What had I gotten myself into?

“Every forty-eight hours, my stack is automatically needle cast to it.”

“So your current self has no memory of what happened?” I peeped up from behind the six-something, two hundred-something slab of muscle in front of me.

“No, whoever killed me pulled the trigger ten minutes before my backup went through.”

“Which means all of your memories from those forty-eight hours are gone.”

“Completely. There was an attempted hack on my satellite feed moments after my death. Somebody wants me dead.”

Kovacs peeked back at me over his shoulder. This time, I understood the look in his eyes. Who wouldn’t?

Kovacs took a breath before beginning to slowly circle Bancroft. “For all we know, you did try to kill yourself.”

“You just botched the job.” I deadpanned.

“Mr. Kovacs, Ms. Griffiths, I am not the kind of man who would take his own life. And even if I were,” his eyes turned toward me with a menacing glaze over them, “I’d not have bungled it in such a fashion.”

Kovacs noticed and, once more, took a step in front of me.

“If I’d meant to die, I’d indeed be dead.”

Kovacs chuckled. “I don’t want your money. Or your pardon. I’m not sure about Ms. Griffiths here, but I’ll take eternity on ice. Thanks.” He turned on his heel, and I scurried to stay at his side.

If he was out, then so was I. I didn’t trust Bancroft and I sure as shit wasn’t gonna be stuck in this alone.

“You should take the day, Mr. Kovacs. Go into the city, remember what it is to feel alive. And then, give me your answer. O-oh, and please do take the book. Like everything else I’m offering you, it’s yours if you want it.”

Kovacs looked down at me, and I nodded up at him. Without another word, we made our way out of his study and, with the luck of Miriam not being around, out of the house.

***

In the car, Kovacs stared at his hands. He was beyond deep in thought. It seemed like a flashback that he was struggling to fight his way out of. He was adamant in his decision to be put back under. The driver was going to drop me off on main street in Bay City. I was going to see E.J. for the first time in almost a year. Kovacs would, as Bancroft had suggested, take a night in the city. After that, he would return to Alcatraz, and I would never see him again.

“Ms. Griffiths.” The driver caught my attention.

I looked up, seeing that we were pulled over on the main road. I blinked, and looked up at Kovacs.

“Guess this is goodbye?” I grinned.

He chuckled, but his own grin fell and he shook his head. “Don’t get involved with Bancroft again. I’ve been around long enough, and people like him don’t change.”

I nodded, watching his eyes as they deepened while he thought. “I won’t. Don’t worry about me.”

He met my eyes, and his grin returned. “Stay safe, kid. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, I suggest you keep it.”

I nodded. “I will. Be safe, Kovacs.”

“Takeshi.” He spoke as I opened my door, ready to get out.

“What?” I looked back.

“Call me Takeshi.”

I smiled, knowing I’d never see him again and that it wouldn’t matter what I called him.

“Goodbye, Takeshi.”

“Goodbye, Nova.”

***

I ran through the rain, dodging the group of teenagers doing the same. I shouldered the metal door open and ducked in, out of the weather. The air inside was stale and there were cobwebs in each corner of the lobby. After it had begun to pour, E.J. had called and asked me to meet him here. It looked like the hotel hadn’t been touched in a few years, give or take. More likely give.

“Eli?” I called out, clutching my bag over my shoulder.

“Ms. Griffiths, welcome.”

“Holy shit, it’s still you?” I turned to Poe, the AI that ran the place.

“It’s not like anyone stays here anymore. No need for an upgrade.”

I turned on my heel and saw E.J. sitting at the bar, drink in hand.

“Dude, you are nineteen, put that shit down.” I made my way over to him, stealing the glass of liquor and downing it. “Poe, stop giving my little brother alcohol.”

“He’s a paying customer, Ms. Griffiths.”

I rolled my eyes and held my arms out. E.J. stood from his seat and embraced the hug, rocking me back and forth from side to side. We had stayed at the Ravel Hotel on one occasion, for two months straight. Our parents were off-planet for a racing event, and they had left us with our uncle. He died in a gang-related shootout two days into our parents’ trip. After a week on the streets, we found our way into The Raven. We had gotten in contact with our dad, and he sent the money to Poe.

“How’ve you been?”

I sighed as he finally let go of me. “It’s been kind of crazy.” I sat down next to him.

“Tell me about it?”

I took a deep breath. “Hey, Poe?”

“Yes, Ms. Griffiths?”

“Nova.” I corrected him. “You’ve known me since I was 12, you can call me by my first name. Can I get a-”

“White Russian, White Russian!” E.J. shouted.

“Eli, stop.” I giggled before looking back at Poe. “Fine. Two White Russians please.” I grinned.

I held my finger to the pay-spot on the bar, pulling it away once it clicked. Poe shuffled our drinks out, and I handed one off to E.J. The door opened, and Poe fluttered over to the front desk. E.J. and I didn’t bother looking over. Probably just some sick freak who needed to get his rocks off. He grinned and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. I rolled my eyes as he held the pack out to me.

“You can’t say shit, I’m 19.”

“Stop being cocky.” I pulled one between my lips and held it up to the lighter he held in his hands.

“Never.” He grinned again as he took a drag of his own cigarette. “So. Who’s the target?”

I scowled. “It fell through.”

“What?” He raised an eyebrow. “You? Lose a target? What happened?”

I rolled my eyes and leaned in. “You know Bancroft?”

E.J. snorted, blowing his cigarette smoke in the other direction. “The fucker who thinks he’s god?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Made this whole big deal about how his last sleeve got his brains blown out but his stack stayed intact.”

“Sounds like he just fucked the job up.”

I grinned. “Exactly what I said. So we split.”

“We?” He repeated, again raising an eyebrow. “Since when do you play well with others?”

“Shut up.” I shoved his shoulder. “It was gonna be a special case. Turns out god is just a fucking moron.”

The door opened again, and this time we looked up. There was no way that many people were just coincidentally here. I immediately rose and pulled E.J. along with me as four men and one woman, all with guns, barged in. I looked toward their intended target.

Takeshi?

“He won’t be needing a room. So much for Envoy Intuition. Voodoo bullshit.”

“Envoy?” E.J. hissed at me as I pulled him to duck behind the bar.

“Just shut up. Do you have anything on you?”

“What?”

“Weapons, Eli.” I hissed back.

He patted himself down, and I pulled my blade from my bag and flicked it open. It was the only good thing my father had left me with. A dagger that transformed into a sword with the flick of a wrist. Eli twisted a silencer onto his gun and matched my position.

“Pardon me, wayfarer, we’re in the midst of conversation.” I heard Poe.

“Shut up, you piece of digibrain shit. My microwave is smarter than you.” The man with his gun on Takeshi’s neck snarled.

“I just want one thing to go right today.” I heard Takeshi’s gruff voice.

“Clearly.” Poe sighed.

“Too bad.”

I began to creep up from my toes, onto my knees. Takeshi turned to face the first man, holding his hands behind his back.

“They said you’d be dangerous. I thought you’d be bigger. They made me bring all this backup. What a waste of my time. I don’t need them.”

By now, I was on my haunches, peering up over the counter of the bar. Poe made eye contact with me and gave the slightest shake of his head. Although he was just a bundle of code, Poe had become more human than some people. He cared about E.J. and I, in his own strange, AI way.

“Fuck you, Dimi.” One of the men hissed, only to earn a bullet to the head.

Dimi? I had to take this fucker down for sure. I’d never have to work another day in my life.

“I have to clean that up.” Poe sighed.

“What?” Dimi growled.

“Uh, he had it coming.” Takeshi nodded. “He was rude.”

E.J. had made his way up next to me, gun held tightly. Poe shook his head at us once more.

“I could take you myself without even breaking a sweat.” Dimi got in Takeshi’s face. “Move.”

He shoved Takeshi to the middle of the group, which meant that they all now had their backs to us. Takeshi caught my eye over the counter, and his eyes widened. I gave him a cocky grin, and E.J. looked between the two of us, confused.

“Good sir, I cannot assume host prerogatives without payment.” Poe urged Takeshi.

“You want to get him a hot towel?” Dimi taunted. “You’re some kind of moron, staying in an AI hotel. Possessive like a crazy girlfriend. No one stays in them anymore.”

“Really? I hadn’t heard that.”

Dimi hit the top of Takeshi’s spine with his gun, and the Envoy crashed to the ground with a grunt. I made my choice. I tapped Eli’s gun and pointed my sword toward the woman, who was the closest to us.

“For guest amenities, please, touch the screen.”

Dimi hit Takeshi in the face this time, sending him sprawled onto his back. Eli and I stood slowly, boots silent against the wooden floor. He was taller, and by now, far stronger. We nodded at each other, and he clapped a hand over her mouth. I knocked her gun out of her hand with my sword, catching it in my hand before it could clatter to the floor. The others were too distracted with beating Takeshi up to notice.

Poe’s cold eyes flickered between Takeshi getting his shit rocked and us. The woman struggled, and I made another quick decision. I cut her throat, and Takeshi began to speak at the same time, covering the gurgling sound. E.J. grabbed her now limp sleeve and dragged her to the side.

“It’s not voodoo, which, by the way, absolutely is bullshit. It’s a form of subliminal pattern recognition.” Takeshi began to explain, keeping his eyes ahead as he crawled back toward Poe.

“What the fuck does that mean?” Dimi grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him up, putting his gun to Takeshi’s face.

As Dimi continued to threaten Takeshi’s sleeve, if not his stack, E.J. and I continued our quiet routine. Another man down, another sleeve thrown aside.

“You know, it’s about the details.”

Another hit, Takeshi landing back onto the coffee table. I flinched, surprised it hadn’t broken under his weight.

“Where’s the big bad boy Envoy killer from the past?” Dimi shouted.

“Twenty seconds.” Poe reminded him.

I grimaced. I couldn’t make my way to the front desk and do it for him without being noticed.

“Fight, goddamn it! What, you lost your balls? Did something change while you were down?”

Takeshi got back to his feet, staging himself between the back desk and Dimi. “Nothing changed.”

Two kicks to the stomach. I had enough. I looked at Eli and gave him a nod.

“People like you are still stupid.” Takeshi ended up at the front desk, finger in the right place.

E.J. took his first shot, and Dimi turned at the small noise. I thrusted my sword through another man’s chest. Poe lowered the machine guns from the ceiling, and I dropped to the ground, ducking behind a column to keep myself safe. I watched as E.J. did the same. Poe cocked a shotgun and began to shoot people down, and Takeshi began to pummel Dimi.

One of Dimi’s people tried to back behind a column, having the same idea we had. I counted the rounds that Poe’s machine guns fired, finding the right timing. I ran from the safety of my cover and plunged my sword into the man’s chest, dropping his sleeve down into the open fire. The men dropped like flies, and I kept my eyes on Takeshi. He round-house kicked Dimi in the stomach, and I swallowed hard. It was rather difficult to deny just how attracted to him I was becoming.

“Nova!”

I turned toward E.J.’s voice, only to see a man much bigger than me coming my way, a knife in his hand. I struggled to scramble to my feet, slipping in the blood of the sleeves I had killed. I fell flat onto my back and held my sword up, hoping I had enough coordination to shield myself from his knife.

There was the sound of Poe’s shotgun, and the men fell down on top of me. I groaned as I felt his knife slice through the skin of my thigh. The only person left was Dimi. Takeshi had him cornered against a sofa, fist raised.

“Who sent you?”

Dimi laughed, and I coughed, spitting blood aside as E.J. came running, pulling the sleeve off of me. I felt my consciousness begin to slip away, and I struggled to stay awake. E.J. pulled me up to sit, letting my back rest against a column. I watched from behind heavy eyelids as Takeshi put Dimi in a chokehold.

“Who sent you?”

He squirmed his way free, putting himself in the direct way of the machine guns. Takeshi urged Poe to hold back, but Poe didn’t listen. Dimi went down, and Takeshi sighed heavily.

“Ask this of your microwave, miscreant.”

Poe became quiet once he sensed that he had done something Takeshi didn’t like. “Apologies. Your room beckons.”

“Bite this.” E.J. shoved his leather belt between my teeth and didn’t give me time to react before pulling the knife from my leg.

I couldn’t help the scream that tore through my throat. Takeshi’s eyes went wide and he scrambled to our sides, hand immediately coming to my shoulder. He ripped a sleeve off and immediately began to tie it around my wound, flinching when I did.

“Nova, what happened? Are you okay?”

I coughed, and blood speckled onto his white button-up. E.J. brushed my hair out of my face and I winced.

“Sorry, Takeshi.”

He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Fucker nailed me when he dropped.” I pushed out, feeling light-headed once more.

“I can stitch her up.” E.J. grabbed my hand, squeezing it to try and keep me awake.

“No.” I hissed.

E.J. knew what he was doing, but it always hurt like a bitch. Takeshi looked me over and sighed, pulling me off the column so that he could hoist me into his arms.

“I’ll help you hold her down.” He adjusted me bridal-style and stood.

“God, fuck you both.” My voice was scratchy, and the lights began to look spotty.

“Just rest, Nov. We’ve got you.” Eli whispered, and I let the darkness consume me as my sleeve went heavy in Takeshi’s arms.

***

“What happened to a meal, getting laid, and restacking forever?”

I looked up from my plate to see Ortega walking over to us, hands on her hips. Takeshi took a drag of his cigarette before looking her way.

“I got interrupted.” He downed a shot.

“Who the fuck are these guys?”

“I don’t know.” Takeshi shrugged. “But they knew me.”

“Di-”

“They called you by name? Are you sure?” Ortega cut me off and I sighed, going back to pushing around the pasta on my plate.

“Eat.” Eli urged me.

I sighed again. “I really don’t want to.”

“Kristin!” The man Takeshi and I had seen drop off Bancroft’s son was there, working on the scene. “Four of them are just local muscle, but this sleeve is registered to Dimitri Kadmin. Ulan Bator registry.” He showed Ortega the tablet in his hands.

Ortega punched his arm, excited. “We got him.”

“Got who?” Takeshi looked over at me.

“Dimitri Kadmin, hitman out of Vladivostok.” I cut Ortega off this time. “Otherwise known as Dimi the Twin. Does a lot of work for the yakuza. Bastard doesn’t trust anyone, so he double-sleeves.”

“Isn’t the penalty real death?” E.J. asked.

Ortega’s partner nodded. “We hold onto his stack, and sooner or later we catch the other version of him out there, and then he’s done.”

Ortega let out a string of curses, and her partner looked her way. “What, what’s going on?”

“Stack is fragged. Not enough left to spin him up to interrogate. Fuck.”

“You couldn’t just disable them?” Ortega hissed at Poe.

“I was coming to the defense of my first guest in about a decade.” Poe took a shot of his own.

“With enough firepower to bring down an airplane.” Ortega spat back.

“Hey, Poe is fully licensed for customer protection. You know that. Not to mention, I got fucking knived.”

“You’ve shot people for less.” Her partner reminded her, and she brushed him off.

“So, Dimitri’s a high-end hitman?” Takeshi spoke up.

“Yeah, top of the line.” Ortega scowled.

“Then Bancroft’s death wasn’t a suicide.”

“Of course. Because who would wanna kill an asshole like you?” Ortega’s partner scoffed.

“Plenty of people. A few centuries ago.” Takeshi lit another cigarette.

Resleeved in the body of a hard-core nicotine addict was how he had put it.

“Kovacs doesn’t merit this kind of hit unless they wanna stop him from looking into Bancroft’s death.” I put together what Takeshi himself had been getting at.

“Instead of blaming us, how about you apply your impressive policing skills.” Takeshi scoffed at them.

“Less than eight hours out of the tank, and you’re already up to your eyes in organic damage and real death.”

Takeshi grabbed his unicorn backpack, which I had learned an hour ago was full of illegal street drugs, kissed the top of it, and slung it over his shoulder. He held his hand out for me, and I looked between him and E.J. My little brother nodded at me, and I took Takeshi’s hand, letting him help me off the stool.

“I could find a way to arrest you two for this.” Ortega threatened.

“Yeah?” Takeshi taunted as he led us past them. “You make up your mind, we’ll be upstairs.” He helped me stay steady as we wove through the sleeves strung on the floor.

Ortega tried to come after us, and her partner grabbed her, pulling her back and telling us to leave it. My foot slipped over a piece of glass, and I winced, grip on Takeshi’s hand tightening.

“Here.” He held my hand with one of his and grabbed my waist with the other, letting my weight rest against his side.

I felt like I was going to faint as his muscles moved under his shirt, rubbing against my own body. He hit the button to our floor and closed his eyes. I felt his body relax, but his grip on my waist stayed firm.

“Takeshi?” I whispered, looking up.

He met my gaze.

“I need to take the case. These people know who I am. I can't put my brother at risk like that.”

He only nodded and looked forward once more. His eyes fluttered shut, and he seemed to be absorbed into another flashback, like he had been in the car after we met Bancroft. It seemed to entrap him even as he led me to my room. He was fighting hard, his fingers beginning to bunch up the material of my shirt. I said nothing, returning the reassuring hand on his back. He helped me get to my bed, and, without a word, tears forming in his hazel-green eyes, turned and walked out of the room.

I laid on my back and sighed. This man was torn apart beyond belief, but he was a force to be reckoned with. This would be, by far, the most intense job I had ever and would ever work.

[ahundredtimesover]

Like a Thief in the Night (FNTO 3)

What were you both trying to prove? That two people can remain just friends?

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: strangers to friends to lovers, popstar/idol!jk, fluff, angst, future smut; this is a dialogue-heavy series so read if you’re into that! 

Warnings: foul language, these characters talk alot bc I talk alot, eventual smut

Word count: 4,800

Series summary: You meet pop star/idol Jeon Jungkook at the café, you get close, and as Hyejin says, you’re like friends with benefits without the sex. But you’re bad at feelings and so is he.

series masterlist

A/N: JK gets some sense knocked into him thanks to Seokjin and Jimin bc I am a jinminkook stan. Italicized parts refer to past events. Listen to Home by 1D to prep you for part 4! 

#

Jungkook covers his face with his hands, elbows leaning on the table, right leg shaking constantly. He’s been listening to the track over and over again; the hook sounded good yesterday but why does it seem lacking today? 

“Fuck, I’m not gonna get this done in time,” he curses to himself. It has been a few days since he arrived in L.A. and had met with the producer he reached out to just as he planned. 

He’s been staying holed up in his hotel room though, his daily gym visits being the only other thing, aside from the concerts, that he looks forward to, given the old couple and father-and-son duos he’s been seeing there everyday. The guys and the rest of the team won’t arrive until a few days later, and he hasn’t had any motivation to go around the city.

He plays the track one more time. Maybe this time he’ll figure out what’s missing; is it in the melody? The lyrics? But unsurprisingly, he doesn’t. It sounds just like it did a minute ago, yesterday, 2 days ago. 

You won’t get any more productive being cooped up in here, he’d told you that Saturday when he dragged you out of your apartment for a little excursion. 

It’s been over a week since then. He’d told you the words you always tell him when he’s groaning in frustration to you over the phone because of a certain pitch he can’t get right, or over words that don’t seem to capture what he wants to say. 

He closes his eyes, head thrown over the desk chair and he lets out another grunt. Artists need to go out for inspiration and you don’t seem like you’re getting it here. 

He closes his laptop, wears a cap over his head, and readies himself to go out. “Damn it, Y/N, you win. You always do,” he says to himself, and walks out the door. 

#

It’s quite windy for a summer day in August in L.A., but the sun is still high up enough, slightly blinding Jungkook. The skies are clear, and he thinks it’s a good enough day as any to finally take a trip to the Griffith Observatory. 

He didn’t do much, just stared out at the city below him and enjoyed the fresh air he’d finally allowed himself to breathe. He could see the clouds so clearly from here, all soft and puffy. 

I’d eat those, you’d said not long ago when you were having brunch on your terrace, the warm summer air of Seoul hitting your faces. Of course, you’d eat anything, he’d answered back, earning a smack from you. That makes both of us, you’d said. 

