#fives is hughes too smart for his own good

[raphaerolo]

Art Wip Game

@artisticallyill you asked about the Battle Cody & Obi so here it is

This one is definitely a bad name. While technically accurate, it's not the defining thing about this. Battle Cody & Obi is the name of my drawing that is my Codywan FMAB AU. Truly the title says nothing, and idk what i was thinking when i named the drawing but it's my fmab au

Here's it is so far:

In this au, the jedi are the state alchemists, Obi-Wan is a general and a state alchemist and a highly revered one but I don't know what his alchemy specialization is yet. Cody is his right hand who watches his back and has several big guns and people are scared of him.

I imagine this drawing to be them fighting Maul, who would absolutely just set a bunch of things on fire, not even with alchemy but with straight up matches cuz he's petty like that and Cody and Obi-Wan are trapped by the fire and waiting to see where he strikes next.

When I was ideating this, I realized that their dynamic is already pretty similar to Mustang and Hawkeye, especially with the "we can't date cuz you're my superior officer/subordinate" and the "i will flirt with others as a tactical move but it's fake and the real adoration only comes out with you"

Find wip game post here

[project1939]

Day 45- Film: One Minute to Zero 

Release date: July 21st, 1952. 

Studio: RKO Pictures 

Genre: War 

Director: Tay Garnett 

Producer: Edmund Grainger, Howard Hughes 

Actors: Robert Mitchum, Ann Blyth, Charles McGraw, William Talman 

Plot Summary: Colonel Steve Janowski is in Korea training South Korean soldiers. While there, he meets Linda Day, a woman doing humanitarian work with the U.N., and a strong attraction is felt. When war suddenly breaks out, he forces Linda to get out of danger. The Allied troops fight desperately to get on the offensive, instead of only defending and retreating. 

My Rating (out of five stars): *** 

It took me at least 40 minutes to really get into this film, but once I did, it was worthwhile. I’m not someone who really enjoys war films, but there were some nice surprises in this that got me more invested in the story. 

The Good: 

Ann Blyth’s character Linda Day. She was mature, strong, and smart. As someone who loves Mildred Pierce so much I’ve seen it countless times, it was hard not to see Blyth as anything other than bad girl Veda! It took me awhile to settle into the fact that this was a different character, and she was not evil incarnate. Blyth’s maturity helped me switch gears, though. She definitely wasn’t playing a teenager here. 

I loved that when Mitchum asked her to marry him early on, she just came out and said, “We barely know each other! It’s too soon!” It also effectively showed her fear of not wanting to lose another husband in war, already being a widow from WWII. 

Robert Mitchum’s character actually admitted a few times that he was scared. I appreciated that a tough guy was able to express that openly to other men in a war film. And a Colonel, no less.

The film seemed to want to try to humanize the Korean people. We were encouraged to empathize with them and think about them as people with families and homes, etc. A lot of war films don’t attempt to really do that, especially if the people are of a different race. 

Robert Mitchum tried to sing a song in Japanese! His pronunciation wasn’t the best, but what do you expect? I could at least mostly tell what he was trying to sing. Refreshingly, he didn’t sing it to be “funny” and try to imitate Japanese people in a racist way. He was just trying to sing a song. 

We finally, after 44 films, got our first clearly queer-coded character! Now, it certainly wasn’t the most flattering portrait, but it was not a really negative one either. He was a character we were seemingly meant to feel some emotional affection for. As is often the case with male queer-coded characters, he was kind of comedic relief. He was an overweight baby-faced guy with an effeminate manner, and when asked if he had a girlfriend he said no immediately. One guy asked him incredulously, “How’d you ever get into this man’s army?” He replied that he signed up to be a cook!  

The fabulous flying footage and special effects. There was also real footage from the war, which was still going on when this was released. That added a lot to the drama as well.

The Bad: 

The plot was sometimes a little too unstructured. It kind of went from battle to battle, or altercation to altercation, and there wasn’t always a clear idea of what was happening or where things were headed overall. I appreciate that they didn’t spoon feed everything to us as an audience, but sometimes I felt impatient or disconnected from the plot. 

It could get a little propagandistic at times. Clearly the film was meant to show that the war was important, and we were the good guys. At one point, there was some interesting moral ambiguity over whether or not we should have sacrificed the lives of some Korean refugees to save some of our own soldiers. Linda was furious and heartbroken over it, but the film disappointingly tried to wave that all away just a little bit later. Linda totally changed her mind about the necessity of it when shown some of the bodies of dead American soldiers. I don’t have a problem at all with the argument, I just wished they could have allowed some ambiguity to remain. 

Some of the more cliched elements of war films didn’t really work for me. 

[bordeleaubeau]

my ex’s best friend - trevor zegras

wc: 4212

trigger warning: talks about the loss of a parent and being walked out on.

based on my ex’s best friend by blackbear and mgk:)

-

“god i cannot wait for jack to be here!” jordan gushes as she runs her hand through her hair, messing up her curls just enough. “it’s been so long, and i know he’s definitely gone to parties back in michigan, but college parties are so much more better. not that he’d know that though.”

you laugh louder than you mean to, but you can’t help but agree with your best friend. jack and you had grown up together in michigan and you were so close that you were basically ellen’s honorary daughter. it also helped you had played for little caesars girl’s team, so you’d occasionally see the youngest hughes every now and then. with that, you got a scholarship offer from harvard and the rest was history.

now, this is where things get more interesting. you introduced jordan and jack, instantly thinking that jordan would be nothing other than a hookup. but jack had taken a serious liking to her and vice versa, which eventually led to them dating after just two months of them knowing each other.

and now here you were, standing in your best friend’s boston university dorm room waiting for your childhood best friend to arrive for the start of his road trip. “he should be here any minute now, jo. newark isn’t that far and-”

you’re cut off by a squeal coming from the brunette, and she’s popping up from her bed. “he’s here!” and just like that, she’s gone and leaving you to sprint after her down the hall to let jack into the building.

you’re laughing following after, no doubt driving the people on the floor below you insane by the sounds of your feet thudding against the carpeted floor. the two of you race down the stairwell until jordan throws open the side door where the first overall stood, a glowing smile on his face at the sight of his two girls.

you stand back, allowing jack and jordan a moment. the two exchange a few words followed by a brief peck to the lips before they release each other from their hold. then it’s your turn, and you’re smiling as you wrap your arms around jack.

“hi jacky,” you mumble into his chest, feeling him quickly kiss the top of your head.

“hey kid, how’ve you been holding up?” god, you wish you didn’t know what he was referring to. but you knew right away.

behind you, jordan is frantically shaking her head with wide eyes trying to take away from the topic. you draw away from jack, trying to find the words. “it still, it still hurts, i guess. but i’m okay, promise.” you give jack a weak smile, one you know he sees right through seeing as he knew you for almost all your life. “are we gonna go or what?”

“yeah jacky, i think it’s time you experience a real party, not one of those dumb little high school parties.” jordan teases her boyfriend and you smile, watching as she links her arm with his. “plus, y/n goes to that smart person school that like, no one has ever heard of before and i heard they don’t know how to have a proper party.” she throws you a smile over her shoulder and you roll your eyes with a smile on your face. if anyone could poke fun at you like that, it was jordan. jordan and jack. and that’s why they made such a perfect couple - jordan was just like jack, so when you didn’t have jack you pretty much had the girl version of him right at your own disposal.

the three of you walk towards where the party of the night is at, letting jordan lead the way seeing as she was the only one that knew where she was going. you knew you’d definitely have a few friends there, and some old ones as well.

“is uh, is you know who going to be there?” you hear jack quietly ask and you swallow hard. you knew he was just trying to be nice by not saying his name, but not saying it only made it feel more real.

“um, i don’t know. i don’t think so. i talked to dom in econ today, they had a big game tonight so they’re probably tired. but i’m not sure, i haven’t talked to him in the past few days.” you cross your arms over your chest, looking to the right towards the street to try and blink the building tears in your eyes away. you shouldn’t feel this way. it was your fault anyway. right?

you keep quiet, trying to distract yourself in any way you possibly could. what you had said was true - you did prefer bu’s parties to harvard’s. there was something about going to a party and being that mysterious girl that could hook up with any guy and him not know anything about you. he couldn’t find you in classes if he was that interested. you couldn’t exactly do that at harvard, being so well known on both campus and the ice.

maybe that was what you needed. a distraction for the night. you were certainly dressed to earn some turned heads, and you were sure you were going to end up using that to your advantage at some point that night.

the three of you walk into the party a few minutes later and right away you have a bad feeling. at that moment you feel like you should trust your gut and just walk away, but you know you can’t just ditch your best friends like that.

jordan turns, yelling over the music. “what do you want to drink? whiteclaw good? me and jack will grab it and then we can all meet up by the living room?”

you nod, giving her a thumbs up not exactly feeling up to yelling over the music. you already felt sick to your stomach, and you weren’t sure the effects of the alcohol would help with this one.

“y/n!” you hear your name being yelled and you quickly turn to see a familiar blonde, and a smile graces your face.

“hey ry!” you move in to hug her, your arms wrapping around her quickly. you met ryley through jordan, of course, and she had to be one of the sweetest girls you had ever met. she was always willing to go the extra mile if necessary. “how’ve you been, babe?”

she shrugs, followed by an exaggerated eye roll. “same old same old. you know how it is. but how are you? you look hot by the way! i’ve already seen like, five guys that can’t keep their eyes off you!”

“i’m doing alright, just waiting for jack and jo. jack’s in town to play the bruins, so he came up for the night to see jo.” ryley nods along with your words, and before she can respond you see jack and jordan walking up from behind, two white cans in jordan’s hands and a giddy smile on her face.

“ryley!” jordan squeals, throwing her arms around the blonde. “ryley you’ve met jack before. don’t have to worry about that one.” you let out a laugh and jordan hands you the mango flavored seltzer and you thank her. “i think jack and i are gonna go play beer pong if you wanna find a partner and play us?”

you purse your lips, trying to think for a second before you ultimately decide to shake your head. “nah, i’m all good. i might play later though.”

“come dance with me and some of the girls then!” ryley smiles, gesturing her head towards the living room where there are plenty of sweaty bodies dancing on one another. you nod your head, accepting her offer.

“i’ll find you in a bit jo! go have fun you two.” jordan smiles at you, blowing you a fake kiss before she pulls jack towards one of the back rooms where you’re sure she’s already scoped out a beer pong table.

you know pretty much all the girls that are all dancing together - there’s amber, then there’s hayden, bella, and then maddie. all fairly sweet girls that you had had multiple encounters with and they were friendly each and every time.

“hi y/n!” bella grins, grabbing your hand and pulling you right into their little group. she glances down at your hand and she gives you a look. “honey you haven’t even-” she stops herself, grabbing your whiteclaw right out of your hand and she cracks it open. “just for that you’ve gotta chug, babe. sorry i don’t make the rules. you’re already slacking.”

“bella!” you laugh, most of it being drowned out by whatever soundcloud remix was being played, but nonetheless you still take the can from her and lift it to your lips, tilting your head back as you drink as much of it as you possibly can.

“that’s our girl!” ryley cheers you on, along with the other girls, and as soon as you empty the contents of your can you’re in a fit of giggles, shaking your head at the girls in front of you.

“you guys are too much, i swear.” you say, setting the empty can on a table behind you that was already littered with plenty of cans. one extra wouldn’t hurt. “you guys are so much better than my harvard friends.”

“which is exactly why you should transfer!” maddie exclaims, her hands going up to emphasize her statement along with a smile.

you jut your bottom lip out, and before you can say anything ryley beats you to it. “she plays a sport, mads. it’s not exactly that easy.”

“nu uh! wait a damn minute, but didn’t you have an offer from bu?” bella puts her hands on her hips, raising one of her eyebrows at you, and you can’t help but laugh at the feeling of being interrogated. if only they knew the whole story.

“i go to harvard solely for hockey. i can’t help that i liked harvard’s staff and coaches better than bu’s!” you defend yourself, but bella isn’t having any of it as she raises one of her hands to your face. “bella, come on.”

“no, no, i don’t wanna hear it. wanted to go to school with snobby rich kids instead of snobby cool kids! i get it!” all four of you are laughing, but it’s probably the alcohol making the situation funnier than it actually was.

you give bella a quick look, “if i wanted to go to school with snobby cool kids then i would’ve gone to bc.” your fit of laughter only intensifies at the look of pure betrayal. bella raises her hand, finger pointing behind your shoulder.

“the door is that way. i think you got lost. don’t let the door hit you on the way out, y/n. actually, i hope it hits you. maybe it’ll knock some sense into your head.” you can only giggle, and it only takes a few seconds before bella’s mean facade falls and she’s laughing as well.

“bel, come with me to grab another drink.” you gesture for her to follow you and she does, singing loudly - and poorly - to ucla. you only join in with her, laughing as the two of you make your way into the backyard where the coolers were. “god, it feels so much better out here.” you grumble, opening one and grabbing a whiteclaw for bella before grabbing one for yourself.

“we can stay out here for a bit, i don’t mind.” bella says, cracking the top of her can and taking a quick sip. “how have you been? after the whole… yeah. and with jack being here, i wasn’t sure if-“

you cut her off and shake her head. “i’m okay. everyone thinks i’m not okay but i, i am. we weren’t together long anyway.”

bella’s eyebrows raise, “y/n. you and trevor were together for over a year, it’s okay if you’re upset! no one would blame you, not one bit. besides, you were really happy with him. everyone wanted to be you two.” you purse your lips, eyes glued to the ground. you met bella the week of the break up, when everything went down, and you had spilled practically everything to her, maddie, hayden, and ryley. and of course jordan.

“i promise bel, i’m doing good. never been better, actually. might just go and hook up with one of his teammates if one’s here, honestly.” bella laughs, nodding her head to agree with your statement. “let's go back in. we’re probably missing, honestly god knows what.”

you go to walk in the house, but bella grabs your wrist to pull you back. “seriously, y/n/n. if you ever need to talk, and you can’t tell jordan because of jack being friends with him, please just know i’m here. right across the river, quite literally, too.” she gives you a soft smile, one that you return.

“thank you bel, i appreciate it.” with one last smile the two of you walk back into the house. “i’m gonna use the bathroom, but i’ll be right back, okay?”

bella nods and the two of you disperse, you heading one way and her the other towards the living room. you end up in the back room, walking towards where you’re assuming the bathroom is, but get stopped by jordan who’s hanging off jack’s arm. “oh y/n/n!” your best friend sings. “dom needs a beer pong partner and i think that you’re the perfect candidate!” she slurs ever so slightly, leaning more into jack. part of you wants to decline, but dom is giving you a cute smile that you just can’t ignore.

“fine.” you sigh, walking over to the table, “long time no see, dom. thought you guys had a game tonight?”

dom shrugs, “we won, so some of us decided to come out and celebrate. probably won’t stay out for too long, you know?” you nod along with him, taking a sip of your drink.

“i get it. and i don’t blame you. i’m dead after games, so kudos to you.” dom chuckles, motioning towards the table.

“we’ve got to come see a game some time. heard you guys aren’t half bad.” you nearly choke on your drink from trying to hold your laugh in, which just makes dom laugh. “what! i’m telling the truth!”

“not as good as bu, that’s for sure. so you’re funny, fensore.” you smile into your drink, eyes glancing behind jordan’s shoulder, and that’s where your entire world comes crashing down.

the second dom said some of the guys were here, you should’ve automatically assumed he’d be here. that’s just the type of guy trevor was - big win? celebrate with a party and end up getting laid by the end of the night. you weren’t surprised.

your initial glance turns into a full on stare, and trevor must feel it. he looks over the shoulder of whoever he’s talking to and his eyes meet yours - and the words you never spoke? he could see them in your eyes. everything you never said was practically laid right out on the table.

-

“i swear to god, i never fall in love, but, but then you showed up and i can’t get enough of it.” trevor’s words make you freeze, and upon feeling your body go stiff on top of him his hand that’s running up and down your side freezes as well. “y/n?”

“what did, what did you say, trevor?” you ask, picking your head up to look down at the brunette, a look of pure confusion on his face. the poor boy had no idea what he had done wrong - he didn’t think he had done anything wrong in fact.

trevor swallows hard, sitting up more so his back is resting against the wall of your dorm room. “i said that i love you, y/n.” he lets out a soft chuckle. “i thought that was obvious by now, i mean, we’ve been together all this time and i just-”

“we weren’t official for a few good months, trev,” you shake your head as you speak. “and that was because of you. you didn’t want to be official for like, five months.”

“which is -” he cuts himself off. “i don’t even know what’s going on. do you not believe me? what’s the deal here? because the fact we’ve been together this long and this is the first time i’m saying it, the first girl i’m ever saying it to, that should just support everything.”

you just couldn’t get yourself to say it. internally, you knew that every single bone in your body was desperately in love with trevor zegras. dozens of journal pages had ink scrawled on them, gushing in detail about all the lovely things he had done for you that day. but mentally? mentally you couldn’t let yourself believe you loved him. you couldn’t give him the willpower to absolutely destroy you if he ever so pleased. not after your family had come crashing down, and especially not after your mother had walked out. how could a mother walk out on her own blood that easily? her own child, that she claimed that she loved with all her heart.

“y/n do you not, do you not love me?” the pain in his eyes absolutely shattered you and had your heart aching. you wanted to tell him. but you couldn’t form the words. your silence, however, spoke volumes and trevor nods. “i can’t be with you, then.” he scoffs, shaking his head. “i can’t be with someone that doesn’t love me. not when i’ve put all my energy and love into them, and i’m, and i’m not getting any of that in return.”

“trevor i’m sorry.” those weren’t the three words he wanted to hear. they were three words, of course. but they weren’t the right ones. it’s a miracle you can even apologize to him, voice cracking as the tears form in your eyes.

trevor shakes his head, pushing himself up from your bed. “i’m done. i’ll see you around, y/n.”

-

you stumble backwards a few steps before completely turning around and leaving the room quickly, the sounds of all three of your friends calling after you drowned out by the ringing in your ears.

you see bella and ryley start after you, but you make a b-line for the backyard in an effort to try and ditch some of your friends that you knew were most likely trying to follow you out. but you weren’t sure if you could handle that, and you sure as hell were sure you wouldn’t be able to handle the breakdown that was about to happen.

as soon as you’re outside you lose it. you’re bawling right away, and you’re sure those around you thought you may be absolutely insane for breaking down in tears that quickly. your vision is blurred, but you see a figure walking towards you. you may not be able to make the figure out, but as soon as they pull you into their chest you know who it is.

“shh, you’re okay, y/n. i’ve got you, okay?” jack coos quietly, his hand combing through your hair trying desperately to calm you down. “i’ve got you, i promise. god i’m, i’m so sorry. we didn’t know trevor would be here. jo didn’t realize he was right there either, y/n/n.”

you can’t get any words out, sobs wrecking your entire body as you cry into jack’s chest. all he can do is run his hand down your back and try to reassure you that you’re okay, but it would take a lot more than that.

“y/n can we talk?” your whole body goes rigid and jack’s hand on your back freezes. you pull away from him, looking over his shoulder to see trevor. when he sees your tear stricken face, his eyes soften. “please. can we talk.”

jack looks down at you, a questioning look on his face asking if it’s okay. you nod, and jack presses a kiss to your head. “i’ll be right inside if you need me.” once again, you nod, and jack gives you one last squeeze before he’s walking inside. right away you cross your arms over your stomach, suddenly feeling chilly and more exposed than you had inside. your cropped cami and ripped jeans weren’t doing it anymore.

trevor hesitates, his lips pursing for a second as he steps a few feet forward. he’s trying to find the words to say, and finally, he lets them out. “jordan told me.” you take in a sharp breath, feeling your bottom lip start to tremble, trevor takes a few steps forward, and you let him wrap his arms around you. “i’m so sorry, god i am so, so sorry, y/n. i was a dick, i should have talked to you about it before just breaking up with you, i just, god i’m so sorry.”

you melt into him, arms slowly wrapping around his torso as you cry against him. his voice is genuine and sincere. you nod against him, letting him know that you’re okay - as good as you can be - and to let him know it’s okay.