He lets out a low groan. You again. “It’s just clouds, for fuck’s sake,” he says to himself. Somehow this seemed to signal to him that it was time to go.

A hotdog sandwich and soda later, Jungkook finds himself in Hancock Park, the sun slowly dipping down the horizon, making it a good time to just lay on the sprawling greens by the perfectly lined palm trees. 

With hands behind his head, he thinks that it's been a good day. Why you’d said that L.A. isn’t your cup of tea, he never found out. The city seems so dynamic, interesting; it has a little something for everyone, especially the food. He should ask you some time. 

Jungkook pauses his thoughts. Ask you? Why should he? He basically shunned you away, ghosted you for a week and convinced the company to allow him to leave early so he could meet with the producer he could very easily meet in between shows, just so he could get away from you as quickly as possible. 

The confused, pleading, and then defeated look on your face bore into his mind, unwillingly etched there along with the happier images of you - eating your favorite red bean ice cream, laughing so hard that no sound comes out of your mouth, your scrunched up face when drinking sodas, furrowed eyebrows when working, and finally, your sleeping figure bunched up underneath a thick fleece blanket, soft snores escaping you. 

That last one will always be his favorite, had been since that first time you’d asked him to sleep next to you. 

He woke up earlier than you that Sunday, the day after your little trip, body already used to their early morning wake up calls. You were both under the covers, with you taking up most of the blanket, as always. He softly laughed at this when he realized that half of his body was exposed, but this gave him a reason to scoot closer to you and feel your warmth, so he wasn’t complaining. 

You looked so peaceful, so soft, even with slightly furrowed brows as you were engulfed in your dream. A loose strand of hair fell on your face, which he’d tucked gently behind your ear. A smile befell him, thinking of the way his heart was currently beating slow and fast at the same time. How was that even possible? 

But he didn’t mind it, didn’t even think to find an answer. He’d already given up on finding reasons for what you’d been doing to him, what you’d been making him feel. 

He decided right then and there that he will no longer run from what he’s feeling for you, that he will no longer play this up as something that just happened. 

He’s a firm believer of destiny anyway, and yesterday, this moment right now, he feels like he’d dreamt it all before. He’s meant to be here with you, just as he was meant to be at your aunt’s cafe that September day last year to run into you, or that night out last New Year's when Chaewon had lost her car key and was too preoccupied to take care of you so he did, leading to that fateful morning of you in your underwear almost stabbing him - you both did agree that experience solidified your friendship, after all. 

Every other moment after that with you felt real, and more than anything, it felt right. He fell asleep again not long after, your steady breathing lulling him to sleep. His last thought was of the next time he’d wake up next to you like this again, and his heart softens at the thought.

He shakes his head, anger and frustration building up again, not at you but at himself. He was deliberate in his avoidance of you that whole week before he left.

He’d missed you when you were busy and he somehow felt empty. He crashed your Saturday and took you on a little trip - he remembers how fast his heart would beat whenever you’d lean on him, butterflies in his stomach suddenly having grown in size.

After you’d thanked him for being such a great friend - he winces at the word - he felt his heart shatter slowly, and then all at once. 

It wasn’t out of the ordinary because you thank him constantly. He thinks it’s because you feel he could be doing something else other than spend time with you because time for him is a luxury; wealthy as he is, it’s something he can not afford. He never told you though that spending time with you is one of the things he looks forward to, sort of an escape but also a taste of normalcy he’s barely afforded. 

But after a while, your expression of gratitude became more specific - it wasn’t just time you were thanking him for, it was his attention, his care, his thoughtfulness… his friendship. 

Fate was playing a game with him, he thinks, that at the moment he’d decided what he wanted from you and what he could give you - his time, his world, his love at some point - you’d decided to define him, as your friend. How cruel, he whispers to himself. 

He tries to think as you do. You’d probably call him silly for his musings because you never believed in fate or destiny, always thought that things happen as they do, because they do - no grand plan, no specific reason, just a reason, and that was enough for you. 

He goes home from his sightseeing and allows himself to think about you again that night, and the night after. He thinks about your plump lips, soft against his chapped ones. He thinks about how it felt with you close to him, your arms wrapped around his; fingertips just slightly brushing. He’s glad you’d never lay your head on his chest when you sleep, at least he doesn’t know what that feels like - what you don’t know can’t hurt you, after all. 

He let the sound of your laughter and your out of tune singing sing him to sleep, over and over playing in his head. He tortures himself like this. It’s all he could do to get back at himself on your behalf, he thinks. You hurt him without knowing, and he hurt you right back. 

#

“Mind sharing what’s interesting about that text message, Jungkook?” Yoongi calls out from across the table. 

The guys are finally in the U.S., the morning of rehearsal having just wrapped up and everyone is backstage for a lunch break. 

Hoseok shoots Yoongi a look, as if to tell him to talk about it only when Jungkook brings it up first. The older man only shrugs. 

Jungkook picks this up, though; he picks up everything. He knows his hyungs as much as they know him. The questions about the meeting with the producer, how the mixtape is going, any sights he’d seen, new food he’d tried. They’re trying, he figures. 

He could sense the glances everyone is giving each other but him, the topic-change when the conversation is heading to the topic of you, the clearing of throats, the awkward silences. 

“Y/N texted,” Jungkook says after one of those awkward silences. He stares at the screen, as he’s been doing since last night when, just as he was about to finally doze off at 3AM, his phone lights up. You probably thought he was already asleep, not knowing the agony he was putting himself through.

Everyone falls silent but looks at him softly. Seokjin turns to Yoongi, as if telling him to say something and finish what he started, but Namjoin gets to it first.

“You can talk about it, or not. Depends on what you think will help you be ready for the next 2 nights of shows,” the leader says. “Just let us know.”

Jungkook sighs. “I hate myself enough just thinking about her. I don’t know what I’d be if I start talking,” he says. 

“We’ve got time after tomorrow,” he resigns. Everyone nods in agreement. “I need to be at my best for these two nights,” Jungkook says, and proceeds to keep his phone in his pocket and heads out.

#

Y/N: There’s no proper way to say this but I’m so sorry, Jungkook. I thought I had it all figured out. I wanted too many things from you but couldn’t commit to anything. I was selfish and unfair. I hate myself for hurting you the way I did and you didn’t deserve any of that. I’m so sorry.

Jungkook reads the text over and over again, as if doing so will clarify things for him. Wanted too many things? Couldn’t commit to anything? What did you mean? He called you selfish and unfair that day when you showed up at his place, and he hates himself for it, he hopes more than you hate yourself for hurting him. 

“I’m sorry, Jungkook, I told her about you leaving early,” Jimin starts. “I probably should’ve picked up that something was wrong when you seemed off that whole day after you got back from her place and should’ve kept my mouth shut.” 

“Nothing to be sorry about, hyung,” he responds. “If I hadn’t been an idiot and ghosted her for a week, we could’ve settled it properly instead of dragging you guys into this,” Jungkook says, looking up from his phone. 

He figures you’d eventually reach out to one of the guys about him. Seokjin had likewise reached out to you the other day, asking what was going on, that much he’s said.

“She also didn’t say much when I asked,” Seokjin says from across the table, beer bottle in hand. 

The guys are in a new city and have the next day just for rehearsals. He and Jimin had knocked on Jungkook’s hotel room, in hopes that the younger would be willing to talk. 

“But she did sound pretty out of it,” the elder continues. “What happened, Kook? Everything seemed to be going so well with you two. Unless it’s what we think it is.”

“What do you mean?” Jungkook shoots both of them a confused look.

Jimin sighs. “Who fell first?” He questions. Jungkook’s eyes go wide, but then again, that’s what always happens right? He’s been in denial long enough that you and he were going to go down that route, but his hyungs weren’t. 

Jungkook shuts his eyes before taking a deep breath. 

“I did, at that moment,” he says, referring to that Sunday morning. “I mean, I think I’d felt something before then, but it felt faint, like something fleeting, something abstract, like a thought.” Jungkook drifts a bit, eyes glowing to the memory of you under the blankets.

“But I woke up that morning next to her and I don’t know, for the first time it felt different from all the other mornings. It felt tangible, like something I could hold onto and touch and feel and savor, not just an abstract idea of a person or a feeling,” he looks at his hyungs, eyes shining before they turn downcast. “But she thanked me for being a great friend.”

“Ouch,” Seokjin quips. “No wonder you’ve been moping.”

“I’ve been doing worse,” Jungkook responds. “I’ve been torturing myself, playing that morning, and that day at my house before I left, over and over again.”

“Why are you punishing yourself?” Jimin asks. 

“Because I lashed out on her. I called her selfish and unfair. I told her I wanted to get away from her, that she’s the problem.” 

At this, the two older men look at him, shock painted on their faces at the reveal. This doesn’t sound like their sweet little Kookie, expressing such anger that way.

“I didn’t talk to her for days and she stood there looking worried and sad and I lashed out. I essentially blamed her for the feelings I couldn’t control. She looked at me like I was the one breaking her heart.” 

“Maybe you were, too. Breaking her heart, I mean.” Seokjin quips. At this, Jungkook sighs. “Maybe not in the way you think but… did you even hear her out?”

“No…” Jungkook responds. He didn’t give you a chance. You stood there, demanding an explanation, and he blew you off. 

“Well, I doubt she’d say much. She didn’t know how you were feeling before then, did you really expect anything more? What happened to talking it out? You two always did that,” Jimin asks. 

“Yeah but not about this, not about feelings.”

“What kind of people flirt, kiss, sleep next to each other, and not talk about feelings?” Jimin continues.

“Idiots, cowards, naive people…” Seokjin answers, looking upset. The other two men could’ve easily missed the bitter tone of his voice.

“Yoongi hyung is that you?” Jungkook asks, a laugh almost escaping his lips.

“He’s rubbing off on me but the point is, that’s what you both are. What were you both trying to prove? That two people can remain just friends? She hadn’t let anyone in since her breakup, and you…” Seokjin gesticulates, trying to find the right words for Jungkook. “You are you, Jungkook. You don’t willingly make time just for anyone because you, we, don’t have enough of it. But you always, always make time for her. Both of you kept doing what you were doing, whatever it was, and did you really think staying in the gray area was sustainable? Look what happened!” Seokjin is out of breath, clearly this means a lot to him too. 

“I thought you’d learned enough from me,” he emphasizes the last word, pointing to himself. 

Jungkook and Jimin both soften at the elder, almost forgetting that he knows a thing or two about staying in the gray area, too afraid of crossing invisible lines, too naive to think that good things stay. 

“I teased along with everyone else because you two were enjoying yourselves, seemingly mature enough to roll with the punches and laugh along without it being awkward, and I’m not gonna lie, you guys were pretty cute too, but so many times I wanted to smack your head to knock some sense into you,” he continues. 

“You can never be too complacent about these things, Jungkook. You can never just resign into thinking that the person who makes you feel this happy, this right, can be kept at a distance and just stay there.” 

Jungkook feels it’s cathartic to Seokjin as much as it is for him. He’s right. Both of you should’ve talked about it at some point, perhaps after that first and second kiss, perhaps when it became routine to do that whenever he slept over, perhaps when it started to feel so right having your lips onto his. You were both being naive, thinking that things would remain as good as it was as time went on. 

He should’ve said something earlier, or perhaps talked to you right after that day instead of avoiding you. But more importantly, he shouldn’t have lashed out on you the way he did. His anger was misplaced. Perhaps he was angry at himself for letting it get as far as it did, for letting it affect him as much as it did. 

He let you sneak in his heart just like that, like a thief in the night you crawled in and took from him, and he let you, he always let you. And he never complained because he wanted it too. He wanted you, in whatever way he could have you, but he let his own cowardice get the best of him that day at his house. He lashed out because he was scared, more than anything, that you didn’t feel the same way. 

“I’m sorry, I just…” Seokjin says after a long silence has engulfed the three men, everyone finding a spot in the room to focus on, letting the words sink in. 

“We could all tell how happy she makes you and how soft you are for her. I mean, you let her give you shit for thinking that Ironman is the best Avenger and you never complain when she wears your clothes,” he continues, a smile forming on his lips. 

Seokjin, like the rest of the guys, feel very protective of the youngest. They feel they’ve done their part in raising him and want nothing more than for him to be happy, seeing the amount of pressure he puts on himself. 

“You don’t find that person just anywhere, Jungkook, especially not with the kind of life we live. I would’ve hoped you understood that and made you sure you wouldn’t lose her,” he continues.

“Yah, don’t get ahead of yourself, hyung. He hasn’t lost her yet,” Jimin says, looking at Jungkook to confirm. 

Jungkook buries his face on his hands. “I don’t know, I hope not. But I said hurtful things to her and I can’t take them back. And I’m thousands of miles away and I can’t just fix things from here.”

“Do you even know what you want now? After everything that’s happened?” Seokjin asks.

“I don’t know, depends on what she wants too, I guess,” Jungkook responds.

“Well, you didn’t even give her a chance to say anything so how would you know,” Jimin states the obvious. 

Jungkook lets out a low growl. Of course he didn’t give you a chance to say anything because he left you hanging, all messages unopened, all calls unanswered. And then he left. He felt so brave walking on this undefined territory with you but chickened out the moment things got serious. 

“Look, just… give both of yourselves time. You can’t do much from here anyway, and you’re both too out of it right now to know what to do next,” Seokjin advises. He knows better than anyone that giving yourself time is most important.

“But what if she decides she doesn’t want any of this anymore? That she doesn’t wanna talk to me or have anything to do with me when I get back?”

“Yah! Give yourselves more credit. I know it’s hard but you need to have faith in your friendship, at least,” Jimin reprimands the younger boy. “We’ve still got over a month into this leg of the tour and that’s enough time to figure yourself out.”

Jungkook comforts himself with this thought. But can he manage spending all this time away from you, knowing he left things on a bad note? He can’t fault himself enough for how he left things, and now he has to put faith in your shared friendship that things were going to be okay. 

If you’re meant to be together, it’ll happen; that should be enough, right? He’ll go home soon, and he’ll see you at some point, that’s if you still want to see him. He just has less than 2 months to figure out what he wants, and moreso, what he could give. 

#

It’s been 6 weeks since that day at Jungkook’s house when he implied he had feelings for you. 

You know what else is nice? Calling me to come over on Friday nights when you didn't feel like being out, asking me to stay the night and having me sleep next to you, kissing me and saying you liked waking up next to me then telling me that ‘this feels nice and comfortable and fun’ and that I really am a great friend, he told you then. You were an idiot, that much you’ve figured out.

Other than busying you with a trip to the carnival, baseball nights, arcade Saturdays, and gallons of Baskin Robbins, your friends have done their part in helping you process your feelings and figure out exactly what you feel for the doe-eyed boy. 

They helped you backtrack, as if your story was some sort of mystery that needed clues that would eventually point to what you were looking for - the moment it all changed, for you and maybe for him, too. 

But you realized it wasn’t exactly a moment, it was a series of them - the first time he took you home when you were drunk, that night he came over when you were crying over your ex, when he sang to you over the phone because the thunder was scaring you, when you cried together after rewatching Avengers: Endgame for the nth time… when you first kissed and he tasted of beer and his strawberry chapstick, when you kissed the second time and he didn’t pull away. 

You let yourself drown in those little kisses more than you care to admit. It was all you could give him and you felt it was all he could give in return. You both never went past that act; on your end it was because you knew that anything beyond that would lead to wanting more, something you knew he couldn’t give, something you told yourself not to expect. 

He’d come over whenever he could when you asked, he’d stay over when it was okay to do so. You ask once and nothing more, nothing more than a peck on the lips, nothing more than a Friday evening or a Sunday morning, nothing more than a quick hug, nothing more than a “thank you.”

You knew all this, hence, why you conditioned yourself to think that what you both were was all that you could ever be. He told you once that relationships tend to get messy and he already has enough crazy to deal with. That stuck with you, and perhaps that’s when your mind made the decision to not look at him as anything more. 

But you still kept pushing it, subconsciously you think, knowing there was still an invisible line you shouldn’t cross. You kept doing what you wanted, just waiting for him to say no, but he never did. He never does. He’s always quick to make it up to you when he turns you down. 

This thought suddenly makes you angry. Why didn’t he just say no? That would’ve been better, you think. He could’ve just rejected you instead of coaxing you into this unfamiliar and undefined territory. Now you’re both stuck, unsure of what to do next. You carved this out though, you remind yourself. 

Anything “more” with him was definitely not an option, so you created your own path towards something that isn’t “more,” just something short of it. 

You look over the last communication you had with him. You sent him a message, a few days after he left when you’d had some sense knocked into you, apologizing. That’s all you could’ve given him then, an apology. Not an acceptable explanation, not a promise, not a solution or a way out; just an apology, in hopes that it would be enough.

You sent him a “Happy birthday, I hope you enjoy today!” greeting coupled with a photo of a cupcake with a candle you’d bought just for him on that first week of September. He replied but a “Thank you.” Nothing more.

Seokjin and Jimin reached out to you too, in the days following Jungkook’s departure. They’re letting him deal with it in whatever way works for him, they said. The priority is making sure he’s at his best for the shows, for the fans. You understood this, of course. The stage is where he’s at his happiest. You’re glad he’ll always have that. 

The guys will be resting at least a week after they get back before preparing for the final 3 days of the tour in Seoul. You don’t have long before then. 

The day after Jungkook left, you had that epiphany moment with Hyejin where she told you that perhaps you’d just done whatever you wanted because you wanted everything and nothing at the same time but couldn’t commit to either. You thought you had everything figured out without realizing that in fact, you didn’t. You had 2 months to figure your shit out, and you did.

It was that one afternoon when you absentmindedly picked up banana milk at the supermarket when you intended to just get chocolate milk at the dairy section. It baffled you when you opened your eco bag to see the yellow box, as if the universe was playing a trick on you. You stared at it like it had grown eyes or something, until you realized the other items in your refrigerator, your pantry, your counter that was all for him. 

His favorite cereals on the top shelf, his Nutella and banana beside your peanut butter, his favorite biscuits in the cabinet, the mint chocolate chip ice cream in the freezer. Even his favorite toothpaste is in your bathroom. 

And you smiled. You smiled at how silly you seemed. It’s not just that you couldn’t get the thought of him off you, it’s that you didn’t want to. You’d willingly let him be a part of your life, of your everyday. 

You miss him so much, more than you thought you ever could. All you want to do is talk to him even if you’re hurt and angry and upset. You just want him, even if things are confusing. You just want him even if you don’t know what he’s feeling after everything. 

You want it to work, no matter what it takes. You won’t walk away from this if it doesn’t work out the way you normally do. You’ll stay and try until it does, hoping to all that is good that he feels the same way.

#

As the end of September rolls in, the feelings of fear, anxiety, and excitement start to engulf you. They’ll be back soon, and Jimin had said he’ll message once they arrive. You’d given each other time; the two months felt like two years. That should be enough. 

You’re lounging at your terrace, Sunday night in full swing for those with interesting and put-together lives unlike you. And then your phone beeps, signaling a message.

JM: Hi, Y/N. We’re home!

##

part 2 drabble <<>> part 4

series masterlist

[atmostories]

Okay, this might be a bit obscure and all that, but write something with Terry McCain from Excessive Force - I can't believe we got not one, but two characters played by Thomas Ian Griffith and they're both called Terry and I really need this right now. It's highly self-indulgent, but - 😂💜😉

Yandere Terry McCain x Reader Terry was. . .well frankly he was ridiculous.   If there was an award for a perfect human being, he'd be in the  running. Physically. . .well look at him. Somehow he was both pretty and  handsome, he had a beautiful smile, bright expressive eyes, lush, curly  hair that was the envy of anyone in his vicinity, he was absurdly tall,  both strong and fit from his work and from the martial arts he  practiced on a regular basis. He was a cop, which could have easily been  a demerit, but he truly wanted to help people and his heart was  infallibly in the right place. The thought that he'd ever be corruptible  simply was not feasible in any form or fashion.  

Terry was also a musician. He could both sing and play the piano which he did on a regular basis at the jazz club. Terry would literally waltz into the club, remove the pianist with nothing but a warm smile and a hand gesture, before he'd somehow immediately play along with the band like he'd been a member of theirs for years. You couldn't even call him arrogant because he never overstated his capabilities, he simply was that talented. Of course he was well liked by everyone he came across. Even the criminals he arrested probably couldn't help but admire him in some way. His coworkers adored him and whenever you met him at the station, the secretary on one of the front desks would always gush about whatever latest assortment of pastries Terry had brought in from the bakers a few blocks over. He was kind, considerate of others, headstrong about taking care of people. Sometimes he'd be too protective and insistent but again he couldn't be faulted for it. You'd been friends with him for over a year now. To this day, you still didn't know what he saw in you. A couple of weeks after you met him for the first time he broke up with his girlfriend, who was, as expected, absurdly gorgeous like he was and actually worked as a model. Unlike how you'd imagined, she was genuinely sweet and easygoing and she didn't harbour any bad feelings against Terry. He'd broken up with her and she still respected him and hell they were still friends. It was like they were both in a separate category of human, far beyond the reach of normal folk, far beyond your clutches. Falling in love with him was as natural as breathing. It couldn't be helped. You tried so hard to ignore it, to suppress that pleasant ache in your heart every time you saw him, but it was pointless, inescapable. You would never tell him how you truly felt. His friendship meant too much to you. Terry was a good man, a close friend, confessing your feelings would muddy the waters. You could so clearly picture the pity in his eyes, how uncomfortable it would make him and how he'd try his best to be nice about the whole thing. Silence was the only option, maybe over time the feelings would fade. He'd picked you up from work and drove you to his apartment, animatedly describing his day and ranting about his boss Devlin again. After opening up the apartment door, Terry took off his coat, threw it haphazardly onto the sofa and said he was going to shower, what with all that criminal chasing. He also promised he'd cook you dinner and forbade you from the kitchen so you found yourself settling down on the sofa. You were about to turn on the TV when his coat fell onto the floor. Picking it up, you wandered to his bedroom looking for a hanger, to save the coat from wrinkling. A pile of folders was sprawled across his bed, bits of paper, photos and mugshots were laid out in disarray. You supposed being somewhat disorganised could be one of his faults, though you were sure that would be how he worked best, how he made links with his investigations. He hadn't specifically barred you from looking at his work but hadn't actively encouraged you either so in the past you left it well enough alone. That was until you spotted something familiar in the corner of one of the photos which was mostly covered by some paper. Standing next to the bed, you leaned in closer, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. You slowly uncovered the picture, your heart stuttering at the sight of yourself. You were fast asleep, in your own bed. . .what. . .why did he. . .what was this? Before you could stop yourself, you were lifting up folder after folder until you saw one with your name on it. Blood rushed to your ears. No, no, there had to be some explanation, some reason for this. Maybe he was just being facetious and had checked to make sure you hadn't done anything illegal. You could believe that, you could. . . You flicked through the pages, horror seeped into you with every passing moment. This wasn't just a criminal history check, this was. . .this was everything, it was your whole life splayed out before you in explicit, bone-chilling detail. Your family, your background, your childhood, your exam results, pictures of you when you were younger, your employment history, your friends, a list of every person you'd ever been intimate with, a psychiatric profile and oh fuck he'd made little notes too. Slight improvement of self esteem after initiation of physical contact. You immediately turned over to the next page, and your gut lurched. There was a collection of photos of you, more photos of you sleeping, you at work, you walking down the street, you waiting for him outside a diner. Closing the file, you gently lowered it back down onto the bed, placing it carefully how it was before. You walked back to the sofa with his coat still in hand. The shower was still running, but he wouldn't be long. He didn't like to make you wait. Your eyes fixated on the front door, the urge to run at the forefront of your mind. You had to get out, you had to get away from him. You couldn't deal with this, you had to go, but then. . .he'd know something was wrong, he'd know what you saw, and what would he do then? No, you had to stay, things had to appear normal, perfectly normal. Laying out the coat on the armrest, you stared at your hands resting on your lap. They were shaking slightly. You felt nauseous. This couldn't be happening, this couldn't be fucking happening. What were you to him? A project? An investigation? A charity case? Something to dissect and pull apart for his own amusement? You should have known something was wrong, you should have known he was too good to be true, people weren't just that good, people weren't just that nice, especially not to you. Why didn't you see it before? How did you believe it so easily? All those pictures. . .he'd been. . .he'd been surveilling you? Watching you? He'd taken pictures while you were sleeping. . .what else had he done? You felt violated, small, insignificant, and so terribly alone. How were you going to keep it together? How were you going to- “Something wrong with the TV?” The sound of his voice almost made you flinch. You turned to see him wearing sweatpants and a black vest. His hair was still damp, there was a towel over his shoulders. “Uhh. . .” you mumbled as he held up the remote and clicked on the TV. He raised his eyebrows at you expectantly, obviously wondering why you had been sitting still in silence. “I've uh. . .had a long day.” “Oh. Why didn't you say something earlier?” He asked, positioning himself next to you on the sofa. His arms wrapped around you and he pressed himself firmly against you, the pleasant smell of his skin filling your nostrils. You forced yourself to return the hug, mind picturing the little note he'd written. “Don't worry,” he murmured softly. “I'll make you all better.”

[fnf-brain-rot]

We're In This Together [Pico's School AU] Chapter 2 - Donut Rendezvous

Today was the day..

Wednesday..

It was a half day, being the day before a teacher work day. They didn't have school on that Thursday. Teachers had donuts available to them in the break room every Wednesday.

Pico and Darnell have been planning this for months.

They got the whole class on their side, having started a little protest in the cafeteria. "We're tired of adults hogging the sweets to themselves!" They cried out to the other students. "This time we take the sweets for ourselves!"

They were being normal at first, all arriving when the bell rang, sitting in their seats, and listening to the lecture. Most of the students shot each other knowing glances. Pico was the leader of this rendezvous, of course. On his signal, the others would move.

Ten minutes into class now, Bee was curious about the restlessness of the other students, looking around himself, having made eye contact with a few. Right, he's new. Pico had a grand idea. He'd lead in the front with him, like his queen of the army or something. He snickered at the thought, looking down at his blank paper. Right, perfect move. He and Darnell looked to each other, then nodded.

It felt quiet. Too quiet. The seconds ticked by loudly from the clock above them. Usually the teacher that buys the donuts would buy two boxes, which should be enough for two classes to feed each student one time.

Oh, right, the other class was in on it too. This would be big.

Pico stood up from his seat, slowly, as to not alarm the other students. Mrs. Fee's back was turned to the children, the woman mindlessly explaining some math equation and writing on the chalk board. He walked over to Bee, gently grabbing his hand. "Bee-" He almost started, but Pico covered his mouth, as to not alert Mrs. Fee as well. "Follow me.." He whispered. Bee nodded and stood quietly as well. The two shimmied from between the desks, and Pico held up one finger.

One...

Two....

Three...

The cacophony of screeching desks an chairs startled the woman up front, and many children began to yell at the top of their lungs, mostly those also known for causing trouble. A thunderous rumble of feet crossed the floor, and Pico raced for the classroom door, Bee just barely able to keep up with him. He threw the wooden slab open, and bolted out of the classroom, not looking back, but he could hear the monstrous amount of kids following him.

"Beep!! Beep bop!!" Bee cried over the noise, then heard the door next to theirs slam open. The second class took the message, and now raced after the other. Pico could hear Darnell's laughter over the noise as the group of students scattered around down the hall. It was a straight shot to the break room, right down the hall. Their school had no security, all they had to worry about were the teachers.

"What are you kids doing?!" The voice of one of the teachers rang out, muffled by the sound of stomping feet and ecstatic screams. "Scatter!!" Pico yelled out. Some of the taller kids blocked view of Pico, Darnell, and Bee, entering the room in which the donuts resided. Bee stood off to the side, hiding behind the wall as Darnell closed the door behind them. "B-Beep?? Brappity-"

"Yeah, you weren't here for instructions. You see, me and Darnell been planning this for a long time." Pico began to explain it to the shorty, quickly grabbing one of the boxes. Still warm. Nice. "Darnell grab a bag." Darnell saluted and went to look for a plastic bag. They would snag a little under half the donuts exclusively for themselves, being Darnell, Pico, Nene, Gigi, by Nene's begging, and Bee, because Pico said so.

"Bep bop.." Bee breathed out. Pico could damn there hear his heart thumping in his ears. It wasn't over yet. "Darnell, assess the situation." Pico then ordered. Darnell poked his head out the door. "No teachers in sight, sir." He responded. "Good, let's book it." Pico grinned maniacally, Darnell holding the door open for him and Bee.

"Boop bepoo?" Bee pointed at himself, and Pico raised a brow. Their next stop was their secret spot, but they had to go past the main office to get outside, since the doors were chained during the day. "Why did I grab you? Well, cause you would have been left alone in there with Cassandra." Pico gagged as he said her name. the goths wanted no part in it. He didn't care, more donuts for everyone else. "Now come on, there shouldn't be anyone in the office right now." He led the two past the glass room, which as he stated, was devoid of any staff. They most likely went to deal with the kids, which the screams still echoed faintly down the halls.

They scampered past the view of some cameras, then accessed the side door. The empty area behind some trees across the walkway was visible. They were in the home stretch. "Hey, Darnell, carry one of these will ya? My arms are dying." Pico huffed softly, and Darnell snurked. "Whatever you say, sissy." He teased. "Hey, I'm the leader of this whole operation. I ain't no sissy." The ginger shot back, making Bee giggle lightly.

They made it without error to the hiding spot in the trees. Bee fumbled with his hands awkwardly, staring at the bag of donuts Darnell held. Pico laughed a little, setting one of the boxes on top of the other on a tree stump. "Wait just a second there Bee." He walked over, elbowing the smaller's shoulder, who winced a little, but rubbed it with a goofy smile. "Those are the special donuts. We're gonna go heat them up in the lounge." Bee made a face. "During lunch dummy."

"There's a part two to this plan??" Darnell quickly asked. Pico shook his head. "I just know how to get in and out. Me and the janitor are on good terms. I'm close to him letting me into his closet." He nudged the brown boy's arm, and they made their way back into the building.

_______________

"Now, I don't know what's gotten into you kids, but this behavior is unacceptable."

Mrs. Fee had decided to give the kids a lecture after they all returned to their respective classrooms. "The only one who didn't leave was Cassandra, which means the rest of you get workbook homework for the rest of the week." Darnell groaned, but Pico had a shit eating grin on his face, his cheeks flushed in triumph. "Fucking worth it." He muttered, holding his fist out to Darnell. "Yeah, I guess." He responded with quiet laughter, returning the fist bump. the other kids probably thought it was worth it. Hell, Pico controlled the distribution of the donuts. They better think it's worth it or they ain't gettin' shit.

Pico looked over to Bee, who was smiling and kicking his legs a little, fiddling with his pencil. That whole ordeal must have filled him with quite the adrenaline. "Stick with me, and you'll be on top of the food chain dude." He had told him when they were coming back in. Bee didn't seem opposed to the idea, but he still didn't wanna scare him off. They did things like this pretty often. Having the parents Darnell had, usually others had to get involved so just those two, or three, including Nene, wouldn't get in trouble.

After the end of first period, Pico waited for Bee by the door, of course being teased by Nene and Darnell as they left. Bee stumbled a bit as he threw his big bag on his shoulders, walking over to Pico with a big smile on his face. "You like that chaos, huh?" He asked the boy, returning the grin. "Beep boop!" He responded, bouncing on his toes a bit, and they left the room.

"That's just how it is in this school. Of course I'm the instigator, got kind of a reputation. I make my father proud." Pico laughed a little. His ego was inflated as hell considering the dads he has. Well, dad. Steve didn't like to entertain the chaotic nature those two shared. Said he didn't like to lose sleep while those two jousted with frying pans at two AM.

"Bep bop.. Skdoo beep.." Bee muttered softly, a bit of a bitter tone to his voice. "What, your dad doesn't like that kind of mess?" Bee shook his head in response. Must be on closer terms with his mom huh? Yeah, he's lucky he had a dad who didn't suck ass. "Well when lunch rolls around, you can have your donuts, okay?" Pico reminded him to reassure him. He didn't wanna see the sad look on the kid's face. He was too bright to be frowning like that. "We could work on that homework together too, if it'll make you feel better." He then offered him. There it is, that bright smile.

Man this kid was just so precious..

_______________

History was mostly uneventful, save for Bee falling asleep in the middle of writing a sentence. He must have crashed from all the excitement. It was so abrupt that his face banged against the desk, and his head shot back up as he let out a yelp. Pico snurked from beside him, and heard some others begin to laugh as well.

Once the class had ended, Pico made sure he and Boyfriend were the first ones out, so they could run and grab the donuts. Thankfully the boxes were still there, untouched. "Come to papa." Pico rubbed his hands together, and lifted the boxes. he hoped all the glaze didn't melt off, it's hot out here.

They made their way back into the school, walking in through the side door to the cafeteria, where all the students waited eagerly for their treats. Darnell, Nene, and Gigi caught up to them when they saw them enter. "Wow, you actually managed to pull it off. I'm impressed." Gigi commented lightly as they set up the boxes on the end of one of the lunch tables. Pico cleared his throat, his cheeks reddening as he put a hand on his chest. "Well, they don't call me Pico "danger" Neil-Griffiths for no reason."

"literally no one calls you that." Nene snorted. Bee held back a laugh, turning his head away, while Darnell just openly cackled. "Whatever, I like my name." Pico scoffed in response, then opened one of the boxes. He was right to be worried. It's a mess in there. "You sure they'll want these?" Nene asked him, doubt in her voice. Pico waved his hand dismissively. "They're idiot kids, they'll take anything with sugar in it." Bee reached for it, but Pico smacked his hand away. "We get the nice donuts. Darnell?" Said boy held up the large plastic bag of almost half a box of donuts. "You sneaky.." Gigi mumbled, sweating nervously. "That's capitalism for you. Now take the best looking ones outta here, and we'll let them have the rest- quit your yappin', you'll get your turn!" Pico glared at some kids that had gathered around the table, and allowed his buddies to grab whatever ones they wanted. He had a mind to sock one of these greedy children in the face.

He often forgets he's a child himself, but he doesn't associate with these gremlins.

Once each of them were satisfied with what they got, the group began to move to leave out of the cafeteria. Pico stayed behind to whistle, signaling to the others to come get their donuts. And like a pack of starving dogs, the children rushed over, once again, save for the goth kids, who glared at Pico knowingly. the ginger only flipped the bird at them, and ran off with the others.

"What are you guys doing for the half day?" He heard Gigi talking to the others. She and Bee were walking pretty closely. Pico stayed back a bit, narrowing his eyes at the little pit in his stomach. He felt nauseous, or something. He didn't know, but he didn't like it. He didn't linger on it for too long though, noticing Bee glance behind him. "Bep!" He slipped between Nene and Darnell, who looked to see where he was going. They cooed when they saw Bee grab Pico's hand, which made the taller flush exponentially. Geez this guy could pull. He must have been an annoying toddler.

"C'mon man, how are we gettin' in?" Darnell then asked as Pico was brought to the front. Pico laughed to hide how flustered he was, then cleared his throat. Literally everyone, except for Bee, weren't buying it. Oh whatever, he didn't need to convince everybody. "Simple, just walk in." Pico walked over and opened the door. "We're on schedule, so the teachers should be on their way in a little bit. Hurry and throw that in there." The others filed inside, looking around and snooping through drawers. "Nice. Sharp scissors." Nene pulled a pair of scissors out of the metal cabinet, and Bee flopped onto the couch, letting out a content, "Beeeeeeep.." Gigi laughed and sat beside him, causing his face to go red.

Pico forced himself to look away, as to not seem weird.

_______________

As everyone wouldn't shut the hell up about, school ended early. Pico was so ready to leave, he even had a couple spare donuts. He stashed them away in his backpack for safe keeping. "Geez P, how do you understand Bee so well so fast?" Darnell had asked them, the group hanging out in the front of the school. "I dunno, it's like.. telepathic." Pico looked to the blue headed boy in question, who was mindlessly tapping away on his phone a a bit away from them. "Bee, you're sitting in the middle of the staircase, someone can trip over you." Pico pulled him closer, just barely missing some kid who wanted to launch himself off the top stair. Dumbass..

"Bop.." Bee mumbled softly, turning his body to face Pico, then continued what he was doing. Gigi and Nene talked with each other some bit away. He didn't care to listen in, they were probably chatting about girl stuff.

"Hey, who the hell rides a limo?" Darnell grumbled in question, and Gigi's head shot up. The horn from said vehicle honked loudly, and some people stared at it. "God, that's so embarrassing.." Gigi covered her face. "That's mine.."

"What?!"

"Beep?!"

The group had shouted simultaneously, and the red head girl giggled. "What are you, rich??" Darnell questioned her, and she made a nervous sound. "I'll explain some other time. See you guys!" She gripped her backpack and ran off, the group watching as the door opened for her, and she hopped in. It left just as quickly as it came. "Huh.." Darnel murmured thoughtfully. "New objective. Find out if Gigi is rich." Pico joked lightly, and Nene scoffed.

"Knock it off. You've done enough today." She went and sat with the three. "Hey Bee, you wanna hang out with us today? We always stop at this playground on the way home." Pico then offered. Bee hummed in thought, but paused when he noticed Pico give him the puppy eyes. He giggled, then held up his phone. "Bee bo bop." He responded. "Is that.. a yes?" Nene questioned. "He'll text his mom." Pico answered for her, standing up from his spot. "Wizard." Darnell mumbled, and followed suit.

Thankfully Bee was able to go. Pico thought he would have to rant to his dad about mean parents.

_______________

Pico wanted to do everything and absolutely nothing all at once.

He sat in his favorite spot near the slide, Bee sitting beside him. "Behp beppo." He muttered nervously, and Pico scoffed. "We steal the playground every day, those kids should know better by now." He huffed.  Bee went quiet after a moment, and Pico looked up to him staring at him. His cheeks flushed red. "Uh.. What?" He then asked. The boy only responded quietly with "Hm?" as if he were spacing out. Pico clicked his tongue and looked away again. "Hey, you got your mic, right?" He then asked. Bee popped out of his trance almost immediately, and nodded excitedly. He reached into his back pocket and pulled it out. "Bee-dep?" He then asked the other, and he nodded, a light smile on his face.

Bee seemed ecstatic to sing for him again, and so he did, gaining Nene and Darnell's attention as well over some time. Just like at P.E, they listened to him sing for quite some time. It was calming, Pico would argue he enjoyed it the most.

"You know, you should hang at my place sometime. I got games and stuff." Pico offered, about an hour after Bee's little jam session. "Beep?" He turned to look at him. leaning against the bars of the playground structure. "I mean, I live with Darnell when my dads go off in the army. Oh, you get to meet my dads sometime! They're cool. I'll be completely honest, one of them will tease you for speaking in bee-bops." He then snickered lightly at the thought.

"Baps?" Bee tilted his head, holding up a two with his fingers. "Yeah, technically, I call them both dad. They're real close, but they're not married or in a relationship or anything." Pico then hummed softly. Sure they also sleep in the same bed when they're at home, but that's just because it's more comfortable than bunkers out where they are.

Bee hummed in thought, then nodded. Cool. It's a date.

Yes, he meant to think that.

It's a date.

Pico's mind swirled with thoughts of what he could do when they met up again. He pulled one of the donuts out of his back pack. It was a little mushed, but still good. He ate at it slowly, wanting to savor the taste. He could eat cold donuts, they were fine. He caught Bee staring at him again, then raised a brow. "What? What's up?" He then asked, his voice muffled with food. Bee's cheeks flushed, and he pointed at the donut. "Oh.. I can give you a piece." Pico looked down and tore off a piece of the treat, handing it to Bee, who took it thankfully. He popped the entire piece in his mouth, a happy "mmmmffff" emitting from his throat. Pico laughed a little. "You like donuts, huh?" He teased him, and Bee curled up a bit, still chewing away happily so he could get every little bit.