“can we go talk? somewhere in private? i was just about to go back to my dorm if you’d wanna come.” you were lying if you’d say you weren’t hesitant. because you were. it was probably going to be a bad idea, but nonetheless you go against your better judgement.

“yeah. yeah that’s okay.” you manager to croak out and pull away from trevor’s chest. you don’t get very far however, his hands go to your cheeks and his thumbs run underneath your eyes to catch any tears.

trevor then lets his hand fall to yours, intertwining your fingers and pulling you into the house. “we’re gonna go back to my dorm, to talk.” trevor says, looking at jack. his eyes move over to yours, silently asking you if it’s okay with you.

“it’s okay, j,” you reassure him. “we’ll see you guys tomorrow or something, okay?” jordan and jack both nod, and trevor is leading you out of the house towards the street.

it’s quiet for a few moments, and you don’t blame him. it’s the first time other than social media that you’ve seen him in four months and it wasn’t necessarily under the best conditions. you would’ve liked it to not be at a party - but it is what it is.

“i understand why you didn’t tell me, y/n.” trevor breaks the silence, and you glance over at him to see him staring straight ahead. “and i don’t blame you for it, either. i knew your mom wasn’t in your life, and of course i didn’t want to ask why. but i wish you had told me. god i just, i want to show you the love you deserve, y/n. i want to love you. i do love you. i just, i need to prove that to you and i’ll take as long as it takes.”

you squeeze trevor’s hand, and you’re thankful that trevor’s dorm is only right down the street. the night is chillier than it was when you first left for the party and you were cursing yourself for not bringing a jacket. “i know you do. i just, i panicked. you’re the first boy i was ever serious with, and no one other than my parents and friends of course told me they loved me. i never felt like i was capable of love, because, how could my own mom claim that she loved me, but then one day just disappeared from my life? her own child. that she gave birth to. she never loved me, trev. not if she did that.

“then it’s her loss, isn’t it? wherever she is, she’s gonna see your name, y/n m/n. she’s gonna see the amazing, incredible, phenomenal girl that you’ve become. the same girl that’s going to change the world some day. and i hope she’s kicking herself everyday for walking out on you and your dad, but god you guys are so much better without her in your lives. i love you, y/n. i never stopped.” trevor halts in his tracks, making you come to a stop as well. “and i want you. i want all of you. your good days, your bad days, the days you don’t feel lovable. and it is perfectly okay if you don’t say you love me back, because we can work on that. i’ll stay. i promise. you have my word.

you practically throw yourself into his chest, arms wrapping around his neck and your fingers curling in his hair. “i’m gonna hold you to this, z.”

“do you wanna stay the night?” he asks quietly, his hand running through your hair. “we can do more talking, if you’d like. i’ll listen to anything you have to say.”

“i’d like that, trev. i’d like that a lot.” you answer quietly, looking up at the boy that’s already looking down at you.

the boy that you love.

[loudsuitlover]

Would you write a blurb about their honeymoon or just about a day with their kids ?🥰

A/N: I chose the second one, hoped you like it! xx

Toddlers make everything look huge because they are so tiny so their little hands would hold apples and have them look like melons. Dylan wasn’t as tiny anymore, he was five years old, three months from turning six but in Blue’s eyes, he was still a tiny piece of cotton to hold and protect. 

He was colouring on the table while his daddy set the new stereo he had gotten for their movie nights and he was very focused on not colouring out of the lines because at school he had noticed, his colourings got better marking when he didn’t colour out of the lines, and even though this time the lines he had drew them himself, he still wanted to respect every single one of them. 

Mummy was doing laundry minding baby Annie and Hughie was down for a nap. It was a Sunday, so Nana was having dinner with them, but mummy and daddy were in homeware and Dylan didn’t knew, but he loved this moments because these were the moments were mummy and daddy were just mummy and daddy, and they weren’t anybody’s doctor and he didn’t have to share. 

“Daddy” 

His dad didn’t look at him because he knew his son wasn’t looking at him either. He would do that quite a lot, when he was colouring or when he was building with Lego; he would just start a conversation while being in his own head and Harry felt lucky that his son would let him have a glance at his little, magic mind. He shared a lot with Blue- he shared everything with Blue- but then again, Harry had been a mummy’s boy himself, so he couldn’t get any hard feelings with his own son for that. If he were a boy, he would choose Blue over him too. 

“Yes, honey?” 

“I was very scared.” 

In that moment he turned around and his green eyes searched for his kid’s but he wasn’t yet looking at him. It surprised him then, how calmed he looked- how much he looked like Blue- and how he was focused on his drawing and his little nut nose wasn’t wrinkled and his frown wasn’t troubled. 

He knew he meant three nights ago, when Hughie had had a seizure because of the fever because their two older babies had gotten a cold. They always got sick together. He sighed. 

Blue had heard their interaction, not because she meant to eavesdropped, but because she had put Anie down and she had found a lego Dylan had lost under her cot and she wanted to bring it back to him for she knew it would make him happy but she hadn’t want to interrupt the father-son moment. 

She also knew, Harry was a lot better with words than she was- he was also a lot better at cuddles, she figured- but she loved to hear him talk to their kids for she loved the way he was trying to raise them. It was mostly on love, they had both agreed that- that they would always wrapped their children in love and that was the only thing that could never ever be missing for food could miss if they struggled, even a roof could miss but love? Love will always be there for their children to feel. And she admired the way Harry thought, she had always admired that, but the way he tried to guide his kids... She was at awe with that and that’s why she felt so at ease, because if anything were to happen to her; she would leave her babies with the best person in the world. 

“You were?” 

Dylan hummed and a smirk found its way on Blue’s hidden face for she found it a very adult-like hum and she felt her heart beating hard with pride. Harry always said Dylan was a male mini-Blue, that he thought like her and talked like her and even walked like her so she always felt a weird pride with every little thing he did. 

It’s not that he was her favourite child. There was not such thing. She could never choose, because Dylan was so much like her, but Hughie was so much like Harry and she loved Harry... Hughie was dorky and funny, a people’s person, a real showman. He was a little distracted, sometimes even a little rough- just as his father was too straightforward sometimes- but he had the kindest little soul, and he would care and protect those he loved like a lion. And baby Anie... What was there not to love? They didn’t really know her yet because she was just a baby but they knew she liked Elvis and daddy and spending time with the boys. 

“And how did you know you were scared?” Harry asked him. 

That had him thinking. He stopped colouring then and his little hand held the colour crayon as he frowned and thought back of that night. How had he known he was scared? What was it that give the feeling away? He swallowed. 

“My heart was beating faster” He decided “but I didn’t like it.” 

“Was that the first time you had been scared?” 

“No.” He shook his head. “But I had never been scared for Hugh.” 

Harry nodded then. Hughie was tougher than Dylan. Harry had seen them playing on the park with other kids and he had seen Hughie protecting his older brother sometimes so he understood what he meant. 

“Well, honey, there’s nothing wrong with being scared. Fear really is just self-protection, you know? We get scared because we think something is going to happen that’s going to hurt us or the ones we love and that’s good because sometimes it’s true and we can prevent it from happening, you know? Most times, however, fear is just in our heads so” 

Harry got down from the stool he had been stading to reach the stereo better and took a seat next to his son on the table. The boy looked at his dad once before he got back to his colouring. Green eyes set on the piece of paper and they travel across the figure of a woman in white that kneels on the bed of a boy dressed in a superhero costume. He notices the sharks under her legs too and the blue birds surrounding her but how neither of them, nor the bad sharks nor the inocent birds, seem to mind her. 

“Is that mummy?”  

Dylan nodded and Harry smirked. 

“She wasn’t scared.” Dylan noted. “She saved him and then she made chocolate milk for the two of us and cuddled me.” 

Blue felt her heart swoon and her eyes getting teary. She probably should have explained better, even though she did explain to Dylan what had happened and what she had done, but the little boy still thought she had saved his brother, and she didn’t really feel worth it of that word. 

“Mummy’s really brave, isn’t she?” Harry asked. 

And Dylan nodded. 

“She’s braver than me.” 

“She’s braver than me too.” Harry chuckled and his son looked up at him with a frown. 

Was he being serious or was he messing with him? Daddy knew everything too and Mummy was very brave but Daddy was the most brave and Mummy always waited for him to go to bed because she slept better when Daddy was home. She always said that... And Mummy curled up to Daddy when there was thunder outside like they did to her and Daddy held Mummy when she cried so Daddy must be the most brave of them five. 

“But you know, Mummy’s scared sometimes too.” 

“Do you think so?” His son challenged. 

“I know so.” Harry shrugged. “She was really scared once when you were younger because you had hit your head at uncle’s Rio’s house and she didn’t know how it had exactly happened so she was very scared that you had hurt yourself really bad.” 

“But I didn’t?” 

Harry chuckled.

“No, you didn’t.” 

“So she was scared for me, like I was scared for Hugh.” 

“That’s right.” His dad nodded. “I reckon that’s the only thing that can really scare Mummy, something happening to us four or Uncle Rio or Aunty Coco or Aunty Gemma or Nana or Abuela, you know.” 

“You too, daddy?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Mummy is scared for you too?” 

His son’s question took him off guard. What was he doubting here? 

“Well, yeah.” He chuckled. “Mummy loves me quite a bit too, you know? It’s not just you, little chipmunks.” 

Dylan giggled at his daddy’s tickles but he already knew that. What had surprised him was that his mummy would be protective of Daddy too because Daddy was who protected them all and he had never been afraid of anything happening to Daddy so it surprised him that Mummy would be. Mummy seemed rather smart... 

“But the important thing, Dy, is that you know when you’re scared and that’s great, you know why?” 

“Because if I know what’s wrong, I can change it.” The little boy repeated his daddy’s teaching and the man smiled, as proud as amazed at his intelligence. 

“Exactly, and because you helped Hughie too, you know? You got scared so you called for Mummy and then Mummy could help him. If you hadn’t called Mummy, then maybe Mummy wouldn’t know.” Harry shrugged. “So see? Fear was a good thing then, wasn’t it?” 

Dylan seemed to consider it. He hadn’t felt good that night. He cried and he felt a heavy weight on his chest and his belly turning upside down and his pulse on his wrists and he didn’t like that. But he supposed... Maybe Daddy was right. Mummy did came to help Hughie. 

“And you know why Mummy wasn’t scared and you were?” Dylan shook his head. “Not because Mummy was bravest but because Mummy knew what was happening, because Mummy is a doctor, and you didn’t. That’s why.” 

Dylan nodded. That made sense. Daddy always made sense, except when he watched the Packers. 

“So next time you’re scared, you need to ask yourself- wait, why am I scared? And then you do what you have to do, okay?” 

Dylan nodded. 

“Okay.” 

In a second he got on his knees on his chair and wrapped his small arms around his daddy’s neck. 

“Thank you, daddy.” 

“No problem, baby.” 

“And daddy, is that going to happen to Hugh again?” 

“I don’t know, it might. But that’s okay, we know what to do.” 

“But... Hughie is okay... right?” 

“Sure, love, he’ll be fine. He just got the cold worse than you did. But he’ll be alright. Don’t worry.” 

“Okay.” 

“Now, shall we see if Daddy figure to connect the right wires for the stereo?” 

With that he got up from the table and turned back around so he could turn the stereo on and a few seconds later, after Blue had picked her heart up from the floor and had set it back on her ribcage, she thought it was a good time to give Dylan his lego construction. 

She set it on the table in front of him before either of them noticed her presence and the little boy jumped in his seat in excitement. 

“Yeah, baby!” He celebrated, making both his parents laugh. “You found it! Mummy, you’re the best!” 

“Thank you, lovely.” 

“Mummy, look! It’s for Hugh but this is you. See? I painted her lips pink like you like.” 

“Oh, thank you, love! This is such a great drawning! Look at these birds! They’re so gorgeous, and these sharks, baby, they’re very scary! You’re such a good drawer, Dy! And you didn’t colour out of the lines at all! Hughie is going to love it.” 

“Is he up?” 

His hazel eyes looked up at her with hope and will but she shook her head and kissed his hairline when softly The Crystals started playing from the stereo. 

“Oh, well, you did it!” She celebrated. 

Her husband gave her a cheeky grin over his shoulder and having their child on her hands, she still felt her heart skipping a beat at that spark of his, like from the fifties and she wanted to laugh at herself. 

“What? Did you come here to dance? Just when the stereo is playing, she appears out the door...” He teased her, making her giggle stupidly. 

“Well, I didn’t originally. But I’d never say no to dancing with my favourite man on Earth so... Can I have this dance, Dy?” 

Harry smirked but brought a hand to his heart and pretended to have been shot and Dylan giggled at his mummy’s antics as she picked him up from the chair and danced with him before they all heard baby Anie calling. 

“Oh, that’s my call, like Cinderella.” She giggled and set the boy back in the table, pressing another kiss to his head before she rushed outside. 

“Don’t forget your slipper, princess.” Her husband called after her making her giggle again. 

He still chuckled after she had disappeared and his boy, still at the table, was gathering his crayons and keeping them on his pencil case.

“Daddy,” He spoke again “do you like Mummy?” 

He had to laugh. He turned his body to the side so he was facing his kid and the little boy challenged him with the sterness of his mother’s hazel eyes. 

“What do you mean if I like Mummy? I love Mummy. I’m married to her.” 

He shrugged. 

“I just thought you liked Mummy because Mrs Mars said when people like someone, they might make jokes but they always treat that person especially good.” 

“That is true.” Harry nodded. 

“So I thought you liked Mummy because you called her princess and that was a joke but you always make her breakfast and you hug her and you always let her have the new blanket and you say nice things to her too like how good she smells or how pretty she is.” 

Harry smirked at his son’s appreciations. He didn’t know he had been watching him but he found it endearing. And he did always let Blue have the new blanket, because she was always colder than he was, and he liked hugging her, that was true. 

“Well, you caught me. I do like Mummy. A lot.” He played. 

Dylan nodded with an eyebrow cocked as if saying, you’re telling me... And Harry tried his best not to laugh as he watched his little smarty pants keeping his pencils in his red pencil-case. 

“Don’t worry, Daddy. Mummy likes you too.” 

“You reckon she does?” He grinned. 

“I think yes. She always serves your plate before she serves hers and the other day she bought you a sweater because she heard you say you were cold at work so she doesn’t want you to be cold and she always laugh at your jokes and he says you’re very handsome all the time.”

“She laughs at my jokes because my jokes are good.” He defended. 

“Aunty Gemma says they aren’t.” He confessed. His hazel eyes found his daddy’s. “Daddy, I told her I think they are but I lied.” 

And he was apologizing for it, Harry wasn’t sure whether he was sorry for having lied or if he was sorry that he didn’t really find them funny but he couldn’t help himself when he squeezed his son against his chest in endless love and admiration. 

“I love you so much, Dy.” Harry chuckled. 

“I love you too, Daddy.” Then his little hands cup Harry’s cheeks and he held his dad’s face close to his. “Daddy, your jokes are good.” 

And he laughed again until someone ringed the bell. 

“Nana!” Dylan’s eyes opened as he jumped off his dad’s embrace and ran to the door. 

And as he made his way to the door himself, he stopped you on the corridor with a firm grip on your hips with both hands and you smiled at him with baby Anie on your waist. 

“Hey, Blue, our son thinks we like each other.” 

She frowned amused but she thought she knew where that came from because she had picked him from school on friday and he had told her about what Mrs Mars had said about liking someone when a girl from class had told another that Bryce pulled from her piggy tails because he liked her. 

“Maybe I should take you on a date or something...” He joked. 

“Maybe you should.” She smiled. “Because, yeah, I do like you.” 

He captured her lips with his on an amused kiss. 

“Yeah, I kinda like you too.” 

[trillian-anders]

the assistant

pairing: ransom drysdale x reader

warnings: violence, angst, fluff, smut && SPOILERS

word count: 6.8k

description: part 1 of 5. CONTAINS MAJOR SPOILERS, PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVE NOT WATCHED THE FILM. you’ve been working for the thrombeys for four years now, the last three years of your service being a glorified babysitter to the most annoying, self-absorbed, dickhead hugh ransom drysdale.

You wanted to smack that dumb smirk off his stupid dumb face. 

Hugh Ransom Drysdale. The bane of your fucking existence. Standing there with that stupid fucking smirk on his face, he fucking loved this. Watching as you cleaned up his mess. A crying girl on his doorstep and you, his assistant (aka babysitter), trying to calm her down enough to get her to leave his house. This dumb contemporary floor to ceiling windowed, minimalist, empty souled house. The girl had been picked up at a bar last night. Charmed by his handsome face, the money he was careless to spend, the way he spoke to you like you were the most beautiful thing in the world. 

It was a fucking joke. A trick. You’ve seen it a million times and you’d be willing you bet that you’d see it a million more. 

The door blocked her view of him, your clear view of him from the side, sipping on a mug of coffee in his hands and fucking smirking. 

“He won't even see me?” You hated when they cried. Like each of them had this idea that they’d go home with Ransom Drysdale and fuck him so good that he’d tie them to his bed and never let them leave or something. 

You sighed heavily before replying, “Mr. Drysdale has business to attend to, he’s unavailable at the moment, but I can leave him a message if you’d like?” You did this maybe five or six times a week. In the early morning hours, after his sexual escapade and some rest, Ransom would wake early and leave for the gym. In that time you were supposed to ‘take out the trash’ as he described it. This morning, the girl left dazed and confused in the fog taking an uber back to her home, but returning an hour later trying to plead her case. It was giving you a migraine. 

The girl stepped back from the porch, shoes crunching against the gravel as she searched the windows for his face. “FUCK YOU RANSOM.” She shouted, flipping the bird into the air. The man hiding to your right, choked on his coffee in laughter as you watched the girl get back into her car and disappear from sight. 

“What's on the agenda today Ransom,” You shut the door quietly, turning to face him, “Because if I have to do that again tomorrow I’ll quit.” He scoffed in indignation. 

“You’re not gonna quit,” He drained the rest of his mug, “You can’t even leave the house long as you got that.” He gestured towards your leg. Sitting firmly on your right ankle was a house arrest bracelet. One meant for him, but carefully bribed into being put on your own leg. The stupid son of a bitch got away with murder, after the death of his late Grandfather’s housekeeper by his own hand and the attempted murder of the girl that got the entire Thrombey fortune, he stayed the lucky son of a bitch he had been his entire life. 

Evidence was mishandled, not enough proof. That whole, ‘beyond reasonable doubt’ thing. The rich asshole got fucking house arrest and court mandated therapy. Even after there were three fucking witnesses to him attempting to murder Marta Cabrera. 

Money oiled the gears of the justice system, letting the trust fund baby slip through without consequence. That’s where you come in. 

You worked for the Thrombey’s before. As a tutor to Meg when she began to fail her english class. For whatever reason, Lynda and Richard Drysdale liked you, assigned you a new task. Their sweet baby boy Hugh, called Ransom by everyone but the Help. You’ve worked for Ransom for three years now. The first year before the death of his Grandfather and Thrombey patriarch, and now two years after his death and wouldn’t you know it. Hugh Ransom Drysdale wrote a fucking bestseller. 

Everyone wanted an insight into this family. Harlan Thrombey always said there was so much of him in Ransom. He wasn’t lying. 

Ransom wrote the first of what you knew would be many new Thrombey family murder mystery novels. And he was reaping in the cash. He was two months away from his next big release. Something you’re sure would fly off the shelves just as quickly as the first. 

“Don’t worry,” He said, “I’ve got a deadline to meet.” His coffee mug abandoned by the front door for you to clean up, he left you to officially start your day. He retreated into the study he created for himself to crank out the last four chapters he needed for his book, maybe. 

Due to circumstances beyond your control, you were the one placed on house arrest. As long as no one was notified that Ransom left the perimeter of the house you were being paid well, and you being paid well meant your younger sister gets taken care of. You were able to send her money every month to help with the fact that she was staying with an estranged aunt. It hadn’t been easy once your mother died, but the Thrombey’s lighten the load so to say. 

That’s why you were washing Ransom’s sheets that reeked of sex, picking up and disposing of torn panties and tossing used condoms the fucking dick couldn’t be bothered enough to toss two more feet into the trash can in his on-suite. You’d invested in rubber gloves. 

On days that Ransom had to meet with his probation officer he would wear a dummy bracelet. It got him by and soon the fucker would be over and done with house arrest all together. You’d be able to move back home then. Hopefully. 

“Ransom, you ever gonna eat today?” You knocked on the open door of his study, bringing his attention from his computer to you, who held a bowl of pasta in your one hand. He sighed, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his eyes. There were multicolored post-its surrounding his computer. Your mind made the connection with how similar it was to his Grandfather’s own workspace. You gently placed the bowl on his desk, turning to pour him a tumbler of whiskey from the small bar in the corner of the room. 

“I don’t know how the old bastard ever cranked out two books a year,” His neck cracked. “How is that even possible?” He took a large bite of the pasta, squinting at the screen. His eyes quickly shifted to yours, watching you set down the glass of whiskey in front of him. He grabbed your wrist. “Stay.” It was an order. “Sit.” You took your place in a chair across from him. 

“Harlan wrote every day,” You told him, “You write whenever you’re not off sticking your dick into anything that breathes.” He laughed at that. 

“Not everything that breathes,” He typed a few more words into the word document, “I haven’t fucked you yet.” Your core pulsed, he said yet. 

Audibly you scoffed, “I would never willingly fuck you Ransom.” You pulled your legs up onto the chair to make yourself comfortable. He smirked at that, eyes not leaving the computer screen. 

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” That stupid smirk. You hated that fucking smirk. So condescending. 

When you first met Ransom you were probably very much like the girls that you now pry out of his bed at 8 am. You had been tutoring Meg at the family home, sitting at the kitchen table going over Othello when he sauntered in, digging through the cabinets for snacks. You could feel Meg tense up next to you and that’s when he turned. He was so fucking pretty. Blue eyes, well kept hair, cashmere sweater, those broad fucking shoulders, and on his face, stretching that full bottom lip you wanted to tug between your teeth, was a smirk. 

That pulsing throb between your thighs soon was quickly forgotten as he opened his mouth and began to speak, “How’s it going Meg, trouble reading? Or do they not teach you how to read when you’re a liberal? Lord knows you guys never fucking understand anything anyway.” Meg snapped back at him, but you were stunned. You could tell he said that on purpose, knowing it would make her go off on the tangent he was now, finding a sick pleasure in it. That was the first time you’d seen the smirk. You’d lost count of how many times you’ve seen it since then. 

“I really hate you Ransom.” You sighed, sinking further into your chair. He had almost finished off the bowl of pasta by now, whiskey long since emptied. He thinks it’s funny, you hating him because he responds looking you in your eyes, maintaining his smirk, 

“I know you do baby.” He liked to do that. Call you pet names. Once he had even pretended you were his wife when you accidentally walked in on him and a girl he had been balls deep in, bent over the back of the couch. He fucking LOVED that one. The girl had cried, embarrassed, apologizing as she picked her bra up from the floor and slunk out the front door behind you. That was a while ago. Pre-Murder. You should have seen it then. How insane he actually was. 

Ransom was incredibly smart and was a quick thinker. It was part of the reason that he had gotten away with murder in the first place. You knew that. It showed in his novel. He would have you read chapters, give him your opinion, before writing and rewriting. Showing you again. He’d ask you if you could figure out who was the murderer, a sinister glint in his eyes, arms crossed, standing above you waiting. He could only be satisfied if you didn’t have a clue. 

It was a gift, you supposed, the ease in which he wrote to make every character a possible suspect in completely new and incredible scenarios. He had three books in various states of completion that he was chipping away at, the one he was currently working on seemingly better than the previous published. 

His Mother, the one who gave him the silver spoon and cursed him for having it his whole life, was suddenly proud of him. His Father, now divorced from his Mother, would come by weekly asking for money. Ransom loved that too. His Dad got nothing due to the prenup, leaving him penniless. The cushy job he had at Lynda’s real estate empire was gone, and now Dad was working at local agency scraping by on low commission. Last week his Father came to the door while Ransom was writing and muscled his way not too kindly past you into the house. 

“Ransom!” He called, finding his way into his son’s study. You quietly shut the door, returning to folding laundry. The door shut tightly behind him and sounds had been muffled. It’s only when their voices went from calm to a screaming match did the door wretch open and Ransom followed his Dad out, both red faced. 

“We’ve given you everything in your fucking life and you can’t even give one iota back.” Ransom opened the front door, gesturing to the porch. 

“Get the fuck out, and don’t come back.” His voice stern and commanding.

“Fuck you Ransom.” With that he was gone. The silence that had settled over the house was thick, Ransom’s hand still resting against the closed door before he took a breath and, without taking a glance in your direction, returned to his study. Closing the door. 

The echo of that argument sat in the house for the rest of the day, Ransom leaving soon after to find a body to lose himself in. If the murder trial did anything, it made Ransom into a bad boy and girls fucking loved it. He wasn’t, technically, guilty after all. 

You attempted to clear the bowl in front of him, but was stopped by his hand. His eyes never left the screen as he brought your hand to his lips, placing a kiss in your palm, before dragging your arm to his other shoulder, hugging himself with it awkwardly until you gave in and wrapped your other arm around him, holding him tightly for a moment. 

He was soft sometimes. His Mom never held him when he was a kid. He was left alone a lot while she was building her empire. Babysitters never stayed long, nannies came and went. Sometimes you truly felt bad for him, other times you remember that he was a dick and that he loved to play tricks and torment anyone and everyone that was supposed to take care of him, including you. The only difference was you weren’t able to leave. 

He let you go soon after that, letting you clean up the mess from dinner and stoke the fire place warming the house that always seemed too cold. As you stood by the fire, arms wrapped around yourself you could feel him behind you, coming to wrap his arms around your waist, leaning his head on your shoulder as you stared into the flames. There was a moment or two of silence as you both stood there. 

If this were any other situation, if Ransom loved you, if this was someone who loved you, if this someone cared enough to care about the things you care about, this would be kind of romantic. But it’s Ransom, and he didn’t care about anyone but himself, he definitely didn’t care about you, and he one hundred percent didn’t care about anything you care about. “I’m going out.” 

His arms left your waist and his chest left your back leaving you cold. “For fucks sake Ransom, I don’t feel like throwing out a girl tomorrow morning.” You turned to watch him throwing his coat on. He smirked. He fucking smirked. 

“I’ll give you a break and throw her out myself then.” And he was gone. 

Hours later you’re woken by the sound of Ransom coming home, sure enough he wasn’t alone. Soft giggles and a bang, he’s shoved her against the wall beside your room. There were muffled groans as you assumed she found her knees right there in the hallway. He got off on this shit, you knew. Often stopping somewhere outside your door to start his sexual escapades. Knowing you were mere feet away, like some half-assed exhibitionism. It wasn’t long after that the girl squealed and there was more muffled talking before they moved to his bedroom. To which you shared a wall. 

Your bedroom, before you were a live-in, housed a bunch of items you believed graced a teen boy’s bedroom walls at one point. And still, shoved in the corner, were playboy model cardboard cutouts, “They’re vintage, mint condition, and worth a lot.” Sure, Ransom, sure they are. Arcade games, framed patriots jerseys, a lacrosse set from his high school days. You were shoved in the middle of it all, a single bed shoved against the wall surrounded by what once was a room full of teenage boy memorabilia. A shrine to his youth. 

The headboard soon came knocking and hope for sleep was lost. The girl’s moans escalating to shrieks. Either he was as good as he says, or these girls really care about his ego. Either could be true when there’s more than one comma in your bank account. 

The kitchen was much quieter. A steady rocking still came from upstairs, but thankfully it was muffled by the floor. As you made a cup of tea you figured you would see if he had printed off a new chapter ready for you to read. You hope he wouldn’t have gone out without finishing it anyway. 

You were not sure why you cared to be honest. You had this love/hate for Ransom. He was an annoying prick who did something really fucking horrible, but he also made it very clear to everyone involved that you had nothing to do with it. There was a scary moment there, after his arrest, when you were brought to the station for interrogation. You hadn’t known he had even gotten up to any of these crimes. He kept you completely in the dark and he was sure to let his arresting officers know that. You hadn’t even seen him since the night Harlan died when he left the party stranding you at the estate. 

Money does crazy things to people. The threat of his steady income leaving was enough to push him to do something crazy. He was lucky enough that the recorded confession magically was erased. He was lucky for dirty cops. He was lucky that even though his mother despised his lifestyle she didn’t want him to go to prison. He was so lucky. Now with his first novel sitting highly on the bestseller list, he seemed even more lucky than he did before. 

His study was on the opposite side of the house from his bedroom, muffling the sounds enough for you to flip through the packet left on top of his keyboard. Three chapters away from completion you were following the detective through paces where things felt more confusing than ever, the clues were unclear and there was not much to go on, but the tension between the eldest son of the victim and his ex-wife were mounting and it was hard to believe that maybe this guy had nothing to do with it despite what was described as an ‘air-tight’ alibi. You read through the chapter twice, scribbling your thoughts in red pen along the margins. 

“What do you think?” You jumped in your chair, looking up to see Ransom in the doorway. 

“You scared the shit out of me,” Your hand still clutching your chest. He had a glass of water in his hand, chest bare, solid navy pajama pants slung low on his hips. His chest hair always got you, just a little bit. He tugged his bottom lip between his teeth and pushed off the door jam to walk into the room, taking a seat in the chair you occupied hours ago. “It’s good,” you cleared your throat, “I’m not sure how much longer I can wait for you to finish to be honest.” He chuckled softly. 

“Let me see.” You handed him the packet and his eyes scanned the margins, reading your comments. They were mostly reactions, that’s what he liked. He wanted to know how you reacted to everything he put in front of you, did you like the romance, the tension, the lust he was trying to write between the ex-husband and wife? Or was it too distracting from the plot? Is the detective too unbelievable? He’s a character for sure. Can you figure out whodunnit yet?

“What are you doing out of bed?” You asked, spinning the chair side to side, waiting for him to put the packet down. 

“I told you I was going to kick her out.” He took another sip from his water. You scoffed, 

“And you couldn’t start doing this sooner?” A smile stretched his lips,

“I like how much it bothers you.” 

“It’s annoying,” you said, “Worst way to start my day.” He laughed. 

“That’s the only reason?” He asked, throwing the packet back on the desk, leaning back in his chair. Smirking. 

“You’re such an asshole, you know that?” You pushed back from the desk, moving to exit the room. He quickly grabbed your wrist, tugging you over to his side where he looked up at you, 

“If you wanna take their place, just let me know.” Your other hand came up to smack him on his shoulder, causing him to laugh as he released you, letting you take your exit. 

“Dick.” 

You found him the next morning at his desk, looking as though he had very little sleep. “Babe could you get me some coffee?” You yawned in the doorway, 

“Sure.” It didn’t take long before you were setting the cup in front of him. “Your therapist is coming by at one.” He nodded, not looking up from his computer. “I’ll come get you when it’s time for you to get ready.” 

He was focused. You weren’t sure where this focus came from. It was every once in a while that he would find this stroke of inspiration and write for a whole day straight. Hopefully he will be finished his book before schedule and be able to get ahead for the next one. 

Soon he was washed, dressed, and ready for the one person he dreads the most. He hated therapy sessions. There were only ten more he needed to do before the court mandate was over. Ten more weeks until you were able to get this lovely ankle bracelet off when you would hopefully be able to go back to the routine you had with him before. Where you’d sleep in your own shitty apartment and show up to work a 9 to 9 five days a week. 

After sessions he was always moody, quiet, and tended to need his favorite single malt restocked the next day. Not exactly in line with how he should be tending to whatever revelation the therapist has been streamlining him to, but that wasn’t any of your business. You could say though that during the last 42 weeks of sessions this refractory period was shortening to less and less time, maybe tonight you won't be peeling him off the floor of the study and dragging him up to his room drunk off his ass. 

While in the session you were trying not to listen in on, you were sunk heavily on the living room couch, drinking coffee and reading the latest chapter he had slapped into your hands before entering back into his study. The book was so close to being finished, the last two chapters leading you to the big reveal and aftermath. The climax was steady taking hold and you were more sure than ever that the eldest son had something to do with it. You didn’t know what he did, but it was something. 

He looked mad enough to kill as the Doctor left. Slamming the door, barely missing the Doctor’s jacket sleeve as he made his hasty retreat. Ransom stood seething for a moment by the front door, a chill running down your spine. He had murdered someone before, something you try to forget seeing as you are forced to spend so much time with him. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. It felt like an hour before he moved. 

“I’m going out.” The words spoken sternly as he stomped his way up the stairs like a petulant child, returning moments later, cleaned up, eyes blank, before grabbing his coat and slamming the door loud enough to make you jump. 

Aside from Ransom’s Mother never being around and aside from his Father’s string of extramarital affairs and aside from his Grandfather’s need to push him in every direction but close, you wish you could say that Ransom had a good childhood. But he didn’t. When he was little the kids picked on him for being rich, and when he was bigger they only became friends with him because he was rich. He was such a bully. At least, that’s what his Mother told you once drunk off chardonnay at his birthday dinner last year. 

Disappointment. 

That was a clear sentiment for the small family get together, and by small family get together you meant the dinner you cooked and Ransom looking like he’d rather be in prison than listen to his parents bicker over his Father’s new (Not so new seeing as he’d been caught kissing her by a PI before Harlan’s death) girlfriend. She was smart enough not to come. 

This night was looking a lot like that one. Ransom, after his parents left and you began to tidy up, began to scream at you. 

“What gave you the fucking right you dumb bitch?” He was spitting, face red as you cleared the dishes. “You’re only here for the money. The fucking money. How much is she paying you huh?” The bottle of expensive whiskey he had been drinking throughout the night was in his hand, swinging it around and taking pulls straight from the bottle. “Not enough obviously because you would have let me fuck you a long time ago.” 

Your face flushed red as your own anger began to rise. He continued, “Never, ever, fucking again will you allow my parents in this house, do you understand me?” His unoccupied hand grabbed your arm tight enough to bruise, turning you to face him. His eyes wild and unfocused. “I said do you understand me?” You not so gently wretched your arm from his. 

“Don’t touch me.” He always fucking did this. Blamed you for things you had no control over. Lynda approached you about a dinner for Ransom’s birthday. It was her name in your paystubs. You can’t say no. 

“How dare you-” He began, but was cut short.

“No Ransom. No.” Like scolding a fucking dog who put his paws on the table. You threw the bowl you currently had in your hands into the sink, turning to fully face him. “I am only here for the money and I am only here because your Mother pays me a lot to be here.” His jaw clenched. “But I’m also here because I’m the only fucking person who even remotely cares about your ungrateful prissy spoiled ass and if it wasn’t for me you’d be sitting in this fucking glass house, alone, with only your own self-righteous attitude to keep you company. So don’t you ever touch me like that again. Do you understand?” 

He loudly clunked the bottle onto the kitchen island, stumbling in your direction as you backed yourself into the sink. His trial had just concluded two weeks ago, Fran’s murder fresh on your mind and you wondered if you just made a terrible mistake. Over the course of this rant, the alcohol was sinking into his bloodstream, it turned his anger into a crippling depression. One that resulted in his hands softly grasping your shoulders, and tugging you into his body. His face found your neck and slowly started to grow damp with what you realized were his tears. 

Your heart broke a bit, too much empathy, even for this asshole. Your arms came to wrap around his shoulders, letting him cry it out. 

That was the first and only time you saw Ransom cry over anything. If he hadn’t been as drunk as he was you knew that moment would never have happened. The sweet little moment that made your heart ache was quickly gone the next morning when Ransom made you coffee and thought it would be hilarious that after you thanked him for being so sweet he joked that he poisoned it. You could still recall the cackles of laughter as you spit your coffee into the sink. 

That was the day he began writing his first novel. 

He came home alone tonight which was strange. And far earlier than normal. You usually were in bed, or holed up in his study by the time he arrived him after a night out. Staying out of his way as he drug a bubbly hopeful girl up to his bed to satisfy his own needs for the night. He found you tonight, sitting outside, watching Netflix on your tablet by the firepit you had decided to light, a hot cup of tea sitting on the end table next to you. Cozy and wrapped in a blanket. 

You could feel his eyes on you from the doorway. You tapped the screen, pausing your show and turned to look at him. His hair was slightly mussed, face flushed, and socked toes curling from the chill. He was looking at you strangely. 

“You’re home early.” You placed the tablet down on the end table, turning to face him. He nodded, crossing his arms and leaning against the door jam. 

“I just needed a drive.” There was a soft smile on his face, well that’s new. 

“Is everything okay?” He never tells you anything, but the sentiment matters. He looked to his feet, nodding. 

“I’m probably going to try to stay up and finish the book tonight.” He shifted himself back into the house, your voice calling out to him, 

“Come sit out here for a bit. It’s calming, just take a break from thinking for a minute.” He sighed and looked at you again, debating something in his head. 

“I need to be alone.” You tried anyway. He disappeared from sight. And that was that. 

The next day Ransom began acting even more strangely. The book was finished, the last two chapters handed wordlessly to you as he left for the gym on what you’re assuming was no sleep. That wasn’t the strange part. The strange part was when he returned three hours later bearing a box of donuts from your favorite bakery and two lattes, on his face was a smile. 

“What did you do?” You accused, “Did you poison this?” You gestured towards the latte he placed in your hand. 

“No.” He laughed, sliding the box of donuts to you. You stared at him skeptically before taking a sip. Tastes normal. 

“Are you sick?” Your wrist coming to lay across his forehead, temperature feels fine. 

“No.” He laughed again, pulling your wrist from his forehead and kissing your palm before opening the box of donuts, pulling a cinnamon sugar donut to his lips. “You just told me the other day how you missed these and I figured since I passed the shop on the way back it wouldn’t hurt to go pick some up.” It was suspicious. You continued to look at him skeptically. He sighed, placing the donut on the counter, grabbing the latte from your hand he took a large sip of it. “I didn’t fucking poison you Y/N.” 

Okay.

Okay. You examined the box of donuts, pulling out the bear claw that was begging to be eaten. Still warm. You moaned in delight as soon as the warm pastry hit your taste buds. You really had missed these. Opening your eyes, you saw Ransom staring blankly at you before his eyes shifted to the packet by your side. 

“All finished?” You swallowed and nodded, sliding the packet marked with red over to him and as he began to study your notes you tried to think about what could have possibly gotten him in such a good mood. The Doctor’s visit was odd enough. Yes he was angry when the Doctor left, but then just a drive? Not a blackout drunk, bringing two girls home to pleasure himself with and accidentally falling into a line or two of coke night, but a drive? 

Maybe therapy had been working? Maybe he had a breakthrough? He finished the novel. The eldest son had something to do with it, his airtight alibi just that, a cover for the crime having been committed at a different time than the coroner’s estimated time frame due to him freezing the body and allowing it to thaw in the house. 

You had asked Harlan how he came up with such incredible stories once. He said they just popped into his head fully formed, his brain moving faster than his fingers. He kept a little notebook with good ideas and would simmer in them as long as it took for a stroke of inspiration. The rest was just typing. 

He smirked at some of your comments, ‘what a fucking joke’ you wrote next to the eldest son’s monologue about being passed over, his whining, annoying, self centered crying about how life wasn’t fair. 

“What’s the smirk for?” You asked, removing the lid of your latte and dipping part of the bear claw in it. 

“The lack of sympathy for Greg.” You scoffed and rolled your eyes. 

“He’s a fucking loser.” Ransom’s eyes met yours, “I bet you see a lot of yourself in him.” That made him laugh. 

“What? You don’t like spoiled rich men?” He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms in front of his chest. You rolled your eyes, taking another sip from the milky sweet latte you didn’t know would feel like your life’s blood right now. 

“I think you know the answer to that.” 