Pico spent the rest of that afternoon with the three. Darnell and Nene definitely understood Bee a little bit more after today.

Even if it is just a little bit.

[cranetreegang]

The Messenger: Part One: The Task

Hey! Thanks for checking this out. I've been working on this short story because I think mermaids/mermen are super neat. This is the first part of many. Let me know what you think!

Summary: Evie decides to take up the long vacant position of the village messenger to venture into the forest. The forest is known for taking those who enter, and they never return. Will she become another causality? Or will she find that not everything is what it seems?

Word Count: ~4,100 words

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

The dreary morning sun illuminated my quaint room enough for me to see. I stared at my tense reflection in the mirror as I tugged my hair into tight braids. Today was the day I would have to venture into the forest beyond the safety of the village. The very same forest that was filled with creatures that tricked, or slaughtered, anyone who trespassed. I always wondered if the stories were true or not, since I haven’t heard of anyone dying or missing since I was a little girl.

A bitter smile reflected back at me. I would be finding out soon enough the validity of the dangers that lurked within the shadows of those towering trees. I looked over my hair and face again, trying to delay leaving for as long as possible. I knew I couldn’t stay though. I had to meet my fate in the wooden unknown that has plagued my imagination for far too long.

I shrugged my black wool robe over my shoulders then left the warm embrace of my cabin. The cool air stung my cheeks and filled my lungs. I stood in front of my cabin for a moment longer. The wooden structure before me was nothing of note, but I still called it home. A pit in my stomach formed at the thought of never coming back home.

I turned on my heel to began the short walk towards the village. My head was swarming with thoughts of the endless possibilities of what could happen today. Pine smoke and baked goods filled the chilly air that brought a brief warmth to my otherwise frigid thoughts. People milled about the center market square on their way to their jobs, but froze when their eyes landed on me. The silent stares made me feel like I was a wandering ghost. Like I was already dead, and I just hadn’t realized it yet. I tried my best to pay them no mind as I approached the post office.

An older man with balding salty chestnut hair greeted me with a pitying warm grin that bordered on a frown. Postmaster Griffith had been posted here for as long as I could remember. To be under his tutelage was unexpected. In fact, I never would’ve foreseen myself taking up the vacant position of messenger if not for my desire to leave the village. I had a burning itch inside of me for ages to go into the forest, but venturing into the forest would mean immediate banishment if you were caught.

“You’re here.” He greeted me; his wrinkles seemed to consume most of his worried filled sea green eyes.

I nodded and smiled. “Good morning. I’m ready.” I sounded more sure than I felt. I held out my hand to take the bulky leather bag from him. He hesitated between my outstretched hand and the mailbag. His brows pinched together and his lips formed a tight line as he handed me the bag.

“There’s no shame if you don’t make it there. No one will hold it against you if you come back before making the drop-off.” He whispered loud enough for just me to hear. I slung the bag onto my back then squeezed his shoulder.

“Don’t worry. I’ll make it and be back before nightfall.” I gave a gentle smile to ease the burly old man who seemed to be wallowing in guilt at sending me into the forest.

“I sure do hope so.” He sighed.

I bowed my head and gave a brief wave before setting off towards the woods. Young and old people alike gathered on either side of the street that led out to the wall of trees. I could hear whispers and murmurs of their worries, fears, and speculations at what would happen to me. I even heard bets being made that I would come back running, or that I would end up dead before the sun hit the highest point of the day.

I kept my head held high despite wanting to crumble under the growing fear the closer I got to the edge. When I reached the beginning of the forest, I glanced behind me to see everyone still staring at me. I bit my lip then took a deep breath. I had to know. I took a confident first step into the woods then another. I smiled a bit at not being eaten right away and kept my brisk stride going through the woods.

Rocks of various sizes lined the dirt path that was overrun by various plants and tree roots. My gaze climbed up the tall trees that towered over me. The trees gently swayed in the wind and leaves would rustle over the sounds of birds chirping. The air felt cleaner than in the village, which I thought was odd. I never noticed how the trees gave off such a rich earthy smell. I marveled at how tiny I was compared to these massive trees. I went up to one such tree and tried to wrap my arms around the base, only to not even make it halfway around its trunk.

When the sun rose further in the sky, I pulled the map out of my pack, which nearly ripped apart in my hands, to ensure I was still on the right trail. The map itself was from the last messenger years ago, when I believe Griffith was a young man. Crude drawings made up of three arrowheads with a line through them for trees consumed most of the tanned paper. Rectangles with a triangle on top represented the markers I would need to go to. A thick black line curved through the trees to each marker until it stopped at the square shaped drop-off point. Judging from the entrance of the village to the first marker, I had another hour of hiking before I reached the first marker, if it still existed. I would need to get to three different markers before reaching the drop-off point at the end of the trail. Which meant that if I kept my current pace, I would reach the drop-off by early afternoon.

I put away the map, and continued down the path. I was having a good time, all things considered. I found myself humming a happy tune that went with my upbeat stride. I swung from tree trunk to tree trunk as I hopped on outstretched roots that crossed the path. I couldn’t have asked for a better day to be out in the woods. I paused my brisk pace when something shined through the branches in front of me. I cautiously approached the foreign object with hints of worry starting to come over me. When I finally got close enough to the glowing object, I realized that it must’ve been a marker.

The marker was a rectangular wooden post that went up to my chest with an orange glowing pyramid on top. I cautiously tapped the pyramid and was shocked to feel it was made of glass. I peered into the glowing apparatus, but the light was too bright for me to actually see inside. The post that the pyramid was on had strange markings that I traced along to the bottom. I recognized some of the engravings that lined some of the houses back in the village. Not that I knew what they meant though.

My ears perked up at the sounds of water in the distance. I pulled out my map to see if there were any water features nearby, but the parchment only contained the markers and the drop-off point. I figured it must be some sort of river or waterfall nearby causing that noise. I looked between the path and the source of the water in conflict. I knew I wasn’t supposed to stray too far from the glowing markers and path. The burning feeling in my chest seemed to almost heighten at the thought of going towards the water. I wasn’t about to let my opportunity for exploration go to waste.

I glanced around me to ensure no one was around before stepping off the path towards the water. I snuck carefully over fallen branches and made sure to keep myself as quiet as possible. I didn’t think I would be ambushed since I hadn’t seen anything yet, but I wasn’t about to take my chances being so far from the trail. I followed the sounds of water until I reached a clearing. I ducked under the tree branches to see a secluded lake that had a trickling waterfall coming over a towering slate cliff face. I couldn’t hold back my gasp at the sight of the pristine blueish green waters that laid before me. The breeze took with it the crisp cool smell of the lake that mixed well with the overall woodsy scent. My feet took me to the rocky shore before I realized what I was doing. The water was beautiful and clear and I followed along the water’s edge onto a rock that overlooked the deeper part of the lake.

I leaned over to stare into the clean blue water below. I was amazed that I could see the bottom so clearly. I knew I couldn’t touch the rocky bottom, but it felt like I easily could with how pristine the water was. Bright colorful fish swam between clusters of vivid green kelp and hidden rock crevices. I sat down to continue my staring while I ate a meal of some jerky and an apple. I tossed down bits of my apple to watch the fish swarm over the piece. When people spoke of the forest, I would’ve never imagined a place like this existed.

I was almost angry that everyone spoke of such horrors, when something this beautiful and serene existed. I began to question if there were such things as creatures or monsters living in these woods when the hairs on my neck stood on end. Someone was watching me. I tried to casually scan the tree line around me, but I couldn’t find the source. I cursed myself for letting my guard down so easily, but I remained calm. I reasoned that it might have been a curious animal watching me.

That idea was shattered when a deep male voice ripped through the silence, “How is this possible?”

I jumped to my feet at how close the man sounded, but I was unable to find him. I looked all around me and kept my eyes trained on the unmoving tree line.

“Who’s there?” I asked with a waver in my tone.

“I should be asking who you are. You’re the one intruding here.” The man was still nowhere to be seen, but he was very close to me.

I gripped onto the straps of my bag to provide some sort of comfort to me. “You’re right. And I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

A soft chuckle seemed to come from right over my shoulder. I whipped around, but was met with no one again. But, there was no way someone could’ve been behind me though. Because there’s nothing but the lake behind me. A crippling fear was threatening to take over me at realizing that this person might not be human at all, but a creature of the forest.

“You’re very jumpy for someone that’s trespassing on my home.” He had a light teasing tone in his voice that irritated me. He was toying with me.

“Well, maybe you can introduce yourself, and I wouldn’t be so nervous.” I spat back even though I was in no position to be so hostile.

The sound of gushing water was right next to me, and I nearly fell back in shock at the sight of something emerging from the depths of the lake. I almost couldn’t believe what I was looking at. The creature laying casually before me was a man, yet nothing like a human at all.

He had wet black hair that went to his shoulders and covered some of his face. The color of his hair reminded me of a raven’s feather with how the sun seemed to make his hair glossy with hints of purple emerging through. Protruding from his hair on either side of his head, he had coal black fins that faded to a deep dark purple. The fins were webbed with small sharp spikes on the end. I could make out a trail of matching ebony spikes and fins that covered his spine. The fins would fan out on occasion to reveal how wide they were. At least as big as my hand stretched out from my thumb to my pinkie finger.

His eyes were a dark violet that was consumed in a sea of onyx. They seemed to glow and flicker as if related to his thoughts. Dark circles hung under his eyes that added to his void-like appearance. His face was well defined and regarded me as if waiting for me to do or say something. Eager, almost. His overall complexion was a dark navy grey that reminded me of a troubling storm cloud. He seemed to be paler than normal though, and he looked like he hadn’t eaten in some time. I noticed a damp smell coming from him that wasn’t entirely unsavory.

He had lean arms that were still fairly muscular despite his starving state, and he had sharp claws for nails. I noticed webbing between each of his long clawed fingers that were covered in onyx scales. He had fins on each of his forearms that were a dark purple, nearly black. They moved seemingly on their own and would fan out the same way as the fins on his back and face. Bright crimson slits with fine filament protruding out were on his ribs. I assumed these were gills since they reminded me of fish gills. In fact, onyx scales lined most of his body in various places on his arms, chest, and face.

The most disturbing part was his legs, or lack of legs. Instead of legs, he had a tail that reminded me of a lengthy slender fish or snake. This tail was longer than any set of legs and appeared stronger too. I was sure if I had been in the water, he could’ve easily dragged me to the bottom with little to no effort. There were various fins that protruded out from his otherwise smooth looking tail and his tail ended in a wide fan that seemed feathery and light. Like a torn silk dress floating in the wind.

His tail, although terrifying in its implications, was breathtaking under the sun. His scales were a shade of black that I’ve never seen before. Like the night sky was placed upon him with dark purples and blacks. Hints of wine red could be seen at just the right angle, but overall he was like a being of darkness. He was beautiful in all the wrong ways. He was unnatural and I realized that I needed to get far away from this thing as fast as possible.

I jumped away from him and planned on sprinting all the way back to the village when he called out, “Don’t go!”

I froze in place, which I wasn’t sure why. This creature was exactly what everyone warned of. But, I didn’t keep running. Instead, I turned around to face the thing from the lake. His brows were raised in surprise, but he seemed relieved when I stood in place.

“What are you?” I blurted out before he could speak. I bit my lip at how scared I sounded, but he gave me an amused smile that revealed sharp teeth lurking behind his friendly smile.

“I think you meant, ‘Who are you?’, but I suppose manners aren’t really your strong suit.” He said in an accent that I couldn't place.

“Well, they didn’t exactly explain how to act around… well,” I motioned over his stretched out fishy body, “you.”

“That’s a shame. I'm actually quite wonderful to talk to. Or, so I've been told.” The wavy fins at the end of his tail idly flicked in the air like a cat’s tail. “I’m a mer, by the way.”

“A mer?” I took in his features again then continued, “That’s… that makes sense.” I frowned as I tried to gain some sort of clear thought in my head. “I’ve read about your kind in books. I didn’t think you lived in lakes though.”

His bitter laugh was unexpected, yet pleasant to my ears. Even though he seemed anguished by my comment, he did his best to hide it with an easy grin. “What can I say, I’m not like other mer. One of a kind really.”

“Is that a good thing?” I wondered out loud.

He grimaced and avoided my gaze by looking out into the woods behind me. “What’s your name?” His tone was cold, but still curious. I thought about the implications in giving him my actual name, but I couldn’t find a good reason as to why I shouldn’t.

“Evelyn. People just call me Evie though.” I bit my lip then asked, “What’s yours?”

“Oh, now you want to know.” He shifted back to his friendly demeanor in a flash. I found it somewhat unnerving. “It’s Niloros. People just call me Nil.” He held out his dripping clawed hand for me to take. I stared at it with a mixture of hesitance and suspicion. He could easily yank me into the lake then I wouldn't stand a chance against him.

“This is the part where you shake my hand.” He teased.

I looked away from him due to my cheeks growing hot. “I know. I just… Why are you being so friendly? Not that I don’t like it, it’s just…,” I sighed while finally looking back at him. He was watching me with a sad expression as if he understood all too well why I was wary.

“You’re worried I might eat you. Rip you limb from limb and make a necklace from your teeth.” He exhaled while he lowered his hand.

“I am now.” I mumbled under my breath. “But, kinda. I’ve never met anything like you before. I shouldn’t even be talking to you.” I realized.

He gave me a soft smile. “Yet, you’re still here. And not running back where you came from.”

My brows furrowed and I found it easier to stare at my feet than into his deep onyx eyes that seemed to be reading me far better than I would’ve liked. “You’re nothing like I imagined.” I admitted.

His head craned to the side for a moment. “And what did you imagine?” He asked.

I laughed a bit to myself. “That you’d be a ‘scary’ monster.”

He had a somber look that he didn’t conceal. “Maybe I am.”

I was surprised he would say such a thing. Was he admitting that he was indeed a monster to be feared? Was I about to become his dinner? A note from the book I read mentioned something about merfolk travelling in groups. I scanned around for another one of his kind laying in wait to ambush me, but I didn’t notice anything out of place.

He laughed at my shock which made me more flustered.

“You’re funny, ‘people call me Evie’.” He smirked then added, “Why are you out here when you believe there are ‘scary’ monsters in these woods?”

A voice in the back of my head was telling me I shouldn’t tell him. Yet, I couldn’t find a reason to not trust him. He seemed to be genuine, for the most part. I also didn’t get the sense that he wanted to cause me harm. No, he was curious. About as curious as I was.

I patted the leather bag on my back. “I’m the new messenger for the village.”

His brow raised. “Messenger? I haven’t heard about a messenger from that village in some time.”

“You know about the village?” I inquired.

He nodded. “Yes. Mostly everyone here has.” He hummed in thought. “We don’t see many leave the village though.”

“That’s because we get banished if we do.” I informed him in a hushed voice.

“But not messengers.” He realized. “Interesting that such a harsh law is in place.”

“It’s for our protection.” I defended.

“Right. From the monsters.” He seemed far away for a moment then asked, “Who decreed that you weren’t allowed into the forest, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“I thought you would know that. Since you know about the village.” I countered.

He let out an easy laugh with a slight eye roll. “Darling, if I knew, I wouldn’t’ve asked.”

Darling. The way it rolled off his tongue was natural. Familiar. I felt a warmth in my stomach from the simple word. I had to pull myself from the feeling to answer his question.

“Our leader. Mistress Talia.” I said.

His lips formed into a thin line that bordered on disgust at the mention of Talia. He looked up at the blue sky then back down at me. “You still have a long way to go, messenger. You should leave before you’re here at night.”

“You know Talia?” I asked. He didn’t answer, but instead jumped back into the lake. I ran towards the rock’s edge and saw him staring up at me from the surface of the water.

“You should go, Evie. It’s not safe at night.” Before he could dive under the water I shouted,

“Wait!”

He stopped his descent and waited for me to speak. The words I wanted to say were stuck in my throat for a moment. I mustered up the courage to ask,

“Can I see you again?”

His black brows rose for a moment before nodding with a slight smile. “I would like that.” His voice was soft and gentle.

He dove under the water before I could say anything further, and I watched him swim away with such speed and grace, I was envious. I stared out at the waveless lake for a few more moments before finally heading back to the marker.

Seeing the soft glowing marker was reassuring, and made me question if the whole encounter with Nil was real or not. I had questions invading my mind, and consumed my thoughts as I got to the next three markers. I was ripped from my daydreaming when I came in front of a miniature green hut attached to the top of a pole that came up to my shoulders. The pole had similar engravings as the markers leading me here. I kept a note to myself to ask someone about these engravings, and what they could possibly mean.

I figured this must have been the drop-off and opened the wide door of the hut. It was deeper than I initially thought and I placed all the letters and boxes into the opening. I closed the door and started the trek back to the village. I thought about swinging by the lake again to talk with Nil, but the sun was setting quicker than I would have liked. I would only have maybe an hour of light left by my estimations. I felt resolved in returning to the lake as soon as I could, but for now I had to worry about getting back safely.

The sounds of the forest were soothing and I tried my best to memorize details on my way back to ensure a faster journey next time. There were hardly any boulders, so they made good points of reference anytime I saw them. Soon, I was back at the first marker with little trouble. The prickling sensation I got at the lake returned when I turned towards the village.

I scanned around me for eyes, and I felt like I was back at the lake for a moment.

“Who’s there? Come out!” I shouted into the dense trees. My voice didn’t carry very far, and I felt a bit silly yelling at the trees. The feeling of being watched didn’t go away though. I grimaced at the likelihood that I would die when I was so close to returning home.

I kept walking then said, “I’m not here to cause trouble. I’m just the messenger.”

Still no reply or anyone emerging from the shadows. I didn’t change my pace, but I was definitely more on edge. The two hours back to the village was excruciatingly long compare to this morning. The feeling of being watched never left me, and it took every fiber of my being not to start running. When I saw the houses poking through the trees, I lost all restraint and began sprinting towards the village. When I burst through the treeline, I whipped around to see if anything was following. Much to my relief, the feeling of being watched faded away and I hurried towards the post office without hesitation.

As I walked up to the village, people froze in shock at seeing me. A cry rang out before people swooped around me.

“I can’t believe it! We thought you were a goner!” They all seemed to be saying at once. Everyone was whispering, shouting, and cheering at my arrival. I shoved my way past the crowd to get to Griffith, who was waiting for me at the entrance of the post office.

“I knew you could do it.” He beamed at me while taking the bag. “No troubles?” He wondered.

“None.” I admitted, despite the stalker towards the end. I couldn't let him know that though. I couldn't let anyone know about what I experienced in the woods today. Not if I wanted to continue going out there. And I wasn't ready to stop when I had only just gotten a taste.

Griffith let out a joyous laugh while bringing me into a tight bear hug. “My girl, you might just make it yet.”

“When do I have to go back?” I asked a bit too eagerly.

“What? You want to go back! You shouldn’t push your luck!” He gasped.

“Maybe. But I still wanna go.” I insisted.

He stared at me in confused horror before shaking his head. “If all goes well, we should get a delivery at the drop-off for us that will need to be retrieved. But, that won’t be until the end of the week.”

I nodded in understanding. I wished it was sooner, but perhaps it was best to wait. I needed to sort through what I experienced today anyways. “Alright. See you at the end of the week.”

I shoved my way through the crowd and dismissed all their questions with a light laugh. Most people left me alone after they realized I wasn't giving them any information. I wasn’t in the mood to answer their questions, or celebrate. I had too many thoughts and questions that were burning away at me. By the time I reached my cabin, I was alone once more. I stood in front of the wooden structure once more. I couldn't stop the bittersweet feeling from this morning reminding me that I could've died today. Instead, I got to see my dingy home once more.

I shut the door behind me and laid against the cool oak door. The one question that was still in my mind that trumped all the others, were about Nil. Nil… he knew things. And I wanted to know exactly what.

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Click Here for Part 2

[everythingoesnk]

Better Late Than Never

summary; john plays cupid (sorta?)

word count; 1 711

request by anon; “heehee i never knew u took requests!! ur writing is so lovely u rlly are talented❤️❤️ i was wondering if u could do smthg ab being georgies neighbour and like him n the quarrymen r rehearsing and they invite u to watch and they flirt w u and he gets jealous”

disclaimers; this sat in my drafts for ages but i finally finished it. glad that i can post it for once and for all. don’t be too hard on me cause i haven’t written shit in so long and i’m super sceptical about my work ty

warnings;

********

A few weeks earlier, Paul and John made the decision that Eric Griffiths had to go. They wanted George to be part of the group, and with Eric on board there were just too many guitars. The Quarrymen, along with Lowe on the piano and Hanton on the drums, had a demo recording scheduled in Kensington in a couple of days, so whenever they had the time, they would invest it in practising and sprucing up their performance.

You were coming back home after babysitting a three-year-old boy when you saw Paul and John’s distinctive jaunty silhouettes down the street.

They were carrying their instruments.

”Reunion of bitches?” you teased, bumping your shoulders with theirs to open a spot for you in between.

They were so used to you being a nosy little bird that they didn’t even flinch when you appeared.

“If what you mean by that is if we’re heading to a rehearsal, yes we are” Paul confirmed looking down at you with a warm smile. He slid his arm around your neck and patted your cheek persistently just to annoy you. “It’s the three of us this time, the others are busy”

You tried to smack his hand away while he spoke, but he had it strongly clamped over your mouth now, playfully sticking to his cat-and-mouse game. John was used to Paul behaving like this around you, you being like a little sister to him even though you shared the same age, so he didn’t move an inch when you began asking for help through the muffled laughter.

What came out of his mouth instead earned puzzled looks from you and Paul, who slowly let his arm drop.

“You can’t come” he had stated, because he knew you and it was only a matter of seconds before you started badgering them to let you stay and watch them play.

“Why not?” you snapped back, forehead puckered up.

John threw his head back to stare at Paul and raised an inquisitive knowing eyebrow at him.

After witnessing the looks they were giving each other, you huffed loudly, tired of the melodramatic secrecy. “Not again with the silent conversations”

“You can’t expect to know everything, (Y/N)” John stated.

“But what is there to know?” you questioned, beyond confused.

You were missing something and it was stressing you out that they knew what it was but wouldn’t tell you because they didn’t feel like it.

Paul felt empathy for you after seeing you so lost.

“We don’t progress much when you’re around because you distract Geo too much” he explained.

“Bravo, Macca” John sighed as the three of you continued to walk towards George’s house.

With their ‘silent conversation’ they agreed not to rat out George, but Paul’s mouth was faster than his brain could ever be.

John should have taken into account his mate’s overspoken nature.        

“I do?” you said, lines forming between your brows, not understanding. “How so?”

John snorted. “Sit and observe”

You turned to Paul. He was staring at John the same way one does when you recognize your friend is about to put on a show and you aren’t very sure if it’s the right time or place, but you know that anything you say will fly into their ear and out of the other.

He fixed his eyes tenderly on you after and shrugged his shoulders with a peculiar cheekiness.

//

George looked every bit the unconcerned man as he sat back and watched John plop down on the couch next to you, splaying his arms along the top of the seat as he asked you how much you get paid for the babysitting.

They were in a break after been playing for two hours.

“Not much” you noted.

“Quit” he interrupted, smirking friskily and brushing a strand of hair behind your ear cautiously. “I’ll double your wage if you join the band. We are missing the attractive factor”

You wheezed. “I’m positive with your talent it’ll be sufficient” you said, laughing still.

You looked over at George. He wasn’t looking in your direction but John’s, mouth compressed and something you couldn’t fathom flitting across his eyes.

“Besides,” you added, “I don’t know how to play any instrument to save my life”

“The piano a little bit” George chimed in, after deliberating whether to speak or not.

You blushed settling your gaze on him one more time, marvelled that he remembered. “It’s been years since I last practised”

“If the piano is too much I’ll give you my harmonica. I’m fucking tired of blowing into that shit” John offered, resting his left hand on your thigh and giving it a firm squeeze.

Everyone laughed except George. He didn’t even smile.

He dipped his eyes and ran a finger over his brow back and forth for a couple of seconds before grabbing his guitar again.

Something was off with him, and it upset you that he was feeling under the weather when Paul, John and you were vibing and having such a wonderful time.

John kissed your cheek and cuddled you after wrapping his leather jacket around you even though you didn’t ask for it. George saw and shook his head gently, forcing himself to continue working on his part so he would nail it in the upcoming session. His mind was elsewhere and the chords didn’t sound as good as he wanted them to be. He brought his brows together and you stifled an affable grin, observing silently while he mumbled under his breath, probably putting himself down for not getting them right.

John smiled seeing you stare at George, but Paul knew what that smile meant, what was really behind it, and he started gesturing at him as subtle as he could not to push his luck with George. He’d keep his conscience clean regardless of what happened from now on.

John’s smile enlarged when he saw his best mate from the corner of his eye trying to catch his attention, but he had it all mapped out in his head.

He leaned forward, elbows on the knees and fingers interlocked.

“(Y/N), is it true that you’ve been seeing Sam?”

You looked over at John, perplexed.

George also raised his gaze, disconcertion lurking in it.

Paul slapped a hand to his forehead.

Clueless as to why he would ask that, you turned pink. “Where have you heard that?”

George interpreted your blush as you being embarrassed because you got caught, and your question as wanting to know who spillt the news. The suave yet pained expression tinted on his face was replaced by a rather sad and fragile one.

Instinctively, you pinned your eyes to George’s when John didn’t answer you. You weren’t dating anyone named Sam and you didn’t want him to believe that you did.

He remained there staring what felt like a lifetime into your eyes, only for his to fall to the floor seconds after. He stood up and paced to the door.

Envy overloaded him, making his jealously evolve into what a romantic would describe as passional delirium.

Hastily, he turned, came up to you and closed his fingers over your arm. John watched with a wry grin.

“Can we talk?” George asked, his tone filled with forced politeness.

You nodded and let him guide you towards his kitchen.

He looked over his shoulder first to confirm that neither of his bandmates had followed you there.

Then, for a few seconds, he froze. You noticed he was agitated and internally saturated with mixed feelings.

Out of the blue, he straightened his spine, a different kind of thickness filling his throat. Determined to overcome his shyness and insecurity, he gave a long exhale. Throwing you off guard, he grabbed your face, fingers gripping tightly your cheeks, and pressed his mouth to yours so enthusiastically that you subtly felt his front teeth.

Excitement and love rushed into your veins.

You kissed him back and wrapped your arms around his waist, knowing from the get go that this wasn’t going to be the last time that you would taste his lips. George couldn’t open his eyes at first after having departed from the kiss, which turned out to be the best and most pleasant, pure and precious kiss he had ever shared.

When he flicked them open, he couldn’t resist the drive to glide his thumb over the soft skin of your sweet fleshy lips.

John suddenly burst into the kitchen pretending to pull off that the obtrusion was casual. The real and obvious reason was that he wanted to see what was going on behind curtains.

George quickly pulled back.

That reaction and the swollen lips from both of you was enough for John.

“Don’t mind me. Just came here for something to drink” he said, but the clownery in his voice was oh so present and solid.

Cheeks burning, George didn’t move.

John, with the glass in his hand, turned to him before leaving.

“I mean, maybe it’s you who needs some water. You look feverish, my friend”

You quickly pushed him out of the kitchen.

George slowly looked up again when he wasn’t around. “There’s no Sam, is there?”

You shook your head no. “John is a crackhead, a good bloke but a crackhead. Never listen to him, listen to me” you smiled. He drew you into his arms, missing your warmth already. “I’m not dating Sam, Geo. He’s blond and I’m not into blondes”

George chuckled. “What are you into, then?” he asked, needing to hear from you that you only wanted him.

“I’m into this guy from The Quarrymen. Not the one who plays the bass, and clearly not the blind one, he’s too much of a ponce sometimes” you smirked. “Into the bushy unibrow guy”

He laughed harder and tightened his embrace.

“Lucky you he’s had his eye and unibrow on you for some time”

“Sweet, cause I’ve been in love with him ever since I met him”

George stared dearly down at you with the brightest smile and captured your lips again.

He didn’t know if John was a genius or a foolish cretin for causing him to feel so enraged before, making him believe you had a boyfriend.

The perfect mix, he conceded.

[space-helen]

Emotion

Words: 690

Pairing: Jack Thompson x Reader

A/N: I’m re-watching Agent Carter and I caught feels for this man like a dumbass so enjoy this.

____________________

“Catch the son of a bitch that did this to me” Chief Dooley turned and fired shots through the window before hurling himself out and exploding, causing all of the windows to shatter and pelt glass into the room, you felt some strike you but you stood in shock and fear. Looking around the room everyone else was also stunned, you’d just lost the Chief, the man that you all respected and looked up to in one way or another even if you didn’t want to admit it.

The room started to fall back into action, some SSR members on the floor from the explosion and others taking a seat to take everything in. You removed yourself from the room, feeling numb yet like all of your emotions were running wild. You flung the door to the interrogation room open and saw the state that it was in from Peggy and Jarvis’ destruction of it earlier. You flopped down on a chair, which was nowhere near the table,  and began to cry. This week had been long but this was the icing on the cake. You’d never cried at work before, wanting to be brave and not watching everyone to think less of you if you did, but right now, it was the only thing that you could do.

The sobs caught in your throat and the tears fell, it felt like there was pressure on your head yet a pain emanated from it. You raised a hand to your hairline and felt a dampness. 

“Agent Y/L/N are you ok?” Agent Thompson was standing in the doorway and as he registered your upset, he took a step towards you. “Hey, hey don’t cry.” he hovered awkwardly with his hands on his hips like he’d done in the Griffith with Peggy’s friend Angie.

You looked up at him and he noticed the wound, “looks like some of the glass got you” he pulled his pocket hanky out and crouched in front of you before pressing it to your head. “I know Dooley’s death is a lot but-”

“I don’t usually cry” you’d managed to calm down slightly but the tears still fell and you felt your words catch in your throat as you spoke, you reached up and replaced Jack’s hand on the wound with your own. “It’s just recently so much has happened, first Krzeminski, now Dooley and all that stuff with-”

“It’s ok to be upset” he reached and put his hand reassuringly on your arm.

“But if I’m upset you’ll all think less of me and that I can’t cope with the job.”

Jack sighed and realised you were right. “Dooley wouldn’t want you sitting here crying ok?” You nodded and some tears trickled down your cheeks again you quickly wiped them away. Jack Stood and opened his arms “Come here.”

Confused for a second you just looked at the man until he gestured with his hands for you to stand and ‘come here’. You removed the cloth from your head and scrunched it in your hand before wrapping your arms around Jack, his arms pulled you close and he placed one on the back of your head as you placed your head into the crook of his neck. He gently stroked his thumb over your hair. His embrace was warm and not awkward like he’d behaved at the Griffith.

“Thompson we- oh I’m sorry I uh-” Agent Sousa spoke as he awkwardly stood in the doorway Peggy soon falling in line next to him with a slight smirk on her face, you let go of Jack and turned to Sousa and Peggy. 

“What is it?” Jack questioned with slight irritation in his voice.

“We need to find out what Ivchenko took.” Peggy continued down the corridor with Daniel going after her. 

Jack turned to you and looked at your wound “It should be fine but go get it checked then get back to work” he very swiftly placed a kiss on your forehead before chasing after Daniel and Peggy. 

Yet again you were left stunned, Jack Thompson, Agent Jack Thompson, had actually shown you emotion.

Tag List: (open)

Jack Thompson:

All Marvel:

@marvelsangels

[hellzeldagirlsfanfic]

The Cost of the Throne Chapter 6

[Pervious] * [Next] * [First]

The death of Joe had caused a massive riot across Ckville.

The people of Ckville were tried of nobles of their city getting away with everything and Joe’s death had been the last straw.

The people gathered at the entrance of the noble quarter, screaming, shouting and demanding to be let in. They wanted Lord Kay and his men to be responsible for the death of the young soldier and the other injustices that Lord Kay had committed. Soon the gathering became violent.

The guards’ of the noble quarter started to attack the people hoping that it would disperse but that only lead to deaths of more people. And those deaths lead to the people fighting back.

The fighting had been going on for a month now.

The hospitals in Ckville are neutral ground. So many citizens would flock to the hospital for protection from the violence and destruction outside on the streets.

And like previous riots, Saint Mirajane was swamped with many patients with severe injuries and limbs that needed to amputate. Along with families taking shelter, every available nurse was called in to help.

To add to the mayhem Vilho hadn’t returned from the capital yet. It was most likely that he was being kept outside the city walls until the riots had clam down. Meaning that (Y/N) was still in charge.

Even with Viji help the patients just kept coming. Nearly all the beds were filled.

Her and Viji managed to get a break during a quiet moment in the riots.

“Vilho must be going crazy outside the walls,” Viji said.

“You can say that again,” (Y/N) sighed into her cup of tea. “I wish he was here so one of us could sleep,” She complained with a yawn.

The two of them were drawn away from their conversation by a loud noise coming from Viji’s office. The two women looked into the office to see Viji’s husband trying to entertain their hyper-act daughter. Viji sighed at her family.

(Y/N) smiled at the small family before downing the rest of her tea.

“Why don’t you spend some time with your family whilst it’s quiet,” (Y/N) told her.

“Are you sure?” Viji asked.

“Yeah,” She answered. “I’ll get Debbie to get you if happens. Though you’ll probably hear it before someone comes to get you,” (Y/N) said.

The month of riots had made (Y/N) forget her worries about Vergil and the marriage as her mind was more focus on her patients.

*** A few more days pass with an influx of patients that filled the rest of the hospital beds. (Y/N) and Viji had to work through the nights to make sure that every patient that came in during those few days was taken care off.

When the two doctors were finished it was a quiet period during the riots.

“(Y/N), go and take a nap,” Viji told her.

“What!?” (Y/N) gasped. “I can’t do that! We still have to go around and do the rounds,” She said.

“You did yourself the another when you gave me some time with my family,” Viji told her. “Any way you need it. You hadn’t slept much during this riot and you weren’t sleeping well before the riot so, you definitely need it,” She said walking away to start doing the round herself.

(Y/N) was left standing in the hallway by herself. She sighed then run a hand through her (dirty) hair.

‘I guess she right,’ She thought as she made her way to her office.

(Y/N) threw herself onto the old couch crammed into the corner of her tiny office. Soon as her head hit the couch’s arm she was fast asleep.

A scream pierced through the hospital.

‘What’s going on?’ She question.

The (H/C) shook her head to get rid of her dizziness. Once it was gone (Y/N) dashed out of her office.

It sounded like the scream came from the entrance hall.

When she got to the large hall she could see the citizens and patients were backing away from a small group of people not far from the front door.

The group consisted of men dressed expensive and refine armour and what looked a uniform underneath. The men were brandishing their weapons. These men were most likely hired by a noble to cause trouble. But to attack hospital!

As (Y/N) weaved through the crowd she spotted a familiar face in the middle of those men.

Anger filled her vein as she pushed her to the front.

“Dante!” (Y/N) yelled. “What the earth are you doing…” She started to yell but faded away when she got a good look at the looked at the man in the middle of the intruder.

He had the same face as Dante along with the same pure hair and steely blue eyes. But this man was completely different from her friend. He was clean-shaven and his hair slick back. The clothing that he was wearing were expensive and superior to anything that the nobles in Ckville would wear.

‘An outsider,’ She realised. “Who do you think you are!? Walking into a hospital branding your weapons!” She yelled at them as moved closer.

The man surrounding him raised their weapons as she drew closer, protecting the handsome white man in the centre.

The man’s steely blue stared right at her, giving her an uncomfortable feeling. A feeling she that she had felt once before in the dark and lonely tunnels of the Cedar Labyrinth, outside the king’s office as he told his advisors the fate he had planned for her.

“(Y/N)!” She heard Viji yelled from the crowd behind her.

The doctor turned her head to search for her colleague taking a step back. When she did a hand gripped her upper arm. (Y/N) snapped her head back to see that the white-haired man was gripping her arm.

“Let go of me!” She demanded.

The man didn’t let go but pulled her closer to him. His guard removed their weapons to let her closer to him as possible.

(Y/N) tried to get out of his grip but it was too strong.

(Y/N) could only think up of one plan to get herself free. So using her free arm she slapped the man across his face with the back of her hand. The shock allowed her to free her captured arm. (Y/N) made sure to put some distance between her and the men.

“Your Majesty,” The guards all gasped.

‘Your Majesty…’

Her body froze at those words.

It was him; The man who plans to end her life that she worked so hard for.

The man with the white was Son of Sparda.

The half-demon who wanted to marry her for power.

Vergil.

“(Y/N)!” Viji called to her when she finally got through the crowd.

“I’m sorry Viji,” She whispered. “I’ll be leaving you in charge of the hospital,” She informed the other doctor.

“What!?” Viji exclaimed.

She watched as (Y/N) raised one of her arms. Her fingers were straight with her thumb tucked into her palm. The younger doctor poured her magic into her arm and then into her hand. When there was enough magic gathered she’d fired a shoot at Vergil.

(Y/N) didn’t stay to see if the shot hit him as she merged into the crowd of fleeing patients and citizens. She could hear a guard yelling for her capture. She darted down a hallway to the back the hospital and into the room where they stored the dead bodies, waiting for families to collect them. The room had a small door so the bodies could be discreetly removed, the perfect way for her to escape the hospital.

Once out of the hospital (Y/N) quickly moved into the filthy back-streets of Ckville. Her mind was making a list of things that she needed to do in the next couple of minutes so she could escape the city safety.

‘I got to get to the boarding house and get the money,’ She thought. ‘Then I should leave the city through the sewers, that would be for the best,’ She decided.

As she moved fast though the back-streets to the boarding house or she would of if the guards that Vergil had brought with him didn’t get in her way.

“Stop right there Lady Rozeningale!” One of them shouted at her.

“Lady,” (Y/N) snarled. “I get to be called Lady now that your kind plans to marry and not the bastard of Rose-Griffiths,” She snapped at them.

They seemed to be taken back by her comment. They seemed to be uncomfortable about comment maybe because of the content or because she was swearing. Using their discomfort (Y/N) shoot a spell that would only knock out the men. Once the guards were down (Y/N) resume her back to the boarding house.

“And it’s Doctor,” She corrected the guard.

She entered the boarding house by using the rear entrance. The building was eerily silent. She had never been in the boarding house during a riot.

‘Everyone probably sheltering,’ She thought as walked through the loud and clutter hallway.

(Y/N) climbed the stairs that lead up to the second floor, where her room was located. She carefully opened the door and looked into the room to see if anyone was in there. No one, the room was just as she left a month ago.

She swiftly opened then closed it behind her. She made her to her bookcase and push it so she could get. To the money, hidden under the floorboard. She threw the box into a bag and grabbed a cloak.

When she turned around her heart nearly stopped.

Vergil was standing in-between her and the door.

‘When did he entered!?’ (Y/N)’s mind screamed.

There was no way he entered from the door, it was old and need a good oiling.

Her eyes moved from stoic face to his leather bond hands. Clucked in his left hand was a sword, the Yamato, a powerful devil arm that the half-demon had inherited from his father. He probably won’t use it on her hopefully but it was still frightening to have such a blade nearby.

(Y/N) examined the room behind the king. The door was the obvious way out but there was also a window in the other wall behind him. The window led straight to the streets below. She would need to good distract if she was going to made break for the window.

“Whatever you’re thinking I suggest you forget. Just come quietly,” He told her. His voice sounded familiar somehow, it was baritone, clam and sent shivers down her spine.

“I’m sorry but you’re not mother,” She shot back. “And I don’t bow anyone, especially the king of Quebel!” She snarled as she shot another spell towards him.

This spell was slightly different than the one she threw at him earlier. It was mixed pure mana canon and her natural fire abilities. She shot towards the door, she aimed it at the wall next to the door. When the spell hit the wall it causing a large amount of smoke as the flame ate away the wall.

‘I’m sorry Mrs Hudson,’ She apologised to her landlord.