“I think you find me endearing.” Ransom smirked. Your neck flushed. 

“I find you annoying,” You admitted. “I only put up with you because of my paycheck.” He licked his lips.

“Sure,” He closed the packet, pushing it aside to take another bite of the donut, cinnamon sugar dusting his lips. “You put up with me because you’re secretly in love with me, but you know that I would never get with The Help.” This made you laugh. 

“If you want me to be the Help I’ll gladly call you Hugh if it means you leave me alone.” He placed his paper cup on the counter, circling around to you. 

“I like when you call me Hugh.” His hands came to rest on your upper arms, grinning. 

“You’re disgusting.” He laughed at the clear displeasure on your face, spinning your stool around to him, and you leaned back, creating some distance as he came to stand between your legs. 

“You don’t mean that do you baby?” His fingers toying with the ends of your hair. You could feel your nipples harden in excitement, body betraying you. A wet growing between your legs. 

“Ransom what are you doing?” You said in exasperation. You weren’t blind. Ransom was gorgeous. You’d maybe, possibly, gotten off to the thought of him once or twice or maybe more than that in the four years you’ve known him. But he was also a scumbag who fucks and then throws girls out hours later. His moods were hot and cold. He had major Mommy issues and he’s not technically guilty of murder, but he’s a fucking murderer. But also… he’s been going to therapy and after that fight on his birthday last year he’s never laid a hand on you in anger again, there’s been some arguments sure, but he’s mostly nice to you. Caring even. 

“Why don’t you love me Y/N?” His voice almost came out as a whine. He was playing with you. 

“Ransom stop.” You pushed him away gently. He was fucking smirking. 

“Usually there’s a ‘don’t’ in front of that.” Cocky bastard. 

“You’re the worst person I know. And I hate that fucking smirk.” You picked at your now cold bear claw, trying to turn from him. 

“Why don’t you wipe it off my face then?” Your eyes met his and you glared. 

“What’s gotten into you today? Maybe you should go out early. Find some girl to satisfy whatever you’re going through right now.” His hands met your hips, spinning your stool back around to face him. 

“What if I want you to satisfy whatever I’m going through right now.” His groin fit right up against your core and you could feel his throbbing heat between your legs. Fuck. 

“Don’t make this mistake Ransom.” You placed one hand gently on his chest, attempting (but not really) to push him back. His forehead coming to rest against yours. “You don’t want this.”

“This is the only thing I’ve ever really wanted.” His breath mingled with yours, sweet, cinnamon and coffee. 

“You’re not thinking straight.” His lips brushed against yours, tongue coming out to wet his lips, his eyes locked with yours. Why weren’t you pushing him away? Your breath hitched as his tongue accidentally grazed your bottom lip. 

“The only clarity I’ve ever had in my life has been when I’m with you.”

His lips pressed heavily against yours, pushing you back against your bedroom door as his hand came to tangle in your hair. He was all consuming, body hot and heavy against yours. Your core was thrumming with want, moisture pooling in the crotch of your yoga pants. His hips were rolling into yours and you could feel the hard length of him against your belly. His lips quickly moved across your jaw to your neck and you could hear yourself moaning softly as he licked, sucked, and nibbled on the sensitive skin below your ear. Your hands clenching the soft material of the t-shirt by his hips, dipping your fingers slowly into the waistband of his shorts. 

His lips parted from your neck, hand tilting your head back so he could look into your eyes before taking your mouth once more. His mouth moved down this time to the tops of your breasts, hands leaving to shift the thick wool cardigan off your shoulders and onto the floor before dropping the straps of your camisole and exposing them to the air, nipples already pebbled in excitement. 

You hadn’t dated in a while, unable to because of your paid house arrest and before that the way Ransom had worked you to the bone picking up after him. And the touch from someone else always felt better than your own. His hands felt huge on you, protecting. 

Your head met the door as he enveloped your right nipple in his mouth, rolling the sensitive bud on his tongue until he felt the left neglected, and switched, beginning to toy with your right nipple between his finger tips. Moans and heavy breaths were the only sounds in the hallway as Ransom made his way down your body, slipping your yoga pants and panties off your hips as he found his knees before you. 

“Ransom-” 

“Shhhhh,” He pressed his lips against your naval, working his way to your trembling core. His hand lifted your right thigh, draping it over his shoulder as his eyes focused in on your, what you knew must be soaking, wet pussy. His eyes met yours from his knees, your legs trembling with anticipation, eyes locked as his pink tongue came to meet your pussy for the first time, a shuddering breath being released from you urged him on further. 

His thick fingers spread your lips open, exposing your clit to his gentle assault. A building pleasure in your core as his tongue began to skillfully work, pulling moans from your mouth. How was he so good at this? Experimenting with different strokes, different pressure, finding what you like. 

“Just like that, oh my god.” He rolled his tongue against your clit, eyes finding yours once more, keeping pace. You could see the corner of his mouth pull up in a smirk as he began to work you up to climax. “You’re such a fucking asshole, I hate that fucking smirk.” Head hitting back against the door as he used his fingers to tease your opening. “Oh my god.” Your hips bucked against his face, causing him to use the arm currently wrapped around your thigh to splay open on your abdomen, holding your hips still. The wet noises and soft grunts from the man between your thighs only caused you to grow closer to your release. 

“You taste so fucking good baby,” moaned between your thighs. 

“Don’t fucking stop.” You scolded. So close. So fucking close. He obeyed, continuing his assault on your dripping pussy, fingers entering your tight channel to stroke against your sensitive walls. He buried his face further into your pussy, nose coming to rest in the soft curls there as he watched you come undone. Your moans escalating in volume as you felt your body tighten with pleasure, hips begging to buck against his face as he rode you through it. He continued to lick and suck on your clit until your hands found his head, pushing him away, legs shaking as you dropped against the door, knees coming to rest around his body. 

That fucking smirk, “How was that?” He asked, face glistening with your cum. 

“Fuck you Ransom.” And he fucking laughed the bastard. What a fucking dick. He brought his face back to yours, gently claiming your lips. The tang of your pussy ever present as you felt him consume you. Your heart was still racing as he picked you up from the floor, bringing you into his bedroom and ever so gently laying you down on the sheets you had just changed two hours ago. 

His eyes were shifting between yours, a strange expression on his face. 

“You can’t kick me out tomorrow Ransom,” Your breathing was heavy as he began to work at your neck, his hands going to remove his gym shorts. “I can’t leave.” He pressed his lips back to yours as you felt him rub the tip of his dick against your clit, your body shaking with over-stimulation. It felt so intimate. Before, his eyes on yours as he brought you over with his tongue and now as he slowly enters you, stretching your walls with his thick cock, eyes not breaking contact he sighs,

“I think you’re the only person I’ve ever loved.” 

[mannien]

Mornings in Sheffield Park | TH - CHAPTER 1

The one with stress, takeout food around the world, late night walks, and Disney dreams.

Word count: 6.6k 

Warnings: some stress, some anxiety, mention of sex, and a lot of smiles

Masterlist

Fourth week into the morning pitch meetings at BBC, Millie felt lifeless and drained. The room was usually exploding with ideas, creative energy, and a lot of constructive feedback to the few interns who were allowed to join the conversation with editors, writers, and producers. That morning had started ugly enough for her: with an overwhelming number of e-mails about the schedule and missing content for Politics Live.

When she first landed her spot at BBC, Millie was over the moon. She was constantly calling it a dream come true, a once in a lifetime opportunity for her to begin a writing career in media. Her degree seemed to be the best choice for her future and Millie was ready to prove that graduating from humanities can actually land her a decent job. Her first days were filled with morning preparations, early commute to the city centre and exceptionally smoothed out shirts. The work environment in such a fast-paced industry felt inspiring and daunting at the same time, but Millie felt obligated to use this experience to its full potential. Each day she attempted to learn more than the day before and possibly show off a tiny bit more of her creative skills to her superiors. She spent her evenings researching topics and people, trying not to fall out of the loop. Being one step forward was hard work, one that Millie desperately wanted to ace.

The second week of her internship brought a slight shift to her agenda. After grasping the general concepts of working for a major radio and TV broadcasting company, she was aware of the production processes. She tried to happily follow up all the details about the work of a writer, a researcher, or an editor – just so she could be prepared for the follow-up of the introductory week. And as she hoped her interview was remembered and she would soon contribute to any program touching upon music or pop culture, her dreams and calls were slowly fading away. The intern manager ascribed her to the team devoted strictly to politics and daily news, having no vacancies for the popular radio programs. Even though she took whatever spot was offered, it was only to get more insight and experience.  

Having already managed to speak up a few times during the morning routines in the conference room, Millie eased herself into the work environment and was treated like a regular employee. But the first wave of success quickly passed, especially when she was hit with growing emptiness in her brain. She did not enjoy politics, so as far as she could, she attempted to sneak in a sociological aspect into the context. But her tactic had an expiration date.

A couple of heads were expectantly turned at Millie when she was unsurely stuttering her weak ideas for the upcoming programme. She knew it wasn’t going well and she was mentally cursing herself for trying to impress the producers that much so early on.

“This isn’t gonna work. We’ve covered this enough in the evening news. Let’s take five, and maybe you’ll come up with a different angle. I’ll give you another shot here.”

Hugh, the head writer took off his glasses and watched her fidget in her seat. She nodded and took a deep breath, before leaving the room for a short break. Her mind was racing in panic; she wasn’t ready to admit that she didn’t have any idea. She walked back and forth through the corridor until she cursed quietly and walked away to the main hall. She pulled her phone from the back pocket and without overthinking this anymore, she called her boyfriend. He picked up after the third ring.

“Babe, can I call you back…”

“No, Frank,” She felt determined and fierce. Her hands shook from the pure view on board members slowly coming back from the kitchen with fresh coffee mugs. They were probably waiting to hear her another take on the TV show which Millie, wholeheartedly, was beginning to hate. “My work on the programme is too basic and I’ve been roasted for the past fifteen minutes or so. Hugh has me in the spotlight in front of everyone. Help me, please?”

“It’s not your fault they’ve given you a job you’re not good at, babe. It’s just an internship, they will roast you anyway.”

Millie’s lungs were ready to stop working and suffocate her. She feared she might start hyperventilating, or at least meet up with a panic attack from the nerves. Franklin’s reaction seemed to be absolutely unfair and inconsiderate of her actual feelings, and he must have felt that through the piercing silence on the line.

“Look, I’m sorry, but you shouldn’t worry so much about it. They will probably just give you another placement where you’ll fit more, I don’t see why it’s such a bad thing.” And just like that, she started doubting herself and her right to overthink her situation. It didn’t sit well with Millie and she could feel anger slowly making its way through her veins.

“Can’t you just fucking help me? This one time?” She lost her temper, she lost her patience. At the same time Riley, one of the end writers, started waving at her from the end of the hall as to show her that her time is coming to an end. “I need a hook, or something that would spark a debate. Brexit-themed, maybe. Can you think of anything?”

Frank groaned loudly. He wasn’t exactly happy that she made him break down his ambitious wall and let her in on topics he was too invested in. Millie could hear him moving around as he left his desk of the equally large office of The Guardian, until the line went surprisingly quiet. Her anger and fear made her clutch her phone tightly to her ear, while her legs started carrying her slowly to the terrifying conference room.

“Think internationally. See what the Spanish had to say about May’s resignation from the Office. Think economics in the EU. Try to stand on the Union’s side and do some fair judgement.”

“Give me facts, not ideas. You’re the one who knows politics.”

“Spanish government says that May’s resignation is bad news. Compare it to the popular opinion that she was the worst Prime Minister since the 18th century and the American war on independence.” Millie breathed in, trying to desperately grasp all the details he just provided her with.

“That’s a… harsh and history-digging argument,” She mumbled in surprise, “where did you get that from?” She grabbed a yellow post-it note from the reception desk and quickly scribbled the key words on it. Her briefing on politics was never something like this and she could feel the embarrassment making its way into her heart. It wasn’t her way of thinking and she felt like a fraud.

“I can’t tell you that.” By the end of the single sentence Millie could feel the blood escaping her face, making her look pale and scared for dear life. She didn’t want to have heard that sentence, she was definitely happier not knowing how did he come up with a story like this. That was one of the many reasons she tried not to talk business with him.

“An opinion entry. A column for The Guardian. Shit, you just busted one of your colleagues.”

“Sometimes I hate it that you’re smart. Did I ever tell you that?”

“You just saved my internship!”

“Please don’t say that. I will pretend that we just talked about the weather.”          

“I’ll spend them the details. You’re the best, Frank.”

“Alright, go kick ass.”

And that she did. Franklin did save her internship, mainly because Millie avoided the specifics about who and why said something so harsh about the resigning Prime Minister. However, it definitely did spark interest among the production board. Afraid of not being so lucky next time, she decided to politely suggest a replacement for her permanent internship division within BBC, due to her ‘personal discomfort with discussions over issues of such importance and potential shame to their glorious country.’

Millie felt bad for using her boyfriend’s knowledge for survival at work. She wasn’t genuine and her idea didn’t come from her hard work - it was sourced in fear and anxiety-driven reactions. This situation proved to her that she wasn’t fit for the position, but it also raised her stress levels around the fact that she couldn’t get by on her own in the industry. She didn’t want others to navigate her through it all, but the conversation she had with Frank had also made her uncomfortable. Her need of support in a stressful situation was primarily turned down, so—naturally to her character—she started to worry even more.

With a heavy heart and two bags of Wagamama takeout, she walked up the stairs to his apartment. She was usually working until later hours than Frank, so all she really needed was for him to open the door for her. She leaned on the doorframe as she waited patiently for the two turns of the lock. He opened still in his work attire – tailored jeans and a light grey button up shirt. He was holding his phone next to his ear and humming approvingly to the speaker when he looked her up and down. He winked at her and let her in, as he continued to talk with someone.

Inside, Millie found the TV turned on with a football game playing. His work jacket was still hanging on the back of the tall stool in the kitchen, and the grocery bags laid unpacked on the table. She took off her shoes and made her way to the kitchen, where she made a little room for their food on the countertop. Pulling off her sweater, she peeked into the shopping bags – she wasn’t surprised to find a couple bottles of beer and food essentials, a multipack of tissues and a large box of condoms.

“What’s all this, babe?” Franklin came up to her and briefly kissed her on the lips, before looking into the boxes with deliciously smelling food.

“I just thought it might be nice to eat some goodies,” She smiled, trying to sniff out his mood first. He smiled back at her with approval and reached for the plates in the cupboard, so she continued, “also, it’s a ‘thank you for being my saviour today,’ kinda thing.”

“Ah, yeah. I bet everyone on my floor will hate BBC’s guts for that.” Frank said it so casually, with a shrug to follow up, that Millie struggled to understand the dynamic he had at The Guardian. He seemed to be a great fit for his team, because a week into his new job, he was already invited for Friday drinks and talked about his co-workers just like anyone would about their long-time friends. She couldn’t understand how was he getting so lucky at any step, but the last thing she wanted to do is doubt him. Any time worries and competitiveness clouded her brain, Millie was making extra room for compassion and support.

Frank unloaded some of the curry on his plate and started eating with a fork, and then made his way to the living room where he spread out on the sofa. He didn’t say anything else, somewhat scaring Millie that he will let her know he’s uncomfortable randomly, on a promisingly good day. Trying to figure out her brain, she followed his actions and took some extra food to the coffee table, before sitting down next to him.

“But you’re not gonna get into trouble for that, are you?” she was biting the inside of her cheek hard, definitely not used to not being judged for using someone else’s help.

“Nah, I don’t think so. They don’t know I’ve got a girl at BBC, so I should be just fine.”

Millie ate her curry in silence, suddenly at loss of words driven by his surprising statement. She didn’t want to raise an argument or seem overly sensitive. But for some reason she hoped that he would talk about her at work, especially considering his already formed strong bonds in the office, and a definitely higher success rate in his position. Ever so charming Franklin, he always glowed among people. She couldn’t really fight with this, so she just kept any comments to herself and focused on her food.

Frank switched the channel to the evening news and pulled her to his side once they were done eating. It comforted Millie to know that at the end of the day, they could both enjoy each other’s company, no matter what was happening at work. She didn’t pay much attention to the news, but rather focused on the way he reacted to it and what he enjoyed. She felt too tired to get invested in another load of politics, so she just soaked in his warmth and curled more into his side. He smelled of coffee and heavy, musky cologne that he liked to reapply frequently. Millie closed her eyes and breathed out the stress that weighed her down after a long day, finally finding peace.

“I’ll go grab a beer, you want one?” he abruptly stood up, making her slightly loose her balance and lean back towards the pillows. She closed her eyes and pressed her lips in a thin line.

“I’m good, thanks.”

“You sure? You’re awfully quiet today.” He spoke already from the kitchen, not even catching a glimpse of her pursed lips.

“I just need to wind down. It’s been stressful day.” She pushed a little smile on her cheeks as he came back with a frown. He took a few large sips of his drink and put it on the table, before lowering himself on the couch and leaning over Millie.

“I can help you relax, if you want.” He raised an eyebrow in a flirtatious manner, leaning into her and leaving a series of delicate kisses on her lips. He then moved onto her jaw and sucked on her skin, but never left a mark. Slowly massaging her waist, he slid his hand under her shirt and sprawled his fingers across her hip to pull her closer.

Millie enjoyed the warmth that started to spread through her body, but she couldn’t find any energy to give some of it back. She felt drained and exhausted, so a mere thought about participating in sexual activities was sure to make her at least slightly uncomfortable. Unless Frank was willing to change something about it.

“Okay, hold on,” her chuckle and a light push at his chest made him narrow his eyebrows in confusion, “I don’t think I’ve got enough energy today, Frankie.” Her whisper was followed by a reassuring smile. She weaved her fingers through his short hair and kissed the tip of his nose.

“What if I provide you with some energy first?”

“What, you’ll give me an energy drink?” She laughed at her poor joke and he chuckled, too, but more at her silliness than anything else. He laid her down comfortably and cautiously peppered her with kisses on her neck and the tiny bit of cleavage that was available without unbuttoning her shirt. She was slowly giving in, allowing him to get lower on her body and touch her. Frank either wanted to make her feel better, or was really horny. But whatever the case was, she didn’t want to stop him and ruin his enthusiasm. The glow in his eyes and admiration painted across his face were too intoxicating to back away. His touch was filled with sparks of emotions and a kind of drive that Millie was addicted to. She felt wanted and needed, and that’s what made her return the heated kisses despite her hooded, weary eyes.

They walked hand in hand through the chilly evening, sometime after she persuaded Frank to walk her to the nearest tube station. The wind was slightly tickling her neck, but other than that she felt at peace. She let her hair down, flowing gently with each blow of the air and lightly caressing her face like a safety blanket. They swayed their hands until they had to make room for a group of people passing by.

“Jane texted me about a little get together this Friday,” She mumbled into the night, trying not to disrupt the peaceful atmosphere around them.

“Ah, yeah. Aaron told me about it, too. I guess we’re going, right?”

“Yeah, it might be nice. The girls mentioned this new club near their apartment? I think that’s where they wanted to go.”

“Cool. I could use a little break.”

As they continued their walk, Millie mostly focused on leading the way through tight London streets. Franklin’s parents rented him an apartment in the city centre, close to everything you could dream of in London. It also meant crowded streets at any hour, so to have a nice walk around the neighbourhood usually requested it to be late at night. But it didn’t matter to him, as long as he had a short commute to the office and all other things that life requested from him, within reach. There were times when he would mention coming back to Manchester and supporting his parents at their law firm, but Millie saw how much he preferred his growing career as a journalist. Mathilda and William were a generous couple, so they shared their resources with him and tried to help him get into the business as smoothly as possible. Sometimes she wanted to ask him about his permanent position at The Guardian and whether his name had anything to do with it, but she never felt comfortable enough to do it. Some things were better left unspoken.

Reaching the staircase to the station, Franklin stopped and made her turn to him and look up at his smiling face.

“Thanks for coming over tonight. I had fun.”

“Yeah, me too.” She smiled shyly, nodding her head in reassurance.

“I wish you could finally move to the city, though. It would be so much easier if you were a few blocks away.”

“You do realize that even if I moved out, it wouldn’t be anywhere nearby?” Her chuckle resonated through her body, almost as if she wanted to humour herself at the topic that had started to come up more often in their conversations.

“I could ask around the office if anyone has a room available to rent.”

“But I don’t want to share my personal space with strangers, you know this. Don’t try to change my mind about it.” She smiled tightly.

Frank has been trying to persuade her into moving out for months. He wanted to be closer to her, within a short train journey, rather than a whole commute in and out of Kingston. He felt comfortable in the business of London, and Millie liked to call him out on being spoiled by having an apartment on his own in such a lively part of the city. But she wasn’t financially ready to leave her family home in equally comfortable Southwest London, where she had all she needed within her reach, and her social life was just a tiny bit longer train trip away. It was a source of their small disputes from time to time, because it was Millie who spent more time on going to his place and spending time there. Naturally, it made her feel more engaged in their relationship and Frank tried his best make up for the difference. But one thing that never occurred, was Millie staying over for longer than a night. Even a night’s sleepover was a rare event, somehow always blessed by excuses from either one of them.

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” he pecked her lips and brushed her cheek with his thumb. “I talk about it out of concern, okay?”

“Okay. But I like my train rides and I like Kingston. So let’s just deal with it for now, yeah?”

“’Course,” He sent her a tight smile before giving her one last kiss. “Text me when you get home.”

“Will do.”

Millie was one of those people who could be easily judged as thinkers. Years of taking trains and buses in and out of central London taught her to cherish every moment of peace she gets during her journeys. That’s how she learned to create playlists for each season – summer commutes were always different than autumn ones; they required different sounds and lyrical quality. Intense months during university semesters also showed her how to read fast between the stops and how to juggle standing on the tube and holding an open book without falling, as the train slowed and rushed every few seconds.

As she was approaching her station in Kingston, she stopped the music but kept her earphones in. A bunch of other people was hurrying to get out of the train and get home as soon as possible, but after leaving the station, she would have a lonely 15-minute walk to her neighbourhood, so she always tried to stay alert in the evenings. Getting on the sidewalk in the busiest area of Kingston, she closed her book and put it back in her backpack, pulled the jacket tighter around her middle and continued her steady walk.

The air was getting crispier with each minute outside. It was refreshing and calm, disturbed only by a few laughs from the pub across the street and two cars passing her by. She turned into one of the quieter streets, where the buildings were becoming shorter and more separated from each other. Brick fences and trimmed hedges adorned the concrete sidewalks on both sides of the street, illuminated only by a few lanterns. Most of the light was coming from the windows in a row of semi-detached houses that Millie has known for a good chunk of her life.

Right when she wanted to cross the street and take a right, she heard a subtle clicking of a dog collar and a leash. Soft padding from the back was slowly approaching her and becoming louder, as well as someone’s whistle.

“Tess, come here!” a hushed call didn’t disrupt the peace of the night, but rather added the familiarity that Millie adored. She slowed her walk and turned around, just in time to be met with lightly jogging blue Staffordshire Bull Terrier. She panted lightly with her tongue out and reached Millie’s legs, where she tucked her head and mewled timidly.

“Oh, and who do we have here?” Millie chuckled at the dog’s persistence in keeping close. She scratched her head and patted her on the back, “are you on your evening walk, Tessa? Is that right?”

“We didn’t mean to scare you, Millie,” Dominic reached them and sent Millie a kind and apologetic smile, “good evening.”

“Hi, it’s good to see you.” She beamed at the middle-aged man, whom she learned to adore like a family member.

“Likewise, yeah. Heading home?”

“I am, just got off the train.”

“We will keep you company, then. Is that alright?” He fixed his glasses and leaned down to attach the leash to Tessa’s collar. Millie’s insides warmed and her mind calmed down at the idea that she will get to spend a few minutes with a friend.

“Absolutely, thank you.”

“Ah, don’t mention it. I bet Tom would have my head, hadn’t I offered,” they chuckled at the mention of his son. Their laughter died off comfortably and escaped into the night air, while Millie reminisced about the caring nature of the Hollands. “How is it going at BBC?” he asked after a moment, letting her go first through a narrow passage.

“It’s… going,” she smiled shyly, not sure how to dress up her words. In Dominic’s company she always felt one step behind in her creative skills; his writing and comic abilities exceeded her capabilities, or so she thought. “but I feel like I’ve definitely hit an end with politics. I know it’s only been a month, but it’s just… it keeps on proving that I should be writing about something else.”

“Oh, it’s totally understandable. Rest assured, you’re not the only one stuck like this,” They turned the corner onto her street. “but I wish you luck there. They have some sensible editors, so I assume you’ll get a chance at something else as well.”

“I hope so. Today I asked them about switching departments and the intern manager told me she will think about it, so there is a tiny light.”

“Something will always work out. You’re smart, you’ll find your way there.”

Dom and Millie continued down the sidewalk, until Tessa stopped near the gate to Millie’s house. She sniffed the pavement and turned back to the girl who crouched down to pet the Staffy one last time.

“Thanks for walking with me,” her smile was genuine, coming straight from her heart. “please say hi to Nikki and the boys. Is Sam still home?”

“He is, he starts his practice at the end of June. So, we all will be here to celebrate your birthdays.”

“Oh, that’s great! It’s been a while since we’ve all been together.”

“That’s true. But you’re welcome to stop by anytime.”

“I know, thank you.” With fondness painted across her face, she scratched Tessa’s ear and stood up straight, reaching for the keys in her pocket.

“Have a good night.”

“You too. Bye, Tess!”

Whenever she got the chance to interact with someone from their family, Millie instantly felt their love and care penetrate her straight to the core. It was this kind of relationship that had been built through the years, only making it stronger and bringing it closer to the concept of family.

Nikki, Dom’s wife and Anna, Millie’s mother met shortly before Millie and Tom were born. At first only neighbours, soon they became best friends to the point of engaging their families in a kind affair. Greetings at the doorstep turned into late night family dinners and weekends away with the kids. They were used to spending most of the birthdays and holidays together, especially when Millie and Tom’s birthdays two days apart brought them all closer. She raced her best friend in Anna’s womb and came out to this world right before the brown-haired boy. Ever since the Beavers celebrated the birth of their third and youngest daughter, the Hollands began their journey with four boys. They always stayed close and treated each other like family, deeming it necessary to nourish their friendship and turn it into something everlasting. The example of their parents taught Millie and Tom to mimic the closeness and made them create their own little world.

Millie’s older sisters also treated Tom, Harry, Sam and Paddy like brothers, but not as much as Millie did. Samantha and Liz were already grown toddlers when the families got together, so they figured more as the female patrons of their youngest sister and her adventures with the boys. But Millie and Tom’s friendship turned into something so effortless and harmless that no supervision was necessary. They were each other’s partners in crime, best friends from next door. Their mothers had signed them up for the same dance classes, helped them get to the same summer carnivals, and let them have late nights in makeshift dens. Millie was one of the first people their dog, Tessa, got familiar with. She missed him dearly when he started his journey as a young actor, but Nikki made sure he always made the time to call his best friend when the time zones were somewhat cooperating. They nurtured their friendship through Millie’s education and Tom’s career, not stopping even for a moment. He was there for her always, carrying her home when she scratched her knee after falling off the slings. She would help him with homework whenever he felt too embarrassed to ask his parents. Tom escorted her home from her disaster of a prom; he was the first one to understand her anxiety and help her through it. And Millie always read the books and scripts Tom needed to prepare for auditions. Just like that, they always found home in one another.

           Their house smelled of baking and freshly watered plants. As quietly as possible, Millie took off her shoes and tip-toed into the kitchen, turning on only the least invasive, small lights. She put down her backpack and lightly stretched, letting out a tired, yet content breath. Her eyes scanned the kitchen in search for the source of the sweet scent, and there it was, on a cooling rack in the corner, covered with a tea towel – fresh lemon sponge cake, the favourite of Millie’s mother. Lightly dusted with powdered sugar, it added an extra layer of sweet comfort to the late night’s atmosphere. She left the cake untouched, but put the kettle on to quickly make herself a cup of tea for a good night’s sleep. She let out an overwhelming yawn and rested her hips on the side of the countertop, patiently waiting for the water to boil.

           She felt her phone vibrate in the back pocket of her jeans. The brightness of the screen was almost blinding, until it adjusted to the low lighting in the room. She could feel the anticipation growing in the back of her head as she noticed a new message.

           (Tom) I got you something today

           After a second or two, a picture loaded under the message. Millie gasped and smiled like mad, when he showed her a pair of Minnie Mouse sequin ears. It was an artefact that Millie has always dreamt of, not having an opportunity to go to Disneyland ever in her childhood.  She awaited the chance with high hopes and wandering mind, but she knew the trip had to be thorough, well-planned, and wholesomely happy.

           (Me) You were in Disneyland????

           (Tom) yeah we did promo for spidey today 

           (Me) I’m so jealous rn

           (Me) THANK YOU FOR THE EARS!!!!!  

           (Tom) it’s alright

           (Tom) I didn’t get any weird looks at all

           (Tom) Just casually carried around this shiny sparkling beauty

           (Me) I bet you loved this feeling

           (Me) I bet you bought yourself a pair too

           (Tom) Don’t tell anyone

           (Me) You could always pretend they’re for Tessa

           (Me) I just saw her and your Dad btw

           Whenever her and Tom texted, it always sparked a never-ending conversation about sweet nothings. They mocked each other, talked about their days, spoke about all things home. It allowed them a safe space from their daily hustles; Millie was able to breathe lightly and happily, and Tom had a chance to detach from the world he desperately tried not to drown in.

           Almost spilling the tea, she slowly made it upstairs without losing the sight of her phone screen. She struggled to turn off the lights in the corridor without making a noise but somehow, she managed not to disturb her parents too much, as she reached her bedroom. Safe within her own little space, she put down the mug and let go of her backpack and jacket. She threw herself on the softest bedspread and waited patiently for Tom’s reply.

           The text bubble stopped and a massage didn’t appear, but her phone started ringing. Millie answered the FaceTime call and waited for the camera on his phone to adjust and show his familiar face.

           “I had a meeting with Disney and they want me to participate in one of their projects for a Marvel-themed ride at Disneyland,” from a crooked angle she could see his neatly gelled hair and uneven eyebrows. Tom was walking somewhere, but then sat down and perched his phone on the mug that stood on the coffee table, so that she could see him better.

           “That’s exciting, right?”

           “Oh, yeah!” She could see him rummage in a brown paper bag and pull out a box with some takeaway food. “But I’m telling you this because we could turn it into our Disneyland trip that you’ve wanted, right?”

           “That would be nice, yeah.” She smiled back at the screen, but a terrible yawn sneaked in to her expression. Tom scrunched his forehead and took a large sip from a bottle of water.

           “I didn’t wake you up now, did I?”

           “No, I just came back home. I am tired, though.”

           “Yeah? How was work?”

           “Stressful and not nice. It wasn’t a good day.”

           “Oh, I’m sorry. Wanna talk about it?”

           Tom spent the next minutes carefully listening to her words and trying not to spill his soup on his fresh clothes. He hummed to some of the stories and asked little intrusive questions, to get the whole picture. She kept rubbing at her eyes and stifling her yawns every now and then, at last making a mess of her mascara and getting it all over her skin. Despite the seriousness in her voice, Tom smiled fondly to himself at the view of her ruined face that probably mimicked her current mental state. It wasn’t something he should laugh about, but it was rather endearing to have her so comfortably sharing her lows with him, while he casually ate his lukewarm, very late lunch.

           “Why are you laughing at me?” She returned his smile, knowing it was probably something she did.

           “You made yourself look like panda.” He chewed on a chunk of chicken from his second plate. The wrinkles by his eyes deepened with each of her chuckles and proved to them that this is the lightness they need in their daily routines. “Well, it’s good you asked for a new placement. You should be comfortable in your work environment. I’m proud of you.”

           “Thanks,” she yawned again and stopped herself mid-rubbing her eye again, earning a wholesome, groggy laugh from her friend, “your dad thinks they will give me another chance.”

           “I mean, he knows some people there, so he probably has a point.”

           “Yeah, I just don’t want to get my hopes up too high, you know?” A comfortable silence rested between them after he nodded and continued munching on his food. Millie stood up from her bed and took the phone with her, but also started to slowly get ready for the night.

           “You will know when the moment feels right and shows you something worth a shot. Trust yourself, Mills.”

           “I guess…” she trailed off, making her way to the closet to find fresh pyjamas. “I’m glad my panda face entertained your… what is it, lunch break?”

           “Sort of, yeah,” he chuckled, enjoying the playfulness of her tired self, “I should be coming back in two weeks. We could hang out then, if you’ll have the time.”

           “Oh, for sure.”

           “Alright, I’ll let you rest. Text me anytime, yeah?”

           “I will. Thanks for the Minnie ears!”

           “You got it, Minnie Mouse. Sweet dreams.”

                                                          *  *  *

After her little mishap with Politics Live, Millie tried her best to keep up the hard work, but stay low. She tried not to focus too much attention and just assist other workers in their tasks, only coming up with ideas when necessary. She strived to come back to her public voice, but she knew she needed it to have a comfortable outlet, preferably in another setting and on different topics. She was greeting the intern manager with additional caution and kindness, trying her best not to leave her case forgotten.

Segregating files for the research team seemed to be the best solution to her temporary creative break. Her attention to detail and wholesome care about the task being done to its full potential came in handy. She volunteered to help the group of meticulously scribbling and researching men in keeping their documents in order.

The soft mumble of the radio in the background was interrupted by a guy named Tim. He always wore rock band t-shirts under his jackets and Millie swore she had seen him participate in a wild dance routine during the last year’s Glastonbury Festival. He stopped typing on his keyboard and started to quietly hum a song that was definitely different to what Scott Mills was announcing on Radio 1.

“Oh my God, do you guys know this song? I can’t get it out of my head!” he groaned in frustration, making a few people in the open space office chuckle.

“Do you know any words, maestro?” Millie’s head snapped up at the sound of Kim, the intern manager’s voice. She was passing by with a bunch of files and a coffee, before she perched herself on his desk, obviously making fun of her friend.

“It’s got this very cool, mariachi-like trumpet between the lines,” he mimicked a trumpet player and hummed some more, “and the guy sings something about stopping a feeling…”

“Justin Timberlake?”

“You know he’s not my jam, Kim! It’s an old-school song.”

“You’re the old-school one here.” Kim’s comment earned a couple more laughs at poor Tim, who was genuinely struggling. “you’re the researcher, have you googled it?”

“Of course I googled it, stop mocking me! People are watching.”

Their little light-hearted exchange brought a breezy atmosphere to the office and made Millie smile some more. She kept on looking up at Tim to check if he’s found the song he was looking for, but without luck. Her fingertips started to tingle with each swipe through the pages in a file, because she felt like she knew the song. Deciding to come against her decision to lay low, she gently cleared her throat and swallowed her nerves of speaking up in a new environment.

“Hey Tim, have you tried to find it on Spotify?” they both looked at Millie with playful smiles, as anyone would to the up and coming intern fresh out of university.

“I don’t think it’s the title of the song, so I won’t find it there.”

“But you actually could,” she offered, biting her lip nervously “since the recent update, you can now type in the lyrics into the search bar and the results will show you all licensed songs with the same or similar lyrics.” Tim instantly reached for his phone and started typing away.

“Oh really? I didn’t know that, let’s see…” Kim looked into his phone and watched his progress.

“And since you’ve remembered a catchy verse, it’s very possible that others also tried to find this song through the same words. So, it will probably come up within the first few results.”

“Alright, smarty.” He shook his head in amusement. Millie watched as Kim’s face got ridden of any emotion and just stared at Tim’s work.

“But if nothing comes up, you can always try ‘Hooked on a Feeling’ by Blue Swede.”

Millie waited with racing heart at their reactions. Tim clicked on one of the results and raised the volume, filling the room with a sound so familiar to Millie’s memory. She smiled shyly and internally patted herself on the back, before coming back to her task.

           “How did you know this song?” His triumphant smile was radiating, as he did a little dance in his seat and twirled on his rolling chair. “It’s such an old tune, I didn’t think your generation would know it!”

           “Yeah Millie, how did you know?” Kim encouraged his question and watched her carefully, almost as if she was studying her intern.

           “It’s in the soundtrack to Guardians of the Galaxy. I wrote a paper on it.”

           “Hm.” Kim’s unreadable expression was giving Millie chills, but in a positive way. She liked to be asked about things that interested her and prompted her to be creative, so the way this situation evolved was close to burst her heart into passionate flames. “I’ll ask the Radio managers if they want a music and pop culture geek, how’s that sound?”

           It sounded like Millie put the trust in herself at the right time.  

****

tagged: @peeterparkr @katieraven @kozybear@sunsetholland @hey-marlie @lauras-collection@cunaeparker @constellationsv @heyhihellowhatsup0 @spideyspeaches

If it bothers you that you’re tagged, please let me know!

[fatefulfaerie]

Honesty Part 6

Part One here

Part Two here

Part Three here

Part Four here

Part Five here

It only took Link about an hour before he was too weak to guide his horse, Zelda helping the knight heavy with muscle and lethargic with sickness onto her own horse.

Thus, Zelda rode into Hateno as the sunset rose upon it, Link laying on her upright back like a mattress and softly hugging her waist like a pillow. The position had adorned her cheeks with a heavy blush and a warmth in her heart that wasn’t fading.

The door opened as soon as her horses hooves were in earshot of the house. Link’s mother rushed out and brought her hands to her mouth with a soft gasp and eyes etched with concern.

Link mumbled about his “fine” health as his mother and his princess brought him in the house and laid him down on the largest bed, where he quickly drifted off to sleep.

Zelda didn’t leave Link’s side, even as Link was diagnosed by the Hateno medic. Zelda kept her hand in his as the medic told them that until the food poisoning passed from his body, he would still feel a great amount of nausea, disorientation, and fatigue alongside it. Otherwise, the lad was in perfect health.

Zelda wondered at what goddess-forsaken moldy mushroom or rotten fruit Link put in his mouth on his way to or from fighting the Hinox, but she sat unwaveringly by his side nonetheless. It was a sight that Link’s parents looked at with a smile from across the loft, Ruth’s head locked gently in Hugh’s neck. 

The two youths were now chatting like old friends, smiling and almost laughing as they conversed out of earshot. Link’s head lay uncomfortably on the rim of the bucket inch-deep with puke, but the way he smiled at his princess showed he didn’t mind at all. 

“What do you think of those two?” Ruth asked Hugh. “I think they suit each other well.”

“It’s hard to believe our little boy is all grown up and finding his own love.”

Ruth smiled.

“So you agree?” She asked with a smirk. “You’d think they’d make a nice couple?”

“Well I’m not about to start planning the wedding, but I think they like each other a great deal. If it weren’t for other factors, I think it would be an easy and splendid match.”

Ruth’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Other factors,” she said before lifting her head from her husband’s shoulder. “What do you mean, other factors?”

Hugh gave a side glance to Zelda as he leaned in to his wife’s ear.

“She’s the princess,” he said. “Link fell in love with his charge.”

Hugh waited for a reaction to be amused by from his wife, but none came, Ruth only looking at him with disappointment.

“You think I don’t know that?” She asked rhetorically. “Goddesses sake. Even Lottie was asking if he was dating her.”

“You didn’t say anything,” Hugh reasoned.

“I was trying to be respectful,” Ruth said with a bit of pride. “Besides, I’m not sure what it is but I just have this feeling…I think they’ll find a way.”

——————————————————————————————————

Link had left to get a breath of fresh air as Zelda continued to sit in her chair, jotting various notes in her science journal of things to research when she returned to the castle, Guardian schematics she ached to return to, of course with the option to look up from her studies and gaze upon her knight attendant without his knowledge.

“Excuse me,” she heard Link’s mom say, Zelda turning her head. “May I talk with you for a bit?”