The smoke was thick and black, successfully shielding (Y/N) from Vergil’s eyes. Once the smoke had filled the room (Y/N) cast an illusion spell to trick Vergil that she was making a mad dash to the hole she made in the wall. It seemed to work as she sees his shadow move in the direction of the illusion. Then she made her mad dash to the window brushing against the half-demon on the way. (Y/N) crushing through the window onto a stall on the streets below.

The woman let out a groan as she picked herself from the floor. She stumbling to the alleyway near the boarding house.

(Y/N) scrambled to the nearest entrance to the sewer. She closed the sewer entrance behind then dropped down to the darkness under her.

Once she got her bearing and summoned a light source (her trusty old lamp) the (H/C) started made her way out of Ckville. Her home of fourteen years, the city that gave her a chance to live her life the way she wanted and the place that teach her some much about life.

(Y/N) tried and fail not to cry. She wiped her tears as she left her happy life behind.

The fleeing woman lifted her lamp a bit higher for its light to hit the figure dressed in blue.

A scream was let out by the woman as she got a look of the man that was chasing her. She dropped her lamp as he draws closer to her whilst she moved further away from him.

Vergil stopped once his feet met the still lit lamp. The orange light illuminated his furious face.

‘How!?’ (Y/N)’s mind screamed again. ‘How did he know I was down here!?’ She shrieked in her mind.

“Enough with this cat and mouse game!” He shouted at her.

The angry filled her veins.

“No!!” She screamed back. “I will not allow anyone but myself to control my life!” She added on.

The angry in her veins flowed into her hand. Flames erupted from her hands. (Y/N) threw endlessly steamed of flames at Vergil. Harsh breaths left (Y/N)’s lips at she finished fiery assault on the Dark Slayer. He was nowhere in sight, not even a charted body. Had she destroyed every inch of him?

She stepped closer to the area where she had last sited the Son of Sparda.

“It’s time to end this game,” Vergil whispered from behind her.

(Y/N) didn’t have a moment to move an inch as a sharp pain travelled through her neck. The tiny flame in her lamp disappeared as she faded from the world.

*** That was the first thing (Y/N) notice when she regained consciousness. The next things she noticed that she laying on her right side which was laying on a very comfortable surface and she a little bit warm. Her (E/C) eyes open onto a dark pair of legs. She followed those legs up until she met a handsome face. (E/C) met blue.

At first, she thought it was Dante but then her memories returned from before she lost consciousness.

She bolted up. She could hear her heart in the ears.

They stayed still, staring at each other like predator and prey.

She knew that was in a carriage heading out of Prildo Ira heading towards Quebel.

She didn’t know how long they were staring at each other before she lunges towards the carriage door. Her attempted fail as Vergil wrapped his arms around her waist.

“No!!!” She screamed at him.

(Y/N) struggled against her captor with no success. Her struggle only led to Vergil restraining her efficiently. He had gotten ahold of her wrist across them over her body restricting her movement.

“Let me!” (Y/N) demanded as she tried to wriggle free of Vergil’s hold.

She tried to activate her magic but not a single ounce of mana came to her to aid. This lead to more panic in her system. Had they sealed her magic?

The man behind her, stayed quiet as he let the woman in his arms use up all of her energy.

“Let me…,” She begged as she felt her hope waining. “Please…,” She whispered as tears started to fall from her (E/C) eyes.

But nothing left white hair man’s lips as the woman in his arms lend forwards, she began to sob.

(Y/N) hated it. She felt like she was a child again powerless and weak, sitting the darkness of Cedar Labyrinth unable to change her own fate herself. And everything she had done since she left that darkness of Cedar Labyrinth. It was all for nothing, all training and leaving to be dragged back to where it started.

She cried herself to sleep in the arms of the man who was taking her away from the life she’d loved.

Vergil waited until he could hear her soft breaths.

He pulled her back to his chest letting of her wrist once she laying on it. He then turned her on his lap so she was on sitting sideward. He rests (H/C)’s head in the nook of her neck and supported her head with his left hand. Vergil reached in dark embroidery coat and pulled handkerchief. He wiped her tear-stained cheeks then wiped her nose. Once done he placed a kiss on her head.

Vergil looked down at (Y/N)’s face and the dark bags under her eyes. He noticed them earlier when he had laid her down in carriage but didn’t notice how dark they were. She also was stupidly easy to carry so he took a peek under surcoat and tunic, she unhealthy thin, it wasn’t too bad that you could see her ribs but it nearly there. Not to mention that she smelt bad.

Vergil sighed.

“It’s going to take a lot of work to make you into a queen that history will remember,” He mumbled as he placed another kiss on her forehead.

[radiowrites]

Peace

When Oliver approached the man's appearance from a researcher’s eye, it wasn’t hard to see the resemblance.

A Ghost Hunt Fanfiction One Shot by RaisedonRadio. 1600 words, post-canon.

First published in the Ghost Hunt Zine “Familiar Keepsakes”. Check out @ghosthunthq for more GH fandom content!

Read on: AO3 / FF.net / Below the cut!

Oliver pulled at his shirt collar as he followed the nurse. Nursing homes were always too warm, and he should have mentioned that to Mai when she was picking out an outfit—or, better yet, dress himself occasionally. The long hallway was dimly lit, the fluorescent bulbs overhead on their last leg without anyone who cared to change them. It made the pale green walls sickly. Disinfectant permeated the place, and he knew he would smell artificially clean when he left.

Despite the shortcomings of the place, the nurses were kind and had been awaiting his arrival. The nurse stopped in front of him and let him into a room.  She nodded to the woman sitting in the corner and to the propped up figure in one of the beds, and closed the door behind her. The far bed was empty. Judging by the energy of the room, Oliver assumed it had not been that way for long.

He nodded to the woman. She was black haired and in her late forties or early fifties. She inclined her head, and Oliver approached the figure in the bed.

The man there had his arms crossed, his thin lips set in an even thinner line. He stared at the far wall, resolute.

“Hello,” Oliver said, “Mr. Griffith.”

The man sniffed. Or scoffed. Whatever the sound was, it had no polite connotations.

“If you’re trying to sell me something,” Mr. Griffith said, “I ain’t got no money. And I’m not interested in converting to any religion, if that’s what you’re after.”

“I am not here for either of those things,” Oliver said. “Thank you Alice,” he added as he took a chair the woman offered, and sat down next to the bed. Mr. Griffith pulled back slightly, as if he wanted to put more distance between them.

“How do you know each other?” Mr Griffith said in a demanding tone.

“My wife met Alice on an online message board,” Oliver said. “She was doing some unrelated research, and came across this board meant for families seeking information on adopted out children.”

Alice had told Mai she was the youngest sister of the family, and very interested in her family tree, especially the gaps in her brother Jeffrey’s family.

This information dawned over Mr. Griffith’s face. “Busybody,” he muttered. “What you’d say your name was again?”

The man in front of him wasn’t exactly old, by today’s standards—early sixties, perhaps. But he was torn up inside by disease and guilt and anger. It was intriguing how often illness and emotions seemed to coincide.

The man’s hair was graying, but there was remnants of a rich brown. When Oliver approached Mr. Griffith’s appearance from a researcher’s eye, it wasn’t hard to see the resemblance in the line of the jaw, the shape of the eyes, the assured frame and stature—if he wasn’t slumped in a bed.

Oliver hadn’t given his name, but he let it slide. “Oliver Davis. I’m not sure what you called me before my adoption.”

So many years had passed, it shouldn’t have been so easy to recall the man who had walked out on them multiple times. Oliver remembered how he had assumed his father would return that one last time, how he wouldn’t really just leave them with their mother’s body, would he?

Behind Oliver, Alice sniffed, and it was a sound of compassion, of someone holding back tears when she would have had no ability to help them at the time. She had barely been in her teens. And she hadn’t known, she had sobbed to Mai over the phone. Jeffrey had told his parents and siblings that his wife had ran away with the kids. It had been after his diagnosis last year he had confessed to his wife’s sudden death and him leaving two children behind. In today’s media, someone would have found him. Back then, it was easy to just disappear.

Alice had posted on the internet in both English and Japanese. She wasn’t fluent in the latter but did her best, wanting another angle because of her mother’s heritage, as well as Jeffrey’s late wife. She had a strained relationship with her brother, she had told Oliver. She hadn’t really known why she was seeking the information—to comfort, or to hurt?

Oliver had always assumed his birth father was dead. It had been a pleasant thought, devoid of emotional complications.

“So you’re here for an apology, is that it?” Mr. Griffith turned towards him. His eyes were clear, and hard. Oliver wondered if his own eyes looked like that.

“What good would that do me?” Oliver said. “I’m not the one on my death bed.”

Mr. Griffith went back to staring at the wall. “Your brother wasn’t interested in meeting me too before I die?”

For some reason, Oliver had expected Mr. Griffith to be better informed. Mai had told Alice about Eugene. But clearly, Alice had withheld the information of even his visit—perhaps she had been concerned the old man would try to escape than face his son. The overly familiar irritation of having to tell yet another stranger that his twin was dead returned. Despite the fact that Eugene had been dead longer than he had lived at this point, it didn’t get easier. Oliver didn’t want that look of pity and horror.

Which was worst for the old man? To think his other son didn’t care to see him? To know the truth? Oliver didn’t want to be directly responsible for a heart attack.

“Well?” Mr. Griffith pressed.

“Eugene was quick to anger—and quick to forgive,” Oliver said slowly. “He would have wanted to be here, but he left this world before you.”

Mr. Griffith went stiff, and Oliver found himself saying, “It was an accident, when he was sixteen—it didn’t happen when—”

“When I abandoned you two.” He grabbed Oliver’s hand, clasping both hands around it. Oliver flinched, but the man’s grip was strong.

“There hasn’t been a day,” Mr. Griffith said, ‘There hasn’t been an alcohol strong enough, a drug potent enough, or an activity numbing enough to drown it out. The memory. The guilt. Even if I had simply dropped you off at the orphanage myself, it would be have been better than that.” His voice was becoming hoarse, the exertion of emotion thickening his throat. “The guilt weighs on me, always.” His eyes shown with tears.

Mr. Griffith—his father— whispered, “I’m sorry.”

And Oliver knew. There was no lie, no attempt to alleviate his own conscience. His father meant it. Was I accept your apology too cold? You’re forgiven too haughty?

Mr. Griffith wasn’t looking for confirmation. He repeated, even softer, “I’m sorry,” as he released Oliver and pulled back his hands.

Oliver’s hand was left cold and numb.

“You mentioned a wife,” Mr. Griffith said, wiping his eyes. “You’re married then?”

Oliver sat there a moment to bring himself back to the present. As a child, he had believed you just quit being scared when you become an adult. As time went on, he had come to understand fear had probably caused his father to act in such a way. It wasn’t an excuse for the behavior. But it was a reason, something that no one had addressed, no one could address when issues were kept behind locked doors.

“Yes,” Oliver said. “With two kids.”

“Can you send Alice a picture?” Mr. Griffith attempted a smile. “I’d like…to see them. If that’s all right with you.”

“Would you prefer to meet them?”

“I don’t have much time left. There won’t be any traveling for me. It’s a nice thought though.”

“That’s not what I asked. I asked—” Oliver leaned in, “—if you wanted to meet them.”

Mr. Griffith raised his eyebrows, and nodded.

Oliver heard Alice stand up and open the door. Oliver turned as Mai entered, flanked by their two young boys. They were not twins, but the couple of years between them was close enough that they were often mistaken for such.

They gazed around the room, eyes wide. Mai gave Oliver a soft smile.

Oliver turned back to his father, whose cheeks had become wet.

“Meet Mai, Noboru, and Katashi,” Oliver said. “Boys, this is your grandfather.”

“I’m the oldest,” Noboru announced as he bounced forward. His jet black hair and intense eyes made everyone say how much he looked like his father. But Oliver only saw Eugene when he looked at him.

Katashi clung to his mother’s jeans, his hair brown like Mai. Or his grandfather, Oliver had come to realize. With a little coaxing, Katashi released his grip and moved towards to the bed, staring at Mr. Griffith with a solemn gaze.

Noboru grabbed his brother’s arm and pulled him even closer, and started chatting with his grandfather about his trip to the United States, which was here, and how he had a house in both Japan and England, and he could speak both languages, and could Mr. Griffith speak Japanese still?

Oliver vacated his chair for Katashi and stood next to Mai, who slipped her hand into his.

“I was starting to think it wasn’t going well,” she whispered to him as she squeezed his hand. “And you weren’t going to let us in.”

“I honestly didn’t know what to expect,” he said softly. “He’s a broken man.”

Holding his father’s hand had drained him, but he could feel the energy returning as Mai’s hand warmed his. He watched a real smile come over his father’s face at something the boys said. “But I’ve made my peace. Thank you.”

She leaned into him with a smile. “If I can stop one lonely man from becoming a lonely ghost, then I’ve done my job.”

[justjessame]

Glorious, Before the Burden - The Mourning ~ 8

I’d hardly had a moment to settle into my new home when my first gift arrived. Crying myself to sleep hadn’t worked, not that I’d expected it to, so I was in the small garden - staring up at the night sky when I felt it - a shift like a whisper. Turning around, there it was - a small casket, but I could feel her magic around it - Frigga’s magic.

Tempted to ignore it, or better yet to destroy it, I took a deep breath and reconsidered. Perhaps this was a peace offering. Frigga had been like a mother to me for far longer than she’d been an enemy - so I crouched in the soft grass and reached out, smiling despite myself at the warmth coming off the wood. So like her, as if she was in the garden with me, waiting with her arms open.

Inside, when I opened it, were my dearest belongings - books, jewels, nightgowns - along with enough Midgardian currency to be comfortable for, well I’d have to do some research on how long I could make do with it - and tucked underneath it all was another letter.

 Sigyn ~

I know that what I’ve done is unforgivable. Taking away a part of you that is ingrained in your very fiber to keep a peace within my OWN marriage isn’t something I took lightly, not when I know that it will keep you separated from YOUR love.

When I told you that Loki was many things, but never malicious, I wasn’t lying - I still don’t think I am. Being led astray can happen so easily, especially after not being given the truth - and I did tell you how admirable your honesty was and still is - how your husband’s family should revere you for it. Instead you’ve been punished harshly and by me.

As I’ve said, I don’t expect your forgiveness. I’m sending along your things, not all of them at once, since the Bifrost is still inoperable. It took immense power to send YOU, much less these items - but I will try to send more, as time and magic allows. I do hope that you find solace, if not peace where you are - no matter how inconstant that may sound.

He’s home, a prisoner for his crimes, but he IS home. And I’m only allowed to visit him through illusions. Home, safe, alive, caged - and grieving the loss of you.

Frigga

 I didn’t understand. Most of her words made sense - she was trying to make amends, while admitting that she chose the lesser of evils - my banishment and the removal of any possibility of Loki finding me, should he somehow escape his imprisonment for whatever crimes he committed, but the last part confused me.

Loki grieved the loss of me. The husband I knew and loved would never simply give up on me because he was locked away. He wouldn’t have taken the news that I was banished - even if they refused to tell him where and that they’d removed the ease of his usual course of finding me - and feel defeated by it. To grieve me, to act as if - NO. The feeling of suffocation kept hitting me, and it seemed to always originate from Frigga’s hand.

The ONLY way I could think of for Loki, my husband, to GRIEVE my loss, to feel defeated by it, and to give up - was if they told him I was dead.

 I’d been in Midgard days, mere days, the casket having arrived the night of my arrival and I had unpacked it - put away my things, including the hair picks that Loki had given me and even gone out among my new neighbors to find food and drink, and also add to my wardrobe - magic was wonderful, but I wanted to see precisely what I was supposed to be wearing. I contemplated burning Frigga’s letters, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it - these parchments with the dark ink written in her hand, were the ONLY fragments I had left of her. And even after everything I’d gone through - she was my teacher and my mother.

I was in the cottage, one of my favorite books open and a cup of tea next to me where I’d curled up in the chair that I’d claimed as my most comfortable when a knock came to my door. Thinking of all the very kind and rather personable Midgardians that populated the small village I’d landed in, I marked my place and got up, checking the ornaments I’d added to the twist I’d put my hair in - Loki’s warnings about safety loud and clear now that I WAS living in Midgard.

Looking out the lacy curtain that covered the glass portion of the door, I saw a tall, dark man wearing leather and sporting an eyepatch that brought Odin to mind. My confusion grew, but then he flashed a smile and a golden badge. “Director Nicholas Fury, ma’am,” the door stayed closed as he spoke through it. “I’m with S.H.I.E.L.D.” I waited for him to give me further explanation. “That stands for the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division.” Blinking at him, his smile didn’t falter. “As an Asgardian who crash landed in the middle of nowhere-shire England, I think you should let me in.”

Asgardian - I sighed. He knew. Unlocking my door, I turned the knob and stepped back to allow him entry. There were others, I could see, ringing my little cottage - “Could you please, ask your -” I groaned when I noticed one of the men stomping through one of the bushes. “Please, don’t destroy the garden!”

Director Fury raised his eyebrow at my tone, but glanced outside and shook his head. “Guys, stand down!” He sounded bored. “I apologize, Miss?”

I glanced up at him, and then back to where his people were starting to retreat - I waited until I could assess the damage and once I was satisfied it wasn’t beyond repair, I returned to the topic at hand. “Miss what?”

He looked bemused. “Your name?” I sighed. “You dropped out of the sky in a flash, three days ago and - let’s just say that’s cause for concern.”

“Why?” I stared up at him. “I’ve done nothing wrong.” Aside from the compulsion to get the cottage, which I have paid for - once the casket came from Frigga and I COULD pay.

He studied me as if he couldn’t decide if I were lying or if I were ignorant. “We had a situation -” Pulling one of the tiny boxes that all my lovely neighbors had held when I first woke from his pocket, he pressed something and then turned it so I could watch -

So I could watch Loki, my Loki run amok - I watched, but I couldn’t believe it. He wouldn’t - he would never - Loki wasn’t cruel. He wasn’t hateful or - Seeing him remove a man’s eye, watching him force a crowd to kneel, witnessing the destruction and ruin - I realized he COULD and he DID.

“You didn’t know?” I couldn’t breathe, why couldn’t I - “WHOA,” Director Fury caught me, and then I was sitting in the chair, he was kneeling before me. “You are VERY pale -”

“I -” gasping wasn’t helping. Why was the air too thick? “He -”

“You know him?” I shook my head, no, I didn’t know HIM. Not that Loki. “Are you -”

“Oy, who’re you?” That voice, why was it so familiar? “What’re yer doin’ in ‘ere?”

“Now wait a minute,” Fury was on his feet, but I couldn’t focus, not when the images were flickering through my mind - against the Loki I knew - the soft one who held me and played in the bath with me. “How did you get past my -”

“Dos wankers?” The voice snorted. “Told ‘em what I’ll tell you, she’s my granddaughter, and ye’ll do well ter go.”

“I think you and I both know -” I shook it off, the pain and the confusion - I needed to get him out and away - NOW.

“He’s right,” I nodded, looking up to see that it was my rescuer. The elderly man, kind and smiling. “Director Fury?” He glared down at me, but I had his attention, which is what I needed. “My name is Margaret Elizabeth Johns -”

“After my sainted mother,” the kindly man added, his grin growing. “HER lovely mum, and sadly her married name - she’s a widow.”

“Yes,” I sighed, infusing my voice with all the will and sincerity that I had that first day. “I’m a widow. My husband, Lucas Johns, died in a terrible accident. My grandfather -”

“Michael Griffiths,” my eyes widened, along with his smile. “I asked my girl to come closer to home.”

“He did, and somehow you got incorrect information,” standing up, I touched Director Fury’s hand. “I’m incredibly sorry that you came ALL this way for nothing.”

“For nothing,” he agreed, his eye slightly unfocused.

 He left soon after, a few more nuggets and as Director I knew it would grow with my touch to the others. That left just Michael and I - but I was more than willing to have a sit down with him.

“Griffiths,” I bit my lip. “Your eyes do look familiar now that I think back.” Like Elizabeth’s, observant and eagle sharp.