“Of course,” Zelda said, gesturing with her hand to invite her to sit across from her. “There’s no need to ask.”

Ruth sat on the edge of the bed with a warm smile towards Zelda, soon taking the girl’s hand with a motherly gentility that Zelda hadn’t felt in a very long time. She tried not to let it affect her.

“I just wanted to tell you,” Ruth said. “We don’t blame you at all for the danger Link has been in, for the burden he carries. From what I understand, you are weighted down much like he is.”

Zelda furrowed her brow.

“I…I’m sorry,” she started. “You…you know who I am?”

Ruth’s smile grew as she nodded, returning her hand to clasp into her own.

“People who walk and talk like you are few and far between,” she explained, “especially around here. I knew you must have been at least a lady of the court when Link first introduced you to us. It wasn’t hard to place you as the princess in the moments after. Link isn’t a very good liar.”

Zelda chuckled.

“I suppose,” she said in reply. “And thank you for being honest with me. I wish your son didn’t have so many run-ins with danger but…well until the calamity is appeased there are a lot of things that we can’t control. He is a valuable asset to my father and to Hyrule.”

“What about to you?” Ruth asked.

Zelda shrugged, attempting to hide her blushing cheeks.

“He’s my knight attendant,” Zelda said. “And he’s a good friend. He is invaluable to me.”

Ruth studied the way Zelda smiled. It was small and almost forced.

“But…” Ruth prompted.

“It’s dumb,” Zelda insisted, bowing her head.

“Humor me,” Ruth said. Zelda lifted her head to meet Ruth’s blue gaze.

“I was eavesdropping,” Zelda started. “I know, all sorts of improper, but…Link’s father said something about Link telling me the truth, and…well…of course I trust him enough to acknowledge he can have his own secrets, but if it has something to do with me…I don’t know...I’m starting to think...”

Ruth placed a hand on Zelda’s shoulder, the touch warm and affirming. She made sure Zelda’s eyes met hers. The silent show of support was all Zelda needed.

“I’m starting to think he may return the feelings I have for him,” Zelda said quickly, blurting out.

Ruth’s eyebrows were raised at the sudden expelling of words.

“Sorry,” Zelda said. “I didn’t mean for that to come out so suddenly...it’s just a lot for me to grapple with on my own. This connection Link and I seem to have...but then also having to ignore it until after the Calamity is defeated.”

“Why must you ignore it?” Ruth asked.

Zelda shrugged.

“It’s practical,” Zelda explained. “I think we both fear that if we don’t focus completely on the Calamity, Hyrule will fall to ruin.”

Ruth nodded.

“That makes sense,” she said. “You have a smart reason for concealing your honesty, both of you, but...don’t forget that you two do need each other. It doesn’t even need to be a romantic thing. You two are the only people who truly understand the pressure of having the entire world on your shoulders. You don’t have to shut each other out just because you are falling in love and you think that’s a bad idea. You don’t have to be anything to support each other. Love is more than lust, you know.”

Zelda gave a smile.

“I know,” she said in reply.

[cherienymphe]

Call Me Ransom (Ransom Drysdale x Reader)

WARNINGS: NON CON! IF THIS OFFENDS YOU PLEASE DNI! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!

Summary: Ransom has always been nice to you. You never thought to question it until it was too late.

~

There were very few instances in your life where you regretted any of your choices. There was the time your aunt told you to stop messing with that small hole in the ground when you were 7. Not only did you regret disobeying her for your sake, but for your cousin’s too as the both of you were chased by bees. Once, in middle school, your best friend had told you not to go out with the most popular boy in your grade. You found out why when you realized he’d only asked you out on a dare.

When every member of the Thrombey family told you how horrible Ransom Drysdale was, you didn’t listen.

It wasn’t that you didn’t believe them, per say. Sure, you’d seen how horribly he treated his relatives. How nasty he was to Fran, and sometimes Marta too. You’d seen it with your own eyes, and while it definitely bothered you, you couldn’t help but feel that he couldn’t be all bad. After all, he was so nice to you. He had been from the very first moment you’d been hired.

Fran was friends with your mother, and when freshman year of college came around, and you were in desperate need of a job, Fran was the one to put in a good word for you with Harlan Thrombey himself. He was an old eccentric man, full of so much life at his age. You’d seen how he behaved with Marta and often found yourself hoping you never lost your spirit either when you got that old.

Your first encounter with Ransom wasn’t the best as far as first impressions went. It was during winter break of the first year you’d gotten hired. You’d only been working there for a few months but had still yet to see the infamous “shit stain” as Meg liked to call him. You were helping Fran, in the process of going from room to room, changing the sheets. You weren’t aware that he was home, and so when you opened the door of one of the guest bedrooms, you were met with the half-naked sight of him. He was in the process of changing clothes, and the sight startled you, causing you to drop the sheets you were carrying before hurrying out of the room, a thousand apologies slipping out.

When he found you, you were downstairs, wiping down a window, trying to erase the memory of his bare chest and thick thighs from your mind. You felt him rather than heard him and turned to face him with a fright. He was so close, and you stumbled back as he ran his blue eyes over you with an unreadable expression. You had swallowed, glancing down at the sheets in his hand before hesitantly taking them as he handed them to you.

“Hugh, I’m… I’m so sorry. I didn’t know that you were here, and if I’d had any idea I would have knocked.”

You were quick to stutter out an apology. After all, you’d heard the worst things of him for months, and you were genuinely afraid of losing your job because you walked in on Hugh Ransom Thrombey while he was changing clothes. He was an asshole, everyone had told you, and you believed it. He made “the help” call him Hugh for Christ’s sake.

He didn’t respond at first, simply opting for looking down his nose at you. You took another step back, heart racing as he eyed you. You felt like you were going to be sick as you waited for him to say something, anything. You were expecting the worse to come from him. An insult, a slur, a threat of losing your job, but he said none of those things. He simply said:

“Call me Ransom.”

He had brushed past you before you had time to respond to that, leaving you to blink in confusion.

It was the beginning of an odd and unexpected friendship…if you could call it that. The two of you weren’t attached at the hip or anything every time he came to the mansion, but sometimes he talked to you. Sometimes before leaving the house, he’d asked what you thought of what he was wearing. If he saw you struggling to lift something, he’d come by and help without saying a word. He’d snap at Jacob or, hell, even Linda if they were rude to you over something that was, 9 times out of 10, out of your control.

You’d always throw him a small appreciative smile, tentatively at first as you were still wary of him.

“Thank you, Hugh,” you’d say.

His reply would always be the same.

“Call me Ransom.”

It became sort of an inside joke between the two of you. You’d continue to call him Hugh, because you just didn’t feel right calling him Ransom. Not only was he technically your employer, but he still required Fran and Marta and anyone else who worked for the family to call him Hugh. It didn’t seem fair, but he would smirk every time, that strange look in his eyes as he told you to call him Ransom.

He treated you differently, and it didn’t go unnoticed.

“Are you fucking Ransom?” Meg asked you one day.

You’d blanched, eyes going wide as you paused in the middle of your dusting. She pressed the juul to her lips, briefly turning away to exhale as she waited for you to answer.

“No,” you gasped, blinking at her in confusion. “Why…why would you ask me that?”

Meg rolled her eyes before falling back into the chair.

“…because he treats you like a human being, and Ransom doesn’t treat anyone even remotely decent unless he’s fucking them…or trying to,” she explained, eyeing you.

“No,” you reiterated, frantically shaking your head.

She threw her hands up in defense.

“Hey, I just wanted to ask what no one else had the balls to,” she said, and you paused again.

You blinked, lowering your arm as you stared at her in horror.

“What does that mean?” you whispered. “D-do they think…? Does everyone think that?”

She pulled another drag before nodding.

“Yeah,” she said, exhaling with a shrug. “I mean, it’s no big deal. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Well, maybe he has no interest in doing that with the employees here anymore,” you murmured, turning back around.

You heard her scoff.

“Yeah, right. Ransom passing on the opportunity to stick his dick in anything that moves? I don’t think so…”

“Well, he has,” you defended. “He had the chance. Plenty of them, in fact.”

You didn’t know why you were so defensive. Maybe it was because you felt like he was your friend. You believed the stories about him, you did. You saw with your own eyes how he talked to Jacob and Walt, sometimes. For some reason though, he didn’t treat you that way. Was Meg right?

“Look, (Y/N). I know he’s nice to you,” she started, sounding closer. “…but listen to me when I say he’s just biding his time. After all, that first chance he did have, you, how did you put it, ran away like a scared chicken? He’s just being smart about it this time around.”

She placed her hand on your shoulder with a sad smile as you turned to look at her.

“You’re so nice. Nicer than he deserves, and I really just wish he’d quit playing games with you. Nothing good ever comes out of it.”

You contemplated her words as she walked away, suddenly feeling foolish. Was Ransom really just playing nice, earning your trust just to strike?

A year and a half later you still thought about that conversation from time to time. Mostly on how wrong Meg had been. Ransom had never been anything but nice to you, and even you couldn’t believe he’d be that motivated to “play games” with you for the better part of two years. His odd behavior towards you still threw you for a loop, sometimes. Especially considering how cold and callous he was towards everyone else, but you’d just accepted that for whatever reason, he treated you differently.

Maybe he took pity on how skittish you were. That definitely seemed like a more plausible reason. Ransom probably thought you were a pitiful mess, not worth toying with. That was more than fine with you. On the off chance he brought a guest to the home, you saw how he treated them the morning after. How distant and malicious he was as he, sometimes quite literally, shoved them out of the door. He’d been so nice to you. You didn’t think you could handle it if he treated you that way.

You stepped into the house early that morning, prepared to begin your shift. However, you’d barely been in the mansion for five minutes when Ransom found you.

“(Y/N), there’s a broken vase upstairs that needs to be dealt with,” he said, and the way he rushed it out told you all you needed to know.

“What did you do this time?” you asked with a sigh as you straightened.

He smirked, a small chuckle escaping his lips as you followed him out of the living room and into the hallway.

“I had too much to drink last night. Decided to come by here and sleep it off. I didn’t realize I’d broken the damn thing until I woke up this morning. I’m hoping I can replace it before Harlan notices. Either that, or I’ll just tell him Fran swiped it.”

You frowned at him as you followed him up the stairs.

“Hugh,” you reprimanded.

He smirked, glancing at you.

“I’ve told you a thousand times to call me Ransom,” he said, stopping at one of the guest rooms. “It’s in here.”

You pushed the door open, walking inside to assess how big of a mess it was. You scanned the room, a frown making its way onto your face as you noted that not one thing was out of place.

“Hugh is this the right…,” you trailed off as you turned and watched him shut the door behind him. “…room?”

He chuckled, reaching behind him to lock the door, head tilting as he studied you.

“What are you doing?” you quietly asked, a feeling of dread settling in your stomach.

“I wanted to talk to you…alone,” he added as he walked towards you.

You started to take a step back before deciding against it, eyes flickering between the locked door and him.

“…okay,” you responded in an unsure tone.

However, he didn’t say anything as he approached you. Your eyes were wide, lips parting in shock when he reached out to pull you closer, leaning his head down as he tilted yours up. Your eyes remained open when his lips softly met yours, a million thoughts running through your head when he kissed you. His lips were soft, the softest you’d ever felt, and you almost let yourself enjoy it.

Almost.

You stumbled back in shock, reaching up to brush your fingers along your lips as he heaved a sigh. He sounded annoyed.

“Hugh…we can’t. I work for your grandfather and, by extension, you. I-I can’t do that,” you protested.

The corner of his lips quirked upwards just the tiniest bit. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say it was a smile.

“No one is going to care. Thanks to me, they already think we’re having sex every time I come around, anyway.”

Your heart skipped a beat, a small gasp escaping you as you processed what he said.

“…what? Is that why you’ve been so kind to me? So your family would think we’re sleeping together…just to make it easier for us to actually sleep together?” you quietly asked.

“You seemed like the kind of girl who wouldn’t jump right into things. I had to soften you up somehow…”

You blinked at him, throat tightening as your eyes began to burn. His eyebrows furrowed, smirk growing as he took in your reaction.

“Did you think I was being nice to you out of the kindness of my heart?”

The way he asked that was so condescending, and it made you feel stupid. You looked away, and you heard him scoff in disbelief.

“You did,” he said, more so to himself.

You took a deep shaky breath, licking your lips as you fought not to cry. There was the most awful pain in your chest. You thought he was your friend…

“Look, Hugh…,” you started, looking at him.

His nostrils flared.

“Call me Ransom-.”

“I take my job very seriously, Hugh. Okay? Fran stuck her neck out to get me this job, and I’m not going to screw it up by…by screwing you.”

He straightened, pushing his shoulders back as he looked down his nose at you.

“I’m sorry if I led you on or made you believe something that wasn’t true. I genuinely thought you were my friend. I realize, now how foolish that was, and I’m sorry,” you whispered, walking past him.

His hand covered yours when you went to open the door, and you looked up at him. He was so close, chiseled features hardened as he hummed at you.

“Your job is to take care of the house. To keep my family happy and make our stay here as pleasant as possible whenever we come around. You’re not keeping me happy, (Y/N), and I’ll be forced to tell my grandfather that you just aren’t taking your job very seriously…”

Your eyes widened as you caught onto what he was insinuating. You stared at him like that for a painful amount of time as your heart broke for a second time that day. You swallowed, allowing the tears to finally spill over.

“You…you would do that…to me? Because I won’t sleep with you?” you spat.

“It just seems to me that you don’t care about your job. I don’t think Harlan would want anyone around who doesn’t put their best effort into their work,” was his response.

You took a deep breath, lips trembling as you glared at him.

“You can tell him whatever you like. There are other jobs. I’m not going to fuck you just so I can keep this one,” you threw at him, snatching your hand away.

Neither one of you said a word as you glared at each other. His jaw clenched, and you could tell that that wasn’t what he had been expecting. Without another word, you turned back to the door, barely opening it when he slammed his hand against it, shutting it. You looked up at him with a glower.

“Hugh-.”

Your words were cut off as he wrapped his hand around your throat, slamming you against it. You gasped, fighting to get his hand off of you when you realized that his other was unbuttoning your jeans. You reach down to stop him, but it was already too late. His fingers were suddenly at your core, grazing along your sensitive flesh as you tried to twist away from him.

Your fight only fueled him, gasping when he pushed one finger inside of you, followed by another. One of your hands clenched around his wrist, trying to get him to stop while the other tried to get him to loosen his group around your neck. He bent his head, kissing along your collarbone as he stroked your walls that were slowly, but surely, becoming slick.

Tears sprung to your eyes all over again once you realized that he was tightening his grip. It was getting hard for you to breathe, and the soft pants that were leaving your lips were growing fainter and fainter. He was pulling you, forcing you towards the bed as his fingers continued to stroke that fire inside of you. When he pushed you back onto it, your vision was spinning, colors blending together, darkness kissing the edges of your sight.

When he finally let go, you were gasping for breath, struggling to sit up as your body tried to right itself. When everything finally stood still, you realized that your pants and underwear were already to your ankles, and with one final tug, Ransom had them across the room. You sat up in a panic only for him to push you back down, shushing you as soft sobs began to leave you.

“Ransom, please,” you begged him, calling him by his middle name for the first time in your life.

He paused, running his crystal gaze over your half naked form, hands sliding up your stomach to push your shirt up, exposing your breasts.

“Say it again,” he quietly ordered.

You saw the glint in his eye, and frantically shook your head.

“No, stop-!”

You cut yourself off in a panic, hands pushing against him as he undid his pants just enough for his cock to spring forward. It was angry and red and leaking with precum as he lowered himself onto you completely.

“Ransom! Ransom, stop!”

It was like you were screaming at the air. He brought one hand up to cover your mouth while the other guided himself inside of you. A guttural groan left his lips as you squeezed him, a hiss escaping between his teeth when his hips met yours. You gasped into his hand, chest heaving as your body fought to get used to the feel of him.

Sooner than you would have liked, he was pulling back only to shove himself inside of you again. His thrusts were slow, but forceful, moving the mattress with the movement. Soft pants were leaving his lips as he hovered over you, working his hips against yours. He slowly slid his hand off of your mouth, brushing his fingers along your jaw as you squeezed your eyes shut.

“Say my name,” he breathed.

You frantically shook your head, fighting the pleasure that was beginning to bubble inside of you.

“No,” you refused, gasping when he increased his pace.

He reached down, pushing his arms under your thighs as he pushed your legs back towards you. An unidentifiable noise left you at the feel of this new angle. He was hitting a spot inside of you that hurt so good, and you dug your nails into his back.

“R-Ransom,” you begged.

Although, now you weren’t sure what you were begging for.

“Again,” he demanded, and you obliged.

Again, again, again. You came around him, milking him, with his name on your lips, begging him to stop. He didn’t. When you clenched around his cock for the third time, duties long unattended to, his hand was on your throat again, telling you to call him Ransom as he coated your insides with a groan.

Tags: @darkficreposter @xoxabs88xox @sebabestianstan101 

[obsidianfr3sk]

Rise of the Renegades (Chapter 4)

Summary:  Heroes come from the most unexpected places. Heroes sometimes feel a little too different, a little too scared, a little too alone. But heroes also know when enough is enough, and that before saving the world, they need to save themselves. And they cannot do it alone.

They were going to be the hope of the world. They were going to call themselves the Renegades. Even if they didn’t know it yet.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26246812/chapters/64945570

Wow, Obsi, you’re not posting at 11PM? No, I’m posting during online classes. That’s how much I love y’all. 

Reblogs and likes? Love them! 

Tag list: (Tell me if you want in or out!) @nodrianbcyes @healing-winston-pratt @lethughandsimonkiss @aceslytherinwinchester @plain-jane-mclain @jacihayle @cindersnightmare​

Don’t be a hero

The sky could be falling, the seas could be rising,

the whole world would end, and you’d still be there smiling.

You laugh in the face of the dangers you see.

Oh, thank goodness you’re out here with me!

Hugh

“So the first step to our redemption is to stop stealing.”

Simon rolled his eyes. “Sure, that's easy. Next time our families need food, water, or medicines, we will walk to the supermarket, take out our credit cards and—”

“Okay, I get it,” Hugh interrupted, “we don't have any money.”

“Not a single penny. All the money my dad makes goes to the medicine fund,” Simon explained. “Do you remember when Sophie had a stomach infection during the summer? That's where all the money he had raised for two months went.”

The truth was that Hugh was not very aware of how much medicines actually cost. He rarely got sick and his aunt...

When he told the owner of the store he didn't know what his aunt had, he wasn't lying. Just six months ago, she had gone to the last remaining hospital in all of Gatlon City that had not yet been taken over by the Anarchs or some gang. She left in the morning and returned hours later, with a box of cigarettes she finished that same night.

Yes, she was sick. No, there was nothing to worry about. She would be fine. And she never bought cigarettes again after that. (Good. It was a terrible habit.)

“What medicines—”

“Oh, I don't need medicine,” she replied. “It’s only a matter of time. And I'm serious. If I see that you spend money on medicine for me, I will punish you.”

It would be the first time his aunt punished him. He didn't want to smear his record with it, so he decided to believe her.

Everything would be fine.

“We will have to find a way,” he replied. “But we can't steal anymore.”

They continued walking down the sidewalk. Classes were over. The autumn wind ruffled their hair and flushed their cheeks. It was a sunny and kind of hot day, but it didn't bother him at all. After all, he had always preferred warm climates.

“We could drop out of school,” Simon suggested, “and get a job.”

“Drop out?”

“It's not like someone is going to stop us,” he replied with a shrug. “Would your aunt mind you drop out of school? I think my dad would be happy to have someone else bring money to the house.”

Hugh tightened the straps on his backpack. Simon had told him walking like that made him look like one of the dwarves from Snowhite. “I had never considered dropping out of school,” he replied. “I don't know what she would say.”

“Think about it.” Simon carried his backpack on one shoulder and walked with his back hunched and his eyes down. “I know you hate school as much as I do. It's not like we learn anything anyway. Also, if we stop stealing and start earning an honest living, we would stop contributing to the crime and anarchist culture that destroyed the city in the first place.”

Hugh stopped walking.

“What’s wrong?” Simon asked.

“That— that makes a lot of sense, actually,” he agreed.

When did you get so smart?

Simon smiled at him and tapped his temple. “And I didn't learn that in school.”

They stopped a few steps from the door of Joe's Basket. He felt a wave of remorse wash over him. That man had been so kind to him. He had given him a chocolate bar, talked to him, sent greetings to his aunt...

And they had been cruel. Nothing but cruel.

He reached into his pants pocket and felt the money he kept there.

An honest purchase might not solve all the trouble they had caused, but it could be a good start.

Simon opened the door for him. The owner of the store recognized him immediately and greeted him. Hugh smiled at him and headed toward the shelves. He and Simon stared at the articles for a while. He was glad to know that he had been able to restock since their last visit.

On one hand, he wanted to spend those five dollars and seventy cents on a couple of cans of real food. But on the other, those fruity bubble gums looked great. Hugh hadn't bought gum in a long time after Mr. Westwood told him they cause cavities.

“If you drop off school, what job would you get?” Simon asked.

“What job would you get ?”

“I do not know, that's why I ask you. We’re brainstorming.”

He laughed underneath. “I think… I could sell chromium stuff, right? Like cutlery. I could start my own chromium cutlery business!”

Simon looked at him skeptically. “Sure. The market for cutlery is in full swing during this time of the year.”

The two of them fixed their gaze on two chocolate bars that were left at the bottom of a small cardboard box at the same time. They immediately knew where they would spend their money. Stars, they could even buy that fruity bubble gum. The hell with cavities.

Being good felt… good.

Simon reached out for the chocolates when three men entered the store, one by one, leaving a strong smell of tobacco and glue behind them. They wore brown leather jackets and had their right ear covered with earrings.

Roaches.

As the Roaches approached the counter, Hugh and Simon ran to hide behind other shelves.

“We have to go,” Simon whispered in the lowest tone he could manage.

Hugh looked at the counter. The shortest of all had to be of the same height as him. He was missing a lot of teeth and his fingers were yellow. His face, haggard and wrinkled, made him look more like a rat than a human. He leaned confidently on the counter, conversing with the owner as if he were an old friend. But the owner did not look at all pleased with their presence.

“Simon, we have to help him.”

Simon turned translucent. “Help him?”

One of the Roaches turned in his direction. Hugh managed to duck just in time so they wouldn't see him.

“They are armed,” Simon stressed. “I saw their guns when they entered.”

Hugh almost laughed out loud as he removed his glasses and handed them to Simon.

Guns were the least of his problems.

He could create a weapon with his powers. A metal bar thick enough to hit the bigger guy on the head. He would hit him so hard that he would end up completely knocked out. Then the bald man would have the same fate. By that time, the shortest would have drawn his gun and shot him straight in the chest. But what would be his surprise when he realized that the bullets did not hurt him.

It would be so heroic.

“Guns, sure,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. “Do you think some guns can stop me?”

Simon pursed his lips.

Then he remembered that he had not come alone. That his friend was there. That the guns could hurt him.

If something went wrong, even the smallest thing, he would lose Simon.

“It's a stupid plan,” Simon whispered. “Don't be the hero.”

Simon gave him the glasses back.

Hugh put his glasses on. “I will not be a hero. Turn invisible.”

The hallway was clear. If they walked silently to the door and ran as fast as their legs would allow them, the Roaches would have no chance to catch them even if they wanted to. And with Simon being invisible, they wouldn't even notice him and couldn't hurt him in any way.

That one was not a stupid plan.

Simon followed him. They were getting closer and closer to the exit. The Roaches had no idea what was happening. Hugh reached out to open the door...

But a girl with dark skin and curly hair did it before he could.

For a second, the two of them looked into each other's eyes, and Hugh felt like he had already seen her at another time. He was so focused on trying to remember why her face looked so familiar that he barely noticed that Simon pushed her away and ran.

Before he could follow him, a voice talked.

“Lady, come in. And you, kid... You stay.”

The girl entered. And Hugh stayed.

Georgia

The only time Georgia had come face to face with a villain had been when Mr. Rae broke into her home the day after Tamaya escaped. She and her mother were quietly having a cup of black tea and sour toast for breakfast when he threw down the damn front door like the maniac he was, ran into the dining room and started yelling at Georgia to tell him right now where Tamaya was. Georgia instinctively flew up to the dining room ceiling.

Her mother managed to throw Mr. Rae out of the house by threatening him with a knife.

After Mr. Rae left, her mother asked, “Do you know where Tamaya is?”

Georgia shook her head. She wasn’t lying. And her mother knew.

“Do you have something to do with her running away from home?”

Georgia nodded.

Surprisingly, her mother didn't scold her. They finished their breakfast as if nothing had happened. Before leaving for work, she told her not to leave the house and to finish the calculus lessons she had left on her desk. Georgia managed to get so distracted doing math problems that she hardly thought about Mr. Rae.

When her mother returned, she made her promise never to get in the way of an evil person again. Georgia didn't want to promise that.

“But Mom, Mr. Rae is a villain!” she exclaimed.

“Of course he is, Georgia,” the woman agreed. “But you are not a hero. You can't save everyone.”

Like I couldn't save my dad, right?

Georgia promised. Mr. Rae never looked for her again. That had happened over a year ago, and so far she had managed not to get in the way of any villain, and she was very proud of it.

Yet, she had been so mired in her happiness that she hadn't thought about what to do if a villain got in her way.

So Georgia did nothing. She just obeyed.

She and the boy took a few steps away from the entrance.

What a lousy day she had chosen to look for a job.

The big Roach extended his hand. Georgia hugged her curriculum tightly. What did he want from her?

The leader realized her confusion. “Give him your money,” he explained.

“Now,” the bald man seconded.

Georgia reached into her pants pockets and handed him her last fifty dollars. Her mother would be furious. But she'd be more furious if Georgia risked her life for a measly fifty dollars.

“What I wonder is,” said the bald man, “how is it that a girl with perfume as expensive as yours ended up in this part of town?”

“I—“

“Are you lost, darling?”

“Enough, Hound,” the leader ordered with a laugh. He toyed with a couple of coins. “Don't flirt with the hand that feeds you.”

Hound stopped.

The taller one then turned to the blond boy who was next to Georgia. He held out his hand. “Money. Now.”

The boy didn't move a muscle.

“Are you deft?” exclaimed the leader. "Now!”

“No.”

Leader raised his eyebrows. “Are you saying no to me?”

Georgia turned to see him. She was asking herself the same question.

Did you say no to him?

“No,” he repeated. “I refuse to listen to a villain like you.”

So he noticed it too. He also noticed they were villains.

But why did he think he was a hero?

Hound and Big Roach walked towards the boy, but Leader stopped them with a wave of his hand. “A villain?” he scoffed “What makes you think I'm a villain?”

“Well, certainly, robbing stores is not a very heroic thing to do,” the boy emphasized. “And you didn’t even say please when you—“

Leader put the gun to his forehead. The owner opened his mouth to speak out, but Hound gave him such a look that it silenced him before he said anything. Georgia dropped her curriculum.

That kid was going to get himself killed right in front of her. Georgia knew she had to do something, but she didn’t understand why her body refused to listen to her heart.

Just like that night.

“What do you think now?” the leader asked her, with a hideous smile.

“Will you say "please”, Mr. Roach?”

Leader stuck the gun to his forehead. “What the fuck, no, I won’t!”

And then, the kid—

The kid freaking smiled at him. “Then shoot.”

Leader froze. He lowered his gun, puzzled at the boy's reaction.

Was that it? Was that how you defeated a villain?

By smiling at them?

Incredible.

But before Georgia could process what happened, Leader placed the cannon on her forehead. She stifled a sob that threatened to come out of her mouth.

The boy's smile disappeared immediately.

“Oh, excuse me, Captain, could you repeat your last order?” Leader asked with mockery. “Did you order me to—“ he put his finger on the trigger “—shoot?”

If only Georgia could grab the man by the wrists and snatch the gun from him in one move. Take that stupid Roach by surprise, point his own gun at him, and give him a little taste of his own medicine. He would never expect it from a pretty, defenseless girl like Georgia.

But she did not move. Again.

The boy took the money out of his pockets. Several coins and two dollar bills. The big man snatched it from him with an almost piteous expression.

Seriously?

“Were you about to risk your life for five dollars?” Hound asked as Leader tucked his weapon into his belt. “How pathetic.”

The boy lowered his head and turned to see her. If Georgia could speak, she would have thanked him.

“The backpack,” ordered Big Roach. “We also want the backpack.”

“But—“

“Give me the backpack. Now.”

He gave him the backpack. Big Roach opened it and raised his eyebrows. Hound rolled his eyes and scattered all of its contents to the ground. The textbooks opened at random pages, one of the notebooks ended up under a shelve, and the metal pencil case made a ruckus as it smashed against the store tile.

However, what caught her attention was the comic.

Georgia flinched when she saw his back cover.

A man was wearing a blue mask and a tight uniform and had Ace Anarchy's helmet pierced by a silver spear.

Hound handed the backpack to the owner, saying something about putting all the money he had there. Leader squatted down and took the comic as if it were a vile gossip magazine.

“Do not touch it.”

Leader made a military salute. “As you order, Captain,” and opened the comic.

Georgia didn't understand why the boy was so upset. His pupils had dilated and his hands were shaking as much as hers. Each page that Leader turned, the boy flinched as if it was an unwanted touch.

He hadn't acted like that when they had literally pointed a gun at him, but now he did? Now he freaked out?

Then she thought it would make her nervous too if they touched her books. Especially the ones she hid under her bed.

She wanted to say that she understood him.

But she couldn't speak.

Then, Leader stopped at a particular page. “Hey, guys, check this out,” he laughed. “It turns out that our captain is also an artist. Look what he did,” and pulled out a drawing of a battle between the same superhero and Ace Anarchy.

Georgia didn't have to be a detective to know right away that the boy had drawn it.

Hound joined in the taunt, but Big Roach was only as serious as she was. Leader tore off the back cover of the comic and threw it to the ground along with the rest of the notebooks. Suddenly, he took Georgia by the arm and put the two pictures on her face.

“What are the similarities between these two pictures?” he asked with his cigar breath. Georgia had the drawings so close that she couldn't distinguish them. “Did the Phantom Feline eat your tongue, lady? What are the similarities?”

“They're both a drawing of the same characters...” she muttered.

Leader pushed her. The owner passed the backpack to Hound, and he and Big Roach headed for the exit. “I thought you'd be smarter, lady,” Leader said, shaking his head. “I'll tell you what the similarities are. They're both going to end up with someone dead.”

He stopped right in front of the boy, put the drawing on his face, and tore it in two. “Just not today, Captain.”

The tension didn't go away when they left, but Georgia felt that at least she could breathe peacefully now. She collapsed into a plastic chair that was awkwardly perched next to a broken soda machine and hid her face in her hands.

She was safe. The villains were gone.

She was safe.

But at what cost?

At the cost of being a coward.

“Are you okay, kids?” asked the owner. “Good heavens, I’m sorry you had to witness that.”

Georgia raised her face. He was an old man, with gray hair and parched skin. His wrinkles became more noticeable with his concern. "I'm fine,” Georgia said. “Don’t worry.”

“And you, son?”

The boy adjusted his glasses. “I’m fine too.”

With mechanical movements, he bent down and quickly gathered his things. He took Georgia’s curriculum and shyly handed it to her. Georgia noticed how his expression changed when he took the comic in his hands, battered and with folded and wrinkled pages. The boy tried to flatten it out as best he could and tucked it between his heavy Algebra and Geometry books.

“Where is your friend?” asked the owner.

“He came out before they saw him,” he replied.

The owner frowned. “I didn't see him come out—“ Immediately, the owner seemed to understand. But instead of getting mad, he just shrugged. “Oh, all right... Well, I'm glad everything is fine. I am so sorry, if I knew they were coming, I would have closed the store. Anyway, I think you should go with your friend, right?”

“Yes,” the boy stammered. “I have to go with him.”

“Don't you want to take—“

“Oh no, really.”

“For the inconvenience.”

“It’s okay.” He pressed the books to his chest. “I have to go with my friend. He must be very worried. Goodbye, sir.” He looked at Georgia for a second. “And bye... ma'am.”

Ma’am?

The owner shook his head when he left. These kids, really. “What do you have there, miss?”

Miss was a better term.

Georgia handed it to him. The owner smiled. “A curriculum. You have beautiful handwriting, miss, I assure you.” Her mother would be very happy to hear that. “But at the moment I don't have any vacant positions. Sorry.”

Georgia took her curriculum back and smiled at the man.

Why did she feel like she hadn't smiled in years?

Was she so affected by what just happened?

“However, I doubt that you are going to decline my offer to take anything from the store,” he continued, smiling as if she had been practicing it all her life. “How about a chocolate bar? I've heard that chocolate always helps us forget our sorrows for a moment.”

He was right. “A candy bar sounds great,” she replied.

The owner walked over to the shelves. “I’m glad to know Phantom Feline did not actually eat your tongue.”

Georgia laughed. Her eyes saw the red notebook that was below the shelf. She bent down to get it out of there. On the cover, it had “Hugh E.” written in permanent marker.

She opened the notebook. On the back of the cover, there were a lot of unfinished doodles and random to-do lists. In the corner, someone had written in purple pen, “If you find this lost notebook, return to 4491 Atha Drive. Be careful, the owner is a bit of an idiot. Proceed with caution.”

And the owner (probably this Hugh E.) had added with a blue gel pen, “Not true. My aunt says I'm very charming. Please give me back my notebook.”

His handwriting was way too pretty for a boy.

Georgia tucked the notebook into her cloth bag. When she returned her gaze to the ground, the gray eyes of Ace Anarchy's drawing met hers. It was when she realized that Hugh E. had not taken his drawing with him.

Georgia decided to return him his notebook and drawing as soon as she could.

After all, he said "please".

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Forged Through Fire (8/13)

Summary: Amestris. Once democratic, now a military dictatorship. Prohibition is strict; personal freedoms curtailed. All alchemists must be state-licensed or face imprisonment. Foreigners are met with suspicion. It’s a grim place and a grim time, but there are some people able to bring a little light to the world. Behind an innocent-looking bookshop, speakeasy proprietor Chris Mustang has formed an unlikely alliance with unlicensed alchemist Van Hohenheim to provide alcohol to those who want it and medical care to those who need it. When Riza’s newly complete tattoo becomes infected, Roy brings her into this underworld, little knowing the way it will change their lives in the future – uncovering the secrets of the mythical Philosopher’s Stone and the schemes of a Fuhrer hell-bent on achieving immortality, all whilst navigating what they mean to each other.

===

Rated: T

[One] [Two] [Three] [Four] [Five] [Six] [Seven] [AO3]

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Forged Through Fire

Eight

Trisha could tell something wasn’t right just a split second before Van’s hold on her hand tightened. She glanced across at him; he was still looking straight ahead but his shoulders were set and tense.

“Secret police?” she hissed. 

“Yes.”

Van had something of a sixth sense when it came to spotting the secret police. He’d been avoiding the authorities ever since he’d first come to Amestris and that avoidance had only increased in scope after the current regime had come to power. 

“How many?”

“Two behind, one dead ahead.”

Trisha looked at the man all in white coming towards them. As dapper as he looked, he was walking just a little too quickly to be casual, and he wasn’t going to waver from his course. Definitely secret police. Why did Amestris even need a secret police force? There were military police on practically every street corner.

“Trisha, take the next corner and double back to the bar, I’ll meet you there.”

“Van…”

“It’s me they want, and I’ve got a better chance of holding them off.”

She could feel the alchemy beginning to spark on his fingertips, and she squeezed his hand tightly. 

“Be careful.”

They’d had to avoid both the regular and the secret police many times over the last few years, but this was their closest call yet. It was a game of cat and mouse, whether they would reach the alley that was Trisha’s exit point before the man in white did. Trisha’s heart was beating painfully in her mouth. It was down to the wire.

Van shoved her down the alley as they got to it, and Trisha forced herself not to run or to look back as she heard footsteps stop and the man in white begin to speak. 

“Mr Hohenheim, I believe. That was quite the performance in the park the other day. I know several people who would love to hear about it.”

She didn’t hear Van’s response, but she heard the snap of his alchemy and the creak of the ground reshaping itself beneath her feet. 

Then there was a massive bang: explosive alchemy at its finest. It threw her off her balance and she couldn’t help but look behind her. The man in white was brushing dust off his coat, rubble settling all around. Van was on his knees, winded; one of the others who had been following them had taken advantage of the confusion to punch him in the stomach. 

“I thought you were a healer, not a fighter, Mr Hohenheim.”

The ground was creaking again, red sparks flying off Van’s fingers even as the other secret police held his arms behind his back to cuff him. The man in white looked startled, and instead of a witty comeback, he just nodded to his associates. 

“Bag him.”

The ground started to shake and rumble again, but it was too late. A car had screeched to a stop beside them, and two more secret police had got out, wrestling a black bag over Van’s head. Trisha could smell the chloroform. 

“Van!” She pressed her hands over her mouth, but the damage was done and the man in white was coming towards her as Van was bundled into the back of the car. 

Trisha ran. She knew all the back alleys of Central City like the back of her hand, and she hoped she’d be able to lose her pursuer in the murky, dark streets. She and Van always had an escape route, no matter where they were. She stumbled, one shoe flying off into the shadows. She left it, yanking the other one off and continuing to run. She could hear the man in white’s pounding footsteps behind her, but it didn’t sound like he was gaining. Hopefully, she had the advantage of familiar territory. 

She knew that she was coming up on the Narrows, a series of tight turns and doglegs, the slum buildings packed in so tightly that not even the strong full moonlight could force its way down. If she was going to lose him, here would be best. 

Trisha turned at the entrance to the alley labyrinth and lobbed her shoe at the man in white, scoring a direct hit in his face. He swore and staggered back, but she was already off again, weaving in and out until the only sound she could hear was her own panting. It was a long route to double back to the bar safely, but as much as she wanted to get there and get help as soon as possible, she forced herself to stick to the path. 

At last she came to the back door, marked with a faint symbol showing it as a safe haven for drinkers and alchemists alike, and she started pounding. Even if everyone else had gone home, surely Riza would still be there.

“Please!” She felt her skin split and bleed, but she kept on hammering. “Please let me in!”

She stumbled forward as the door opened, falling into Chris’s arms. 

“Trisha? What’s going on?”

“They’ve got Hohenheim!”

She heard Roy swear and saw Hughes pull him back from rushing straight out of the door, which Chris closed and bolted behind her. It seemed like the entirety of Roy’s group was crowded into the corridor, but they dutifully hurried back into the bar as Riza helped Trisha stumble along. Her legs were on the verge of turning into jelly and her lungs felt like they were on fire. Riza settled her in a chair, and then there was a large glass of brandy in her hands. 

“Ok, Trisha, tell it from the top,” Chris said. “And where are your shoes?”

“We got jumped by the secret police. Van probably could have held his own if one of them wasn’t an explosives alchemist. They black-bagged him. The alchemist – at least I think it was the alchemist – tried to follow me but I decked him with a shoe and lost him in the Narrows.”

“We’ve got to get him out.” Roy was pacing up and down with such ferocious purpose Trisha thought he’d wear a hole in the floor. “Secret police headquarters are in the basement under Central Command, not that they like us to know that.”

“Roy, you are not launching a one-man assault on Central Command!” Chris snapped.

“It’s not one-man!” The chorus of all the rest of the group was heartening, but Trisha shook her head. 

“No, he’s got no Amestrian papers, remember? They won’t take him for due process at headquarters with unlicensed array-less alchemy and no paperwork.”

Falman winced. “Yeah, he’s heading straight for the void.”

Hughes smacked him upside the head. “Very helpful, Falman.”

“Which makes it even more imperative that we get him out right now.” Roy was heading towards the door again, and Trisha yelled out.

“I’m not worried about him ending up in the void!”