“You’ve been a story passed down for so many years,” I almost called him out about his less than local accent, but I had a feeling that we all had our own secrets. “In my family, I mean.”

I got him a cup of tea and he told me how not everyone in his family had thought it true, the tale of the newlyweds who had been found at the end of a flash of light - who told a tale of woe so dramatic and traumatic that it would have done well as an offering in a penny dreadful - but were also so in love that who could find fault with them?

“I’m guessing that Elizabeth started the tale?” We were sitting in my sitting room and he nodded. “I knew she was too observant.”

“She thought you did,” his grin was still wide. “Margaret was easier to fool, but Elizabeth - well some of the family can’t be fooled.”

“Like you?” Head tilted, I was smiling with the knowledge that he hadn’t been affected by my little trick when I came to. “I can’t be angry, you just rescued me again.”

“Twats,” he bit out, and I snorted - thankful I wasn’t about to take a sip of tea. “Those S.H.I.E.L.D. types,” he shook his head. “Showing up here to try to equate you with HIM.”

It hurt, to hear even Michael consider Loki in that light, but I understood - somewhat. “Yes, imagine that.”

[imaginesbymk]

PINK + WHITE.

—chapter nine ; with heat & wet skin.

summary: teresa’s permanent resignation from the peaky blinders leads her to a whole new chapter of working in an art museum. but little did she know her best life would be butchered some time later when her former lover tommy shelby gives her no choice but to return to the peaky blinders after they make new enemies, with the leader, of all people, being the man teresa fell in love with one night after a wedding reception back in post world war; luca changretta. 

pairing: luca changretta x OC x tommy shelby

tags in this chapter: swearing, implied nsfw, drinking, mentions + drug use

[ chapter index / meet my oc / wattpad link ]

MASON was quick on his feet when he was given the slightly odd request Teresa had asked him to do last minute. It had nothing to do with the gallery or with separation of last minute business meetings to be scheduled in the margins of the diary. It was just that he had to safely track down a dangerous man. Luca Changretta was still in England, hot-headed with a plan.

Teresa loved fur shawls. Though she detested how the cheap ones she could afford wore out from time to time, from the "fur" falling out like leaves from a tree in autumn, or even its colour turning from new to depressed (and even she grew so envious over the women who wore the luxurious, expensive ones at parties). Tommy Shelby never bothered with buying her what she wanted, which she was fine with, but one man with the Italian genes spoiled her with one that she kept in her closet. A grey-ish white. Teresa often takes one look at it, before sliding it over to reach the silky see-through shawl when she is simply relaxing in her home. At parties she debated even thinking of taking it out, but then there was the other shawl that was made of black fur, and it closed together with a silver clip to keep her shoulders warm.

The fur shawl was just like the painting she avoids at her own work. Both were so beautiful and timeless, both sharing personal meaning. But tonight, it finally saw light from staying in the wardrobe closet for too long. Teresa held it out in front of her, then clutched it in her arms.

The bar was built together with grey walls, none sound-proof. On the other side you could hear the jazz band playing music for the party, or footsteps from the owner or a bartender heading out back for more stocking of gin. If you were on that side, you'd hear the giant doors spring open from the doorman that allowed Teresa to enter inside. The man at the counter watched as her dress fell all the way down to her heels, not too long so she wouldn't trip. Her hair was in its curls once more, and wrapped around like comfort was the fur.

She reached a booth and set her purse on the table. "White wine."

"Ma'am-" the server goes.

"A man will be joining me very soon." Teresa made a smile, as the unescorted woman if Luca were to not show up. Had she imagined if Luca burned the invitation letter she mailed to his hotel, or simply tossed it away, in future to be used as scratch paper, or even as a roll up (if Luca is one of the many people that did snow), she may have just wasted her time getting dolled up just to not be served at her booth.

"Last time I met up with a woman at a bar, she proposed a deal, and lied straight to my face."

She shot her head up.

Those eyes.

Looks like her night wasn't going to waste after all. "Are you talking about Polly?" She watches as Luca Changretta helps himself on the other side of the booth, the same server coming over to Teresa with her white wine.

Teresa waited while staring down at Luca's own glass being poured with four fingers of whiskey. Luca glanced at Teresa's outfit, not answering her question. "You're wearing the shawl I got you? I can't believe you still have it."

"What, like I got rid of it? Why would I give it to someone else who would treat it like a rag?"

"Hm." Luca took a sip. "So, why did you summon me here? Actually, I know the answer to that one. You're a businesswoman, as we both know. You invited me here to propose some kind of deal, eh? Like I got the time to spare one more fucking thing before I go do what I came to England to do?"

"I know about the vendetta, Luca." Teresa began. "And I know the deal you made with Polly, which was a lie, by the way. I know about that. What I also know is that you don't just plan on crushing the Peaky Blinders. You have more on your mind. You're so greedy that you would want to overthrow Alfie Solomons as well. If he were to betray Tommy with the deal you made with Mr. Solomons, you know you and your men would come after him as well and take over his business."

Luca nodded. "I had a feeling you knew. I had a feeling Tommy Shelby brought you back to Birmingham, no?"

"I know your patience is wearing thin, and you're done giving people more time. But then there's me."

"Right, forgive me," Luca places a hand on his chest. "Why not talk about the royalty in front of me as well? What could she possibly request for this time?"

"I wanna know why I was never sent a Black Hand."

Luca laughs, trailing his fingers around the rim of his glass. Whatever Teresa said or did, she definitely wasn't laughing. Nothing seemed funny to her on her end. She did, however, miss that laugh of his. It was more of a chuckle, but she loved it like it was honey in hot tea. "Let me tell you something. It's best to stay out of this, right? Since you resigned, messing with us is like throwing stones at the devil."

"I'll play in the snow with the devil to prove you wrong."

Luca scoffs harshly. "So you're one of those people that snorts white lines just to feel good?"

"That was just my own figure of speech, Luca. I don't do Tokyo," Teresa replied. She cringed at the habit Arthur and Michael carelessly picked up on. "It's everyone's thing now, but not mine."

"That makes two of us." He took another sip. "I'm doing you a favour here, Miss Griffith. Stay out of this and do your own thing."

"There's no need for you to call me that," she comments.

"Why the hell not? Formalities are a thing of the past now?"

"You're talking to me as if we just met. We had something together."

"Yeah, had."

Teresa gave a glare, grabbing her wine. Luca smirks. "All right. Whatever you say. Jesus, kid. You're so fuckin' difficult."

"Kid," she scoffs at his remark. "And Ada Thorne is on your list and she doesn't get her hands covered in blood. So why wasn't I included?"

"You feel left out?" Luca snickered.

"I just wanna know why. I know damn well you haven't forgotten about me. Even if what we had to you was just for pleasure, you found out that I was once a Peaky Blinder."

Luca stares. "You wanted out because you felt like it would devour you forever, so I respected your wishes. You told me why you threw in the towel. And I know you're not a Shelby, you don't wanna be a Shelby."

The server comes up to them. "Sir? Ma'am? Would any of you like to hear the specials tonight?"

"No, thank you." Teresa smiles.

"More whiskey," Luca says. "And for the lady, she'll have more wine." Teresa raised her brows. She didn't mind more wine, would she care so much about knowing her limit before it was time to wince at the tab?

"I forgot you love whiskey," Teresa points out.

"Italian whiskey," Luca made a hand gesture. "As I was saying... have you thought long and hard about this, as to why I'm here? As to why I want Tommy Shelby dead, how I now want everyone dead?"

"Your father." There was a pause between the two. The jazz band transitioned their music to a much slower song this time, and it started easing the nerves in both the former couple's systems despite the volume of alcohol consumed. "Arthur Shelby killed your father. John Shelby killed your brother Angel."

"If things didn't happen the way it did, my men and I would be cozying up in New York counting stacks by stacks."

"And I wouldn't be seeing you here," Teresa added. "Almost ever again," Teresa thanks the server for the excess wine refilling in her glass, then Luca's. "Now can we talk about the giant elephant in the room?"

Luca furrows his brows.

"I know why you left, Luca. I know it's been five years, but you really just packed up and left. I've never seen you so frantic until that day when you were running to the train." Not even an eye bat. "I grew miserable ever since."

"Can I say this?" Luca leaned forward, placing the cuffs of his tailored suit that it laid flat on the tablecloth. "Whatever emotion you saw in my eyes on that day, whatever it was, it was for the sake of being alive for my family. Someone's gotta help keep the business up and runnin'. None of it works if I'm not there."

Teresa stares at Luca. This man wasn't wrong. It wasn't like he was running everything in his family all on his own. His father led the family in Birmingham that Angel was a part of, even his mother lived with them, but what makes New York so important and comforting to Luca must have felt like a whole outlet of anything he ever accomplishes, how many Tommy guns he can hold and keep in his home like picture frames, how many men he has to hire from Sicily and America just to help kill one family. All of that was justified when he boarded that train to the Liverpool docks.

"Oh," Teresa straightened her back. "So much for being the big, bad capo."

"Be careful," Luca warned, pointing a finger at her. "Don't question a gangster's honour."

"You know I crack jokes here and there," Teresa's lips curled into a smirk as it reached the rim of her glass.

"So do I," said Luca.

She looked down at his hands that rested on the table. His experienced, non-scrawny hands that had a black hand tattooed on his wrist, one with a crown, and maybe some other new ones Luca got over time. She used to kiss all of them, even the one on his neck that was a cross. His right hand was wrapped with big, gold rings on two fingers, except he only kept his ring finger free of anything, that was something she wanted to bring up. "You got all those rings on your fingers but not a wedding ring.

"Not like you got one on yours, either. Unless you took it off before coming here," Luca jokes.

She shakes her head. "I've been too busy to fall in love with another soul. But you? You didn't tie the knot with Viviana back in New York?"

Luca scowled, knowing Teresa hadn't forgotten about that woman as he did. "No. I still see her occasionally."

"Yet you haven't done anything with her? Never bothered to find anyone to satisfy your mother?"

"My mother says any woman from New York or even from the old country would do."

"What did you say, after?"

"Mamma, you're killin' me.'" Teresa had to chuckle at that, Luca smiled at her. He then looked around the bar, seeing how more of the guests had gotten up to dance with their dates as the jazz music cranked up their higher tunes like a machine. "Don't tell me we're gonna be sitting here all fuckin' night. You wanna dance, Miss Tour Guide?"

The nickname he gave to her the first time. Did he really sit in front of her and tell her he couldn't remember everything they had, then? "I'm a little rusty," Teresa declines.

'We gotta stretch our legs somehow. I ain't even see your whole getup for the night."

Teresa had no problem getting up from the booth. She stepped out so that her heels were shown as well, and she placed the fur shawl down on her seat so her shoulders were out. The dress wasn't purchased by Luca, but by her, and she felt like a Grand Princess, like a little girl playing with their mother's dresses and makeup. She was never too insecure about her looks since it never bothered her, but she felt beautiful, and she wondered if Luca will still ever see her as beautiful whether or not she is clothed in front of him.

Luca kept on staring. "Then perhaps we can head somewhere else," he suggests. "Somewhere we're both quite familiar with."

How and why didn't matter, the young man who looked to be around Arthur Shelby's age paid no second thought to his surroundings as he aggressively snuffed the thick lines of cocaine that formed on the ledge up his nostril. He begins wiping away any excess off his face, exiting the balcony seats just as the Italian mobster escorts Teresa inside the dark theatre to their respected spots.

"You're a lover of theatre," Teresa spoke quietly as the show resumed to its first act.

"If you dress like one, you are one." Luca hooked his leg over the other, folding his hands on his lap.

It was silent, not the awkward or tense silence, but silent to respect and see the performance. Silence or absolute noise, the stage was the latter. The good kind of noise. The skimpy dancers twirled with batons, the man and woman playing the perky main lovers belted the note they must have spent days and nights rehearsing over and over.

Luca knew there would be performances every night back in New York City. There was always something to do and somewhere to go, otherwise you'd be glued to your chairs at home.

The show was about to end, and Luca, for the first time in God's glorious mysterious time, took Teresa by the hand and curled them together on his lap, his eyes were fixated to theatricality in front of the hundreds of people.

Teresa reacts, slowly looking down. It was nearly dark, but she could feel the giant, lumpy rings from his fingers bump into hers. He always held her hand during a show, and would only let go to join the applause when a number came to its big finish, or when the grand finale brought hypnotic joy and bliss in each audience member's senses like himself that he just had to give the standing ovation.

But just as the audience erupted in deafening applause, cheers and whistles, Luca and Teresa remained the only two members seated, their hands still holding.

HIS hotel room was neat and tidy before he left, now the sheets on the giant bed wrinkled like aged skin when Luca held Teresa down to remove her stockings. She missed his touch. The feeling of being pinned on a bed as he dominated over her, practically tearing what she wore for the occasion just to see her underneath as a sight for his sore eyes, it was definitely there, and her heart pounded.

"Luca," she breathed out a moan. He kissed her softly, now only responding with pacing movements, from positioning her to grabbing the protection from the nightstand drawers. Though he was careful with the dress and fur shawl that was set on the office desk he sat in earlier, within seconds her brassiere was tossed on the floor. With the help from Teresa, she managed to undress Luca from head to toe by just sitting up, and he was now unclothed from the fresh tailored suit his uncle made back in Mott Street.

They kissed again, and Luca went in.

+ me writing "smut": 🧿👄🧿 but ooooo shiiiit their “business” meeting was quite a night lol.

[alistair-blackwood]

hey kids wanna see a fic preview??

(howdy! for readers of my tma fics wondering what the heck ive been up to the last month, here’s a little something for you-- yes, you! the full chapter will be posted next week)

(preview under the cut!)

Once upon a time, in a faraway land, there was a man who wanted to save the world, and instead, nearly destroyed it. 

Before he was forced to commit this great evil, the man fled-- but the failed ritual inflicted him with a terrible curse, and he concealed himself inside a dark, lonesome manor. As the years passed and the solitude ate him, he never ventured to the outside world, ever again.

But that was alright. The man preferred it this way. For there remained not one person, living or dead, who was better off for having known Jonathan Sims.

-

"Aren't you lonely, Mister Blackwood?"

THE MONSTER OF MAGNUS MANOR

CHAPTER 1

THE FOG

“Blackwood.”

Martin lurched upright, unfinished letter sticking to his sweaty face. Mister Griffiths was standing in the doorway, his scowl deepening by the second as Martin scrambled out of the desk chair and onto his feet.

“If you’re finished with your nap,” Griffiths snapped, “make your way down to the kitchens at once. Lord Barclay’s guests will be arriving soon.”

“Of course, sir. Sorry, sir.”

With one last, withering look, Griffiths turned on his heel out of the servants’ quarters, and Martin’s shoulders lost some of their tension. He wasn’t sure if he should be relieved, or find a good rock to curl under.

At least he’d only been glared at this time.

Martin sunk back into his chair, eyelids threatening to slip shut again. Hard wicker had no right being as comfortable as it was. In all fairness, though, the cold stone floor of the refrigerator would be just as soft right now.

Peeling the letter off his cheek, he flipped it over and groaned. Oh, perfect. He’d gone and completely smudged the thing. Half his face was probably covered in a splotch of ink.

No wonder Griffiths had looked at him like he was dog shite underneath his shoe. At least the dog shite wasn’t going to be late to its shift, now.

He huffed.

At least he’d snuck in a few winks before he needed to get ready. Something was always better than nothing– even if the thick, pulsing needle driving itself through his temples disagreed. Hopefully, it would be enough to get him through today’s shift.

Especially today’s shift.

He tucked the letter underneath his pillow; he’d have to rewrite it later if he wanted it ready to send out tomorrow morning. 

A new uniform was waiting for him in the communal wardrobe, one that Lord Barclay had ordered just for the occasion. His dormmates must have already grabbed theirs– aside from his, the wardrobe was empty.

Bit annoying that they hadn’t even taken the time to give him a quick tap on the shoulder. ‘Hey, Martin, rise and shine, big day today, don’t want to be late!’

Perhaps they’d figured it was best for him to sleep as much as possible. This wasn’t  the day to get sloppy, after all.

Or maybe they hadn’t considered him at all.

He hoped it was the first one.

Uniform slung over his arm, Martin hurried toward the servants’ washroom. He was making good time; with any luck, Griffiths’ scowl would never graduate higher than mildly disappointed. On the scale of the head butler’s ranking displeasure, it wasn’t the worst place to be.

In his haste, however, he bumped into the shoulder of another server. Martin turned, an apology already on his lips, then paused.

“Charles?”

Charles spun around, and his eyes brightened.

“Look who decided to make their way out of bed,” he said, giving Martin’s shoulder a playful pat. “You know Jefferies is going to have your hide if he sees you like that, yeah?”

“Please don’t tell him. He’ll kill me this time, he really will.” His eyes flitted down Charles' figure, brows shooting up. “You … you’re wearing the new uniform.”

“I am, indeed. How do I look?” Charles asked, smoothing down the front of his chest. “Fetching, right?”

“I-I, uh, you …”

It was hard to get the words out. Anyone would look good in a uniform like that; that was why Lord Barclay had bought the bloody things. But the dark red jacket, white gloves, and navy tie complemented Charles’ ginger hair and smile in a way that tangled his tongue something fierce.

Martin’s face warmed, and he hoped it wasn’t obvious.

“You look wonderful,” he said. Then, face growing even hotter, “I mean, um,” he coughed, “it looks really good.”

Charles’ grin widened, and Martin had to stop himself from slapping his own face. Get it together. There was something more pressing here.

“But you’re going to start serving? Today? You’ve barely even finished your apprenticeship.”

“Griffiths needs all hands on deck. I’ll be fine. You’re such a worrywart, you know that?”

Of course Martin was worried. Charles had only been working in the castle for a few months, and Griffiths was going to have him start now? On the night of Lord Barclay’s autumn soirée?

Martin was about to remind him of that when a wave of dizziness crested over him, weakness shivering up his legs. He would have tipped over if Charles hadn’t grabbed his shoulder.

“Whoa, hey, are you okay? You’re looking a little …”

If Martin’s face was hot before, it was nothing compared to now.  “Didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Again?” 

“I’ll be fine once I’ve had a wash up.”

Charles’ eyes lingered on him so long that Martin was sure he’d well and truly pass out. After a moment, Charles gave his shoulder a quick squeeze and withdrew.

“You’d best. Well, I need to be off. Ol’ Griffiths is on the warpath. Good luck tonight, yeah?” He winked. “Drinks on me at the pub later.”

“Y-yeah. See you.”

Martin tracked him until Charles left the room, eyes drifting on the corner where he’d disappeared until another dizzy spell swept over him.

Focus. Charles hadn’t been kidding about what Jefferies would do if he knew Martin still hadn’t changed yet.

The reminder had Martin rushing through his wash. Throwing the new uniform on was a struggle; all those foreign buttons and straps kept tangling together, and he got stuck twice before securing the last tie. 

Martin paused in front of the mirror to check himself over. It was... nice enough, he supposed. The most expensive thing he’d ever worn, that was certain. Despite the custom fit, though, the torso still hugged too tight around his chest, and the material scratched at the sensitive skin on his neck.

Luckily, he’d only have to wear it tonight.

With one last glance, he smoothed down his hair and hurried out into the main hallway.

Chaos. The corridors were packed wall to wall with other servants, confused about where they should go, what they should be doing. The crowd smothered him; how had he managed to sleep through this? Now, in the thick of things, his ears were beginning to ring.

“Martin!”

Pausing, Martin scanned the sea of twisting faces. Angelica was elbowing her way through the swarm, drawing sharp cries of pain from her victims, but her expression of dogged determination didn’t change.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” she said, as soon as she was within earshot. “I just wanted to say thanks for setting up the guest bedrooms last night. I would’ve been up ‘til dawn if I’d had to do it myself.”

Martin, who had finished outfitting the last of the guest quarters just as the sun was rising, smiled. “I’m glad I could help. Wasn't really fair to you, getting assigned something you aren't used to.”

She nodded in agreement, sage-like. “I swear, Griffiths is out to get me. I’d rather stay in the laundry room where I belong.” Then she reached into the pocket of her apron, pulling out a bundle of cloth. “We had apple slices for breakfast this morning,” she explained, holding the bundle out. “I saved you mine. You know, as a thank you.”

Woken by the mention of food, his stomach spasmed. He hadn’t even spared a thought for breakfast– based on the sun’s height, the servants’ meal hour had long been over. 

Eyes burning, he accepted the gift. “Thanks, Angie. I really needed this.”

She beamed up at him.

From somewhere within the clamour, an authoritative voice rose up. “Come on then, to your stations!”

The tide of the crowd was pushing them apart before the last word faded. “Good luck, tonight!” Angie called as she turned to follow some of the others into the laundry room. Martin waved back to her, and once she had disappeared from view, unwrapped the cloth and bit into one of the apple slices.

Sweet and refreshing. Martin let his eyes slide shut, savouring the crispness. Thank God for Angie. There was no telling when his next meal would be; Griffiths had informed everyone last night that they wouldn't have time for their regular lunch. 

He finished the last slice just as he reached the kitchens. If the hallways had been chaotic, this was a scene straight out of a nightmare. Servers were shouting orders to the kitchen staff, the kitchen staff were dancing around the servers, and everyone inched a hair's breadth away from colliding into one another. It was only through sheer level of experience on the part of the servants that they managed to avoid absolute disaster.

And in the centre of it all was Jefferies, shouting directions and helpful threats in equal measure.

“If a single one of you even so much as serves a smudged glass,” he roared, “the Lord’ll have all our heads!”

The ringing in Martin’s ears had gone from loud to stringent. Bracing against a countertop, he dragged a hand across his face.

Focus.

Plate the food, take it to the dining hall, serve. He’d done it a thousand times. This was the exact same thing.

He just needed to stay focused.

“Here, Blackwood.” One of the servers pressed a tray of champagne flutes into his hands. Taking one more bracing breath, Martin shouldered his way back into the corridors.

Time to get this over with. The frantic noises from the kitchen fell away in increments until, at last, he reached the ballroom.

[takadasaiko]

The Happy Couple (a Veronica Mars one shot)

FFN II AO3

Summary: When Logan and Veronica attend an engagement party for one of Logan's squad members, shenanigans and close calls ensue.

The Happy Couple

"I know I've only met Siesta once, but I have a really hard time seeing him as being the fancy steak and seafood, suit and tie kinda engagement party guy," Veronica shouted over her shoulder as she heard the bathroom door open from across the hall.

She heard Logan chuckle. "If you'd met him twice, you'd know he's not anykind of engagement party kinda guy. Wow."

Veronica turned fully from where she was hooking a pair of earrings into place to see her boyfriend standing in the doorway to the bedroom, wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist and staring wide-eyed. His gaze drifted up and down from the simple little black dress that ended a few inches above the knee to the five inch heels that she was hoping wouldn't land her on her face by the end of the night. He ran a hand through his shortly cropped hair, water from his shower jumping off the strands. "It's official: we're getting dressed up more often."

That pulled a smirk from her and she turned her back towards him. "Zip me up?"

"Do I have to?" he asked lightly as he crossed the room, his deft fingers pulling at the dress rather than the zipper.

She popped her elbow back, catching him right in the ribs and receiving a soft ooffor her effort. "You're the one that said we couldn't be late."

"Some things are worth it," he answered, his breath hot on her shoulder and she felt his lips ghost across bare skin.

Veronica leaned back into his touch, eyes drifting closed. "We're not going to make it all if you keep that up."

Logan made a soft, frustrated sound before he pressed a final kiss against her shoulder and straightened. He tugged the zipper up, closing the back of the dress and she turned to watch him trudge his way into the closet to get dressed. Her lips quirked upward at his sulky attitude. "So I take it that the whole fancy-smancy part is the fiancée's doing?"

"Her dad, from what we've heard. Supposedly he's a real tightass. Doesn't want his precious baby girl marrying some flyboy or something," he said flippantly, re-emerging from the closet in slacks and a button up that still hung open as he worked at the buttons in his sleeves. "I don't know the whole story. Siesta was bitching about it over beers a few weeks ago."

"What is Siesta's real name? Because I'm not calling him that in public."

Logan snorted a laugh as he finished buttoning his shirt, tucking it in and reaching for his sports coat. "Tyler. Barrett."

"And the fiancée?" Veronica pressed as she reached for her necklace. Final touch and then she'd be ready to leave. If they were late now it was on Logan.

He paused where he was lacing his loafers, nose crunching up just a little as he thought. "Haley? Hannah? Heather, maybe. Starts with an H."

"That's helpful."

He shrugged and straightened, extending a hand to her. "You ready?"

A small smile tilted her lips as she took the offered hand and he pressed a kiss playfully against her knuckles.

The drive down to San Diego took a little longer than expected, but somehow they still managed to pull up to the valet with five minutes to spare. Logan tossed his car keys over and moved to offer Veronica an arm for balance that she took reluctantly. "Trying to convince the masses you're not pint sized?" he asked so quietly she was the only one that could hear him and he motioned at the shoes.

"They went with the dress, but I like being petite. People tend to underestimate me."

"Their funeral."

She shot him an approving look and he pressed a quick kiss to the side of her head as they entered the restaurant connected to the hotel.

They were directed to the back where a crowd was already gathered, new and semi-familiar individuals mulling about and playing at being social. Veronica was never thrilled by these events. The idea of trying to make small talk for several hours was exhausting just to think about, and even worse when the wives and the girlfriends corralled her to ask when she and Logan were planning on tying the knot. Apparently "why ruin a good thing?" wasn't a concept that they understood. It didn't look like a strictly squad event, though, with the number of people milling about. Likely Haley-Hannah-Heather had invited a few friends as well. Maybe Veronica could avoid being cornered until she and Logan finally slipped out that evening.

"When did you two sneak in?"

Veronica turned to see Siesta - Tyler, she reminded herself - sauntering towards them with that lazy smile that was only partially responsible for the call sign. Logan has told her stories about their flight school days when they had found Tyler tucked away in the strangest places just trying to nab a couple extra minutes of shuteye.

"Just a second ago," Logan answered, flashing a grin. "Looks like we beat Riles though. Is he bringing that new girlfriend he's been so secretive about?"

"He better. I see you brought yours. How's it going, Veronica? Cleared any other innocent scapegoats of murder charges lately?"

Veronica's lips tilted ever so slightly at the reference. "Our sheriff's ineptitude keeps us busy," she offered with a shrug. "At least until we can vote him out for someone better, then it's back to the same ol' cases."

"Don't let her downplay it like that. Her cases have always had flair," Logan chuckled.

"You two haven't met Hannah yet have you?" Siesta glanced over his shoulder and shouted, "Hannah, come meet Hollywood and Veronica."

"Hannah," Logan confirmed in a whisper so quiet Veronica almost had to read his lips. She rolled her eyes and elbowed him lightly, pulling a grin from him as a tall, pretty blonde woman glider over to them. Funny, she looked vaguely familiar. Maybe they had met her.

"Hannah?" Logan managed, surprise etched into his tone.

Siesta's fiancée smiled. "Logan Echolls! Hollywood. Somehow all the stories make sense now."

"When did you get back to the West Coast?"

"College. San Diego State. I stuck around after and met Tyler." She turned towards Siesta. "Logan and I dated a little in high school," she explained. "What a small world."

"Hannah Griffith?" Veronica choked out and the younger woman offered a smile.

"Nearly Barrett, but yes."

Veronica shot Logan a look and by the way he was casually glancing through the crowd she thought he must have been thinking along the same lines. He cleared his throat. "Siesta - Tyler - mentioned your dad was putting this on."

"Yeah, we kinda got roped into it," the other pilot confirmed. "You ever meet him?"

"Yep, and that is exactly the reason Veronica and I are gonna have to wish you guys a good night and head back to Neptune. Call it a bonus engagement gift."

Tyler tilted his head curiously. "Couldn't have been thatbad, Echolls."

"Oh it was."

"Remember the boyfriend from high school my parents shipped me to the East Coast because of?" Hannah asked and Tyler burst out laughing.

"That was you? Hell, Hollywood, you were wild."

"They were interesting days," Logan offered noncommittally. "I don't want to cause any drama or anything, so we'll just —"

"Don't be silly," Hannah cut him off. "My dad has already hijacked the party, we won't let him hijack the guest list too. We want you here."

Logan opened his mouth to argue and Siesta cut him off. "Nope. You don't get a say in it. For once I get to give you an order."

Veronica pulled in a breath. "I'll do what I can to keep him out of any serious trouble."

Siesta offered her a lopsided grin and a wink. "Counting on you, V."

Hannah laughed as he slung an arm around her shoulders and started them towards a far table to greet other guests. "If he gives you any trouble, let me know!" she shouted over her shoulder and they were gone.

Veronica looked over to Logan. "So, your wingman's engaged to the daughter of the man that tried to frame you for murder on behalf of the Fitzpatricks. The daughter you dated."

"Only in Neptune," he huffed. "And apparently Neptune's reach is growing to San Diego."

Veronica risked a glance over to where the willowy teenager turned beautiful woman greeted another member of Logan's squad and she knew it was going to be a long evening. "I need a drink."

"I think that can be arranged," Logan answered lightly and fell into step with her as she strode intentionally towards the bar.

-------

A couple of hours later Logan was happily surprised at the drama-free dinner. The focus remained on the happy couple - with a brief exception of Riley showing up alone and Kasper declaring the new girlfriend fictional until proven otherwise - and everyone was eating and drinking. Even Veronica seemed to be having a good time as she joined in the push on Riley for a name at the very least.

"You gotta be shitting me. I give this girl a name and she'll turn up with a full background check and surveillance," Riley laughed, taking a l by swig of his beer.

Veronica flashed a devilish grin. "Afraid what I'll find?"

"Afraid you'll scare her off," Logan's WSO answered and glanced past Veronica to Logan himself. "Any help, man?"

Logan snorted and reached for the bourbon in front of him. "I learned a long time ago I have no way to stop Veronica Mars once she's put her mind to something. Good luck, Riles."

The table erupted in laughter and Riley gave a dramatic sigh as Logan excused himself from the table, pressing a quick kiss to the side of Veronica's head before stepping away. He wound his way back towards the restrooms, but instinct flashed and he turned, already moving to block as a hand tried to close on his bicep. Tom Griffith stood there, a little startled by the fast reflexes, and Logan put half a step more distance between them as he squared his shoulders. He didn't think the man was foolish enough to take a swing at him, but he didn't want to risk it either. Not at Siesta and Hannah's engagement party.

"When my daughter told me she was marrying a Navy pilot, I was hesitant. The company he keeps, though —"

"A whole flight of steps up from your usual crowd," Logan popped back.

"I don't know how you know him or how you swung an invitation without my knowledge, but you need to go."

"My guess is he put us all down by call signs." Logan watched the meaning sink in.

"You're a pilot?"

"I'm Siesta's squad leader." Even after so many years, it felt good to watch the man squirm. It would have been one thing if Logan had just been a buddy, but there was no missing that the squad had a different sort of relationship with the groom-to-be than any of his other friends. There was a respect there that couldn't be beat.

"Does he know….?"

"That you lied and tried to set me up for murder at the request of a bunch of Irish drug peddlers?" Yep. There was something satisfying in that twitch just below his eye. "Not from me. If it's something he needs to know, my guess is Hannah will tell him."

Griffith took an aggressive step forward and Logan put his hands up, even as the other man took hold of the lapels on his coat. "You stay away from my daughter," he snarled.

"Dad!"

Griffith instantly released Logan and they both turned to see Hannah standing in the hall entrance. "Hannah—"

"Don't. You were the one that demanded we have this when all Tyler and I wanted was a few friends getting together. Logan's his guest - his friend- and I don't want you ruining this."

Logan blinked in surprise. It looked like sweet little Hannah had grown into a force to be reckoned with. Good for her.

Griffith looked like he might argue, but stopped last second. "It's your party, honey," he said flatly and started back down the hall to the main room.

Hannah waited until he was gone and loosed a sigh, turning back to Logan. "Tyler always described his buddy Hollywood as kind of a hothead, so I guess I should thank you for not punching my dad. He looked like he would have deserved it."

Logan shrugged and offered a lopsided smile. "I learned to pick my battles a little more carefully these days. Your dad would have deserved it, but you and Tyler don't." He nodded past her. "Veronica ever manage to get the name outta Riley?"

"Not yet, but she seems determined."

"She'll have it by the end of the night."

"That good, huh?"

"The best."

Hannah grinned at that. "Does that mean we'll be going to your engagement party sometime soon?"

Logan snorted a laugh. "She'd have to say yes first."

"You don't think she would?"

"It's… complicated. We love each other and we're in a good place. No reason to rock the boat yet."

"I forgot who I'm talking to," Hannah laughed.

"We'll get there. You picked yourself a good one, though, for whatever my opinion's worth."

"Sounds like you did too. Tyler adores her, and I think he's only met her once."

Logan offered a grin. "The guys all love her because she was able to clear my name when Carrie was murdered." He paused, shaking his head with a mirthless chuckle. "Also falsely accused then too. I guess I'm just an easy target to pin murder on."

"I'm not sure what that says about you," Hannah said with a small smile.

The quip just about danced off his tongue before he swallowed it back down. "I should let you get back to your party."

"You're not going, are you?"

"I'll be back out in a second. Gotta see just how hard Veronica's pushing for that name. Pretty sure some of the guys have money riding on it."

"I wouldn't bet against her," Hannah offered and Logan flashed a smile.

"Neither would I."

------

Veronica hadn't realized just how long Logan had been gone until she saw Tom Griffith slinking back into their corner of the restaurant like a dog with his tail between his legs. A quick glance showed Hannah was missing too and that Logan hadn't gotten caught talking to one of his fellow squad members.

"Hey," she called, nudging Dave Riley in the arm so that he turned to look at her.

"If you're going to try the direct approach again, still not going to work, V," he answered with a huff.

"No, I'm over that," she lied. "Did you see where Logan snuck off to?"

"Restroom, I think." He turned to look towards the hall and Veronica spotted his unprotected cell phone on the table next to him.

"Ten minutes ago. Here, watch my purse?" She flopped the small, black purse on the table over the phone and palmed the device in one smooth motion, taking it with her as she started towards the hall, hoping that Riley didn't realize what she was doing too soon and run after her. There was zero doubt in her mind that he could catch up to her while she was wearing heels and she was pretty sure that kicking them off and sprinting down the way would be frowned upon by the staff.

She made her escape and slipped into the hall, passing Hannah there. Veronica made it two steps past her and paused. "Did you see Logan?" she asked, turning.

Hannah gave a dainty little grimace. "He had a run in with my dad."

Veronica felt like someone had punched her. A run in? Oh no. That was…. Not good. She thought she would have heard a fight and Dr Griffith hadn't looked worse for wear, but if he'd cornered Logan, if he'd pushed the subject….

"Oh, no, everything's fine," Hannah laughed, and Veronica wondered just how pale she'd gotten in that half a moment. "It stopped before it went too far and Logan showed more restraint than Dad probably deserved."

Relief swept through her. "Sorry, I know that has to be awkward."

"It's worth it. I know how much Tyler respects him, and it's good to see Logan so…."

"Grown up?" Veronica offered.

Hannah shrugged. "He was living alone in a hotel when I knew him, so back then, to me, he was grown up. Definitely more than I was. I was going to say happy."

The door opened down the way and Logan sauntered out, adjusting the sleeves on his jacket and quirking an eyebrow at them both. "Hi?"

"I should get back out there. Good luck." The younger woman glanced down at the cell phone in Veronica's hand and Veronica tilted her head in question. How on earth did she know that wasn't hers?

"I may have mentioned that the guys have a bet going on how quick you're going to put a crack in Riles' secret," Logan answered the unasked question with a grin and came to stand directly in front of her.

"Oh yeah? What's on the table?"

"Paperwork. The worst part of the job."

She snorted a laugh. "And where did you place your bet?"

"With the winner, of course." He wrapped his arms loosely around her, his fingers laced loosely at the small of her back, and he leaned forward to press a kiss to the tip of her nose. "I would like to point out that Riley bet against you."

"That bastard. What do you say we show him?"

"Please do."

She grinned and didn't have to tip up on her toes too much to press a kiss against his lips before she pulled away to start working on the phone. It was password protected, but she'd been watching all evening. Riley had been careful at first, but the longer she went without actively pressing for the name and the more he drank, the less he watched her watching him. Finally, he'd slipped, and she'd managed to catch a glimpse of the code he typed in.

"How did he miss you taking his phone?"

"I put my purse on top of it."

"Good call."

Veronica started scrolling through recent calls and didn't have to go very far before she found a familiar name. "You don't have a Mac that you guys know, do you?"

Logan shook his head. "Not since OCS."

She clicked on the name and pulled up a picture of one of Veronica's best friends and…. Riley. The two of them were leaned in close and grinned up at the camera. "Oh."

"Huh," Logan agreed and they stood there for a long moment.

"Hey, you two," Siesta's voice drifted down the hall and he leaned around the corner. "Hurry up. They're toasting yours truly. Whatcha got?"

Logan grabbed the phone, putting it instantly to sleep. "Nothing," he answered with an innocent smile. "Be out in a sec."

Siesta shot them both a suspicious look but shrugged it off, leaving them alone in the hall, and Veronica shot her boyfriend a look. "Is it worth the paperwork to give them their privacy?"

"You willing to let them think you couldn't crack it?"

Veronica cringed at the idea, hating the idea, but it was quickly replaced by a smirk as she snagged the phone back, her fingers working quickly. "Most of them."

She ignored Logan's confused look as she started back out towards the table where they had been seated at the find Riley deep in conversation with one of the other aviators. He didn't glance up until she set his phone down in front of him. He stopped, started, and then turned towards her. "You stole my phone."

"You bet I did."

"You, uh… get into it?"

It was always interesting how quickly others seemed to pretend to busy themselves with anything else while still obviously eavesdropping. Thankfully someone was stepping up to the front - Siesta's brother, Veronica thought she remembered - to make a toast to the newly engaged couple and she and Logan were able to retake their seats. Riley reached for his phone and blinked hard at the background that was saved there. He turned, discreetly showing it to both Veronica and Logan who snorted a laugh behind her at the photo that had only been assigned to Mac's information before. Veronica offered a sly smile. "Your secret's safe with us, but only because it's her."

"And because she doesn't want to one-up the happy couple," Logan offered in a hushed tone.

"Yeah, sure. We'll say that too."

Riley rolled his eyes and turned intentionally back to the speaker, raising his glass and taking a deep swig of it.

Veronica raised her glass and cheered along with the rest of them before looking back to find the man she loved smiling, those soft brown eyes fixed on her in a way that made her heart stutter a little in her chest. Her lips parted slightly as they stretched, and she leaned back in her seat.

Someone else stepped up to talk about Hanna and Tyler and Veronica scooted her chair back a little so that Logan could stretch his arm across the back of it and she could lean into him. She felt his fingers ghosting against her bare shoulder and she felt a strange sense of peace sweep through her. In the midst of exes and past dangers, somehow the night had turned out… enjoyable. Fun, even. Almost like they'd grown and matured to the point that they could sidestep some of the dangers of their youth. It left them in a better place. A steadier place, and it left her feeling more secure than she knew how to comprehend. In that moment, she could almost see them doing this. Not at some fancy hotel restaurant, but somewhere quieter. Maybe at some campfire on the beach where their weird, patchwork group of friends could come together and remind both of them just how far they'd come and just how many odds that they'd beat. Maybe. Someday. For the first time Veronica found herself lingering on the idea and letting it play out, even if it was only in her own mind.

"You okay?"

She turned at his soft whisper and felt the smile tug at her a little more. "Yeah. I don't guess you ended up booking the hotel room here even though I told you not to worry about it?"

He shrugged. "Maybe."

Her smile broadened and she laced her fingers through his. "Good," she answered softly and watched his own smile echo hers as they relaxed into each other and listened to the toasts dedicated to the happy couple.