Silence fell, and everyone looked at her. The void was the secret police firing squad yard. No one knew exactly where it was, and it was generally accepted as the worst possible fate you could find in Amestris. 

“I’m not worried about him potentially being shot! I’m more worried about what happens when they shoot him and he doesn’t die!”

X

“I’m going to ask you again. Where are you from?”

The man in white did not look anywhere near as threatening with a broken nose and blood splattered over his once-pristine suit, and Hohenheim recognised Trisha’s handiwork. She’d always had a good throwing arm. 

The interrogation room that he’d come round in seemed to be pretty standard, not that he’d made a habit of frequenting them in the past. He looked down at his hands, cuffed into standard alchemist wooden stocks which were chained to the table. 

Ordinarily that wouldn’t be enough to stop him, but the chloroform was still making him woozy, and he knew he wouldn’t have enough control not to bring whatever building he was in down on top of him. There was also the fact that whilst the man in white did not look as threatening now, he was still an alchemist and an explosive one to boot, which made the playing field far different to if he’d just been dealing with standard secret police officers. 

Also, whilst he did not look as threatening with a bloody nose, being hit in the face with a shoe hadn’t done anything for his temper. 

“I told you,” Hohenheim said levelly. “I’m not from anywhere.”

The man in white leaned in close to his face.

“You’ll make things a lot easier for yourself if you co-operate, Mr Hohenheim.”

Hohenheim raised an eyebrow. 

“I fail to see how that can possibly be true. You’re going to execute me whether I co-operate or not, so I’ll continue being unco-operative until that happens.”

He was expecting the slap, but it still stung, and he sighed, feeling the crackle of innate alchemy healing the bruise before it bloomed. 

“You can keep doing that as much as you like but it’s really not going to make any difference, I assure you.”

The man in white sneered. “You’ve got a mouth on you for someone who’s wanted for three offences that carry the death penalty. But don’t worry, your little lady friend will be joining you in the yard once we track her down. Aiding and abetting a fugitive and all that.”

Hohenheim felt the sparks crackle over his fingertips, and he willed himself to keep his composure. The longer he could keep the man in white talking, then the more time passed before he went after Trisha. 

The man in white scoffed. “Not so smart now, are you?”

“Thank you, Major Kimblee. I’ll take it from here.”

The man in white looked up as the new voice entered the room, and he nodded deferentially, leaving without another word.

Hohenheim recognised the voice. Everyone in Amestris would have recognised the voice, they heard it making patriotic speeches over the radio often enough. He wasn’t even all that surprised that Fuhrer Bradley had come to question him in person, although he knew that was hardly an honour afforded to any normal rogue alchemist. Hohenheim had long since accepted that he was nothing close to normal at all. 

The Fuhrer sat down at the other side of the table, leaning forward and clasping his hands together. In any other circumstances, it would have seemed more like he was about to have a friendly chat than conduct an interrogation. 

“Please do excuse the major, Mr Hohenheim. Since you managed to foil his carefully crafted mission to eliminate Lieutenant Hughes, he’s been rather out of sorts.”

Hohenheim said nothing, steadfastly staring him down. He seemed so genuinely affable, and Hohenheim knew that it was all a front. He wasn’t even trying to lull him into a false sense of security, or play good cop, bad cop with Kimblee. This was just the way Bradley was and always had been, all throughout his meteoric rise to power that Hohenheim had witnessed every step of. 

“Still, I’m very glad to have this opportunity to speak to you, Mr Hohenheim. As I’m sure you know, I take a very keen interest in all forms of alchemy that are practised within Amestris. I like to know the talents that I have at my disposal should I ever need them. Naturally, when I heard of your remarkable, and dare I say it, unique talents, I had to see for myself. Our library contains a vast assortment of registered circles and arrays for all kinds of alchemy, but I have never yet come across a form of alchemy that does not need an array at all.”

Bradley smiled, and there was no longer anything affable in it. That smile was the stuff of nightmares. 

"In fact, according to Major Kimblee, not only were you able to perform alchemy without an array, you performed it without even moving. It makes me wonder why we’ve kept you in those cuffs if that’s the case, but better safe than sorry, eh?” He steepled his fingers. “We also need to take into consideration the fact that the major’s associates gave you quite the roughing up whilst taking you into custody, and yet you don’t seem to have a mark to show for it. Not even a scratch.”

Bradley stood then, as suddenly as if he’d been shot out of a cannon, and Hohenheim heard the snikt of his sword being drawn as he walked around behind Hohenheim’s chair. 

The blade smarted against his cheek, drawing blood, and Bradley gave a soft hum of satisfaction as the alchemy crackled and healed him automatically. He walked back around to his seat, wiping the blood off his blade with a handkerchief and settling himself comfortably again. 

“Really, a most remarkable individual. You know, Mr Hohenheim, I believe you’re correct when you say you come from nowhere.”

He snapped his fingers, and Hohenheim felt the bag being yanked back over his head. 

He heard Bradley’s voice fading out as he gave into the sweet stink of chloroform again. 

“Take him to the Fifth.”

X

For a good five minutes after Trisha’s bombshell dropped, a screaming silence reigned supreme in the bar. Roy had given up attempting to leave and find Hohenheim by any means necessary and he sank back into his chair, attempting to digest what Trisha had just said.

“Trisha…” Riza was the first to speak, her voice harsh and strangled with shock. “What do you mean?”

Trisha didn’t reply for a few moments, and Roy was surprised when she addressed herself to him. 

“Roy, you’ve known Hohenheim for a long time. You’ve known him since you were a teenager. Chris, you too, you’ve known him a good ten years. Has he aged in that time? Has he got any grey hairs, any new laughter lines? Has he got any scars? Has he changed at all in physical appearance?”

Roy’s stomach started to churn as he shook his head. Hohenheim had never looked any different to how he had looked when Roy had last seen him just a couple of hours ago. 

“Well, fuck,” Chris said softly. “Bradley’s just found himself an actual immortal.”

Roy pressed his hands down flat on the table to try and mask how much they had started to shake with the revelation. “It’s not that I don’t believe you, Trisha, I just… How? How old is he, for a start?”

“We don’t know exactly, but at least four hundred and fifty years.” Trisha sighed, staring down at the last drops of brandy in her glass. Roy got the feeling that they’d all need a measure after everything was explained. “I don’t know how much of this he would want you to know, but if you’re going to help him, you need to know it. He’s never told his story to anyone else before, and he’s lived so long alone because of it. It’s the reason he has no paperwork. It’s not that he’s from another country and he’s here illegally. The country he comes from doesn’t exist anymore. Van is the last Xerxian.”

“Nowhere,” Riza said softly. Roy glanced over at her. “The first time I met him, when he fixed up my back. I asked him where he was from, since he said he wasn’t from Xing. He said nowhere. And I guess that’s true, now.”

“Wait. The last Xerxian. He’s from Xerxes, as in, the place that was wiped out overnight in an event that created the Philosopher’s Stone which is supposed to grant immortality.” Hughes began leafing through all his paperwork again. “Are you telling me that the Philosopher’s Stone never went to Xing and that Hohenheim has it?”

Trisha shook her head. “No. Hohenheim doesn’t have the Philosopher’s Stone. He is the Philosopher’s Stone. After the event, the Philosopher’s Stone did indeed make its way to Xing with some merchants, but they didn’t carry it out of there, it walked on its own two feet. It’s ruby red, but it’s not a rock. The elixir of life runs in his veins.”

Suddenly, everything about the night that Hughes was shot started to make sense. The Philosopher’s Stone was the most powerful alchemic tool that existed. Naturally, if Hohenheim was the Philosopher’s Stone he’d be able to perform the most powerful forms of alchemy there were, without a circle, without any motion, plunging his hands through Hughes’s skin and into his flesh to heal him. And the slashes he’d made into his own palms, his own blood dripping and helping to heal what should have been a mortal wound with the elixir of life. 

“How did it even happen?” Hughes asked. “I assume it has to do with the event; but how do you even become a Philosopher’s Stone?”

“I don’t know the full details.” Trisha gave a long sigh. “Van doesn’t like to talk about it. You wouldn’t either, if you’d been through what he’s been through. Every single person in his entire country died in the space of a minute thanks to the actions of one greedy king who wanted the impossible. Every single person except Van, because every single person dying was what made him immortal. And he has had to live with that for over four centuries, knowing that there was nothing he could have done to stop it.”

“Atticus.” Hughes grabbed the paper he’d been looking at earlier. “According to this, Atticus made the Philosopher’s Stone.”

“Yes.” Trisha’s voice was soft and sorrowful, and when she looked up, Roy could see that she had started to cry. “Van was born into slavery in Xerxes. Atticus was his master. He’s never told me exactly what happened, but Atticus used him in experiments to create the elixir of life. One experiment went horribly, horribly wrong.”

Roy shivered. He’d bet good money that he knew exactly what that experiment was. The human transmutation circle from the book that Breda and Fuery had shown him floated back to the forefront of his mind. Human transmutation was forbidden to perform, the ultimate taboo among alchemists. 

Maybe the desolation of Xerxes was the reason why. 

He started to look at it from a different angle, a far more horrible angle. Human transmutation was forbidden for alchemists to perform, and if Atticus had performed it, then he had indeed paid the ultimate price. But what of the human who was being transmuted – likely against their will? What kind of horror would Hohenheim have gone through if that was what had happened to him?

One thing was for sure – there was no way that he was letting Bradley get his hands on Hohenheim.

He looked over at Trisha, sobbing silently in Rebecca’s arms as the rest of the group looked at each other with desperate eyes. Roy knew that they were all thinking the same thing. They needed a plan, and fast. The urgency of the situation, and the stomach-churning sight of Trisha, and the chill threat of Hohenheim’s unknown fate all galvanised him into action. When push came to shove, he was a military man and he had civilians to protect and subordinates looking to him for leadership. 

“Right. Here’s what we’ll do. Falman, you’re the paperwork master, you’ve got access to all the records. This probably isn’t on any records, but the secret police still have to submit timecards like everyone else and their car mileage and fuel expenditure is on record somewhere; see if you can find out where they’ve taken Hohenheim from that. Fuery, can you patch into their channels and see if you can pick up any kind of chatter? They usually use code when they’re on the phone or on radio – Breda, that’s your area.”

“I can’t get into the radio rooms at this time of night, I’m not cleared for that level of access,” Fuery pointed out. 

“Not a problem.” Chris held up a bunch of keys. “I was beginning to think I was being overly paranoid when I invested in that kit, Roy. I’m glad it has a use now. You can set up in the office, Fuery.”

Fuery and Breda followed her out to the back rooms, and Roy continued.

“Havoc, take Trisha home and keep her safe; if she was with him when they bagged him then they might come looking for her as a loose end. Armstrong, you’re with me. Hughes, you’re supposed to be dead,” he added when Hughes opened his mouth to protest at not being given a task. “All right team, let’s move out and get Hohenheim back.”

No one argued the matter, all of them jumping into action without a word or a second thought. Hohenheim had been an institution at the bar for as long as any of them had known the place existed, and like Roy, none of them could bear the thought of anything happening to him. 

Especially not now, knowing what he had already been through in his long life. 

[catalinaroleplay]

Gender & Pronouns: Cis man, he/him

Date of Birth: March 17th, 1983 (37)

Place of Birth: San Francisco, California

Neighborhood: Ventura

Length of Residency: Native — Returned December 2020

Occupation: CEO of Meadows Real Estate

Face Claim: Jesse Lee Soffer

BIOGRAPHY

TRIGGERS: Parental Abandonment, Death Mention, Infidelity.

If you would've told anyone 16 years ago that Sebastian Prescott would one day be considered the outcast of his family… they would've laughed right into your face. There was a time when he embraced the name and everything that came with it. Sebastian became a member of that kind of world by proxy through his father's networking and connections. The Prescott children all lived the fast life, the one where money can buy you anything and everything to the fullest. As one of the middle children, there was a certain kind of freedom where nothing was set in stone, and he was allowed the liberty of choosing his life. Well, until his father Hugh disowned him.

Hugh Prescott grew up one of five children in a lower-middle-class home in Nottingham, a city in the East Midlands region of the United Kingdom. Gabriel, his father, operated a small wholesale produce store while his mother Frieda stayed home, bringing up the children and washing the neighbors' laundry. Money was always scarce. Frieda kept the kids full with bread and vegetables, and when Sunday rolled around, the seven of them would share whatever meat had been cheapest at the store. Given how smart Hugh was, he attended Oxford University after graduation from school in 1955, juggling several jobs to cover expenses. Hugh ended up playing soccer professionally before quitting after a year because of his teammates' frivolous behavior. He then started working for a commercial real estate firm near London and left Nottingham behind. Ten years later, luck struck, and Hugh met Perry Richards, an ambitious man with money who was looking for a business partner with a brain. Wife and kids in tow, Hugh left the UK for what would become the Silicon Valley in the United States. 

Their business was to become Richards & Prescott. From years of working in real estate, Hugh had developed a good sense of what land to buy, and Perry handled negotiations with suppliers and tenants. Now a developer in California, he juggled the hard work, first wife Frances, and their now two children. In the following years, the former farmland turned into a considerable profit. It took time, of course, and time wasn't always easy on Hugh. After 14 years in the States, Hugh had to bury his first wife and take care of four children in total while working hard to turn his business into an empire. In 1980, he met Genevieve, a beautiful, smart woman fifteen years younger, and in 1981 he married her. Slowly but surely, the Santa Clara Valley was establishing itself as America's tech hub. As a family, Genevieve and Hugh added four more children to the mix in 1983, 1986, and then twins in 1991. 

Sebastian Prescott was born in San Francisco, and two years later, his family settled on Catalina Island, enjoying a private life where no one really knew the business of any of the Prescotts, aside from the fact that they owned a huge house that housed nine people. Given the vast age-gap between the siblings, Hugh's oldest was already attending Stanford University when Sebastian was only two. While the oldest Prescott was making headlines in San Francisco and the Californian mainland, people rarely associated that Prescott with those living on the Island. Not unless they were seen together. It took a couple of years, but things started becoming different once the other two entered young-adulthood. It wasn't hard for gossip to spread in such a small town, and with now more familiar faces being featured in tabloids, people quickly made the connection. They were seen for their money, and life as Sebastian knew it, laidback and normal, was over. The loss of privacy wore Hugh down and turned him into a different person over the years. Something the younger Prescott children always had a hard time dealing with. Genevieve remained the same on the outside but was always worried about her husband on the inside. The three oldest's actions had consequences for the younger: The once laissez-faire lifestyle was over, and rules and obligations followed everywhere. 

But rules are meant to be broken. Sebastian grew up in the lap of luxury. Everything he ever wanted was handed to him, regardless of the changes in the upbringing and education. When Bash was younger, he was always easy to get along with. He liked seeing people happy with the choices he made and the actions he took. He was bright and, frankly, the epitome of innocence: Looking to please people at whatever cost, wanting to do and be good. Sebastian felt like he was really getting somewhere with his father, who was so distant from him as he grew from boy to man. But the man Hugh turned into liked to see faults wherever he looked, always displeased and never satisfied. Sebastian could come home with an A, and Hugh would ask what happened to the plus. So, the boy gave up trying and searched for a different source to pour all of his energy into: Friends, girls, and parties. When the last two years of high school rolled around, his mother's role as principal ensured everything worked out perfectly for him regardless. Classes were jostled around to ensure her son would take all the right courses with the right teachers -- anything to make his grades look good for Stanford. 

He noticed something was missing by the time he turned eighteen. Once you tasted every kind of expensive liquor, went to California's best clubs, and hijacked a private plane to go to France... there was little else to live for. His life started feeling incredibly empty being surrounded by fake friends and people who only liked him for the money, and where once was the need to break the rules, now laid an inexplicable void that no amount of alcohol or sex could fill. The lack of real friends and a good relationship with his parents became apparent when school ended, and Sebastian was left with practically no one once he distanced himself.  

Sebastian's redemption arch would take place over the span of years. Entering college, it took a while until he settled into his 'new' self. By the time parent weekend had come, he'd managed to make one friend and managed to piss off three other people. Things really weren't working out well for him -- especially when he met the one girl that would change his entire life (or, well, a big part of it): Georgina Livingston. Upon meeting her, he used his usual tricks, and when they didn't work on her, he turned to the only other thing he knew to do: annoy the hell out of her. Honestly, she couldn't have been more disinterested. Up until the faithful moment, he'd accidentally tripped her, causing her to spill iced coffee all over her on parent weekend their freshman year. It could've gone better, but soon after the incident, they laughed about it together. Sebastian Prescott had never been in love before, but god, it was a wonderful feeling. 

Their relationship wasn't perfect by any means, but Sebastian was willing to work for it. It was honestly the first thing he wanted to keep in his life, wanted to see last forever. But given their ages and sometimes different opinions, their fights tended to escalate more than a couple of times. Of course, they never turned physical, but both knew where to hit to hurt the other person. During one of those altercations, they tossed the word 'break' around, and when Sebastian left that night, he made the mistake of taking it too seriously. All it took was a bar, a girl, and enough liquor to let him wake up next to a random girl the next morning, leaving Sebastian utterly distraught. It could've broken them, it could've driven Geo away, but Bash fought hard to get Georgina Livingston back. Sebastian Prescott bought a ring soon after getting her back, waiting for the perfect moment. But that moment… it never came. At least not until his one-night-stand called him up, informing him that he had an almost-two-year-old daughter and that she couldn't do it anymore. Torn and confused, Sebastian left his home almost immediately, leaving a confused Geo behind. 

The news of a kid didn't sit well for his family. In fact, his parents almost went above and beyond to keep him from getting to his daughter. Hugh Prescott was many things, but Sebastian never thought his father would keep him away from owning up to something he considered beautiful. The circumstances were, of course, anything but perfect, but Sebastian knew he had to own up to his mistake and take care of his kid. It was the right thing to do. When he returned home to Catalina, two-year-old Gianna in tow, his father practically closed the door in his face. Disowned; for doing the right thing. So he left Catalina Island and moved to San Francisco, got himself a job, and went to figure himself out as a father of a toddler. Once he felt secure enough, Sebastian returned to Catalina again on a mission to get the love of his life back, to fix what he had broken for a second time. But he came too late; someone else had already picked up the mess he made and fixed his girl. Geo looked so happy, and he couldn't get in the way of her happiness.

It was hard to juggle a job, toddler and dad duties, but Sebastian felt needed. Something he desperately searched for all his life. His daughter Gianna really was the turning point for him. A couple of years into living in San Fran, he reconnected with Gianna's mom Antonia on their daughter's eighth birthday. On a hunt for some happiness of his own, they began dating, first casually, and then it eventually became the real deal. Things looked actually good. Things felt good. At least for a while. They were a real family for about four years before Antonia confessed to being unfaithful. The mom role wasn't for her, at least not for Gianna, who was a full-blown child already. She wanted to do the whole being a mommy thing from the start and actually see her kid growing up without feeling ashamed of having abandoned it early into its life. So, she packed up and left. Leaving Gianna with Sebastian again. It felt like a blow to the face for a while, and while Bash would've loved just to let his disappointment in people take over his life, he couldn't let himself wallow in self-pity forever. Instead, he began to pour his energy into building a business. 

Just like his father did all those years ago, Sebastian began working on his business plan. Hugh Prescott always made sure to educate his children about the world they grew up in, which also meant taking them along to Richards & Prescott to show them the ropes. If it were up to Hugh, his children would take some position in his business, just like a couple of them already had. Given that Sebastian disowned, though, he used his knowledge elsewhere. Meadows Real Estate was born on a whim and after a couple of drinks with his friend-turned-business partner.

As Meadow is Gianna's middle name, they chose the name for her, who was the biggest inspiration in his life. His business focused on finding the best houses, apartments, and places for his clients, buying cheap homes and properties, and, most importantly, flipping them into something grand and beautiful. That was the part Sebastian enjoyed most about it. He also prided himself in actually doing the work (or, well, part of it) himself. Gianna's independence was a huge help. When Sebastian was asked about how he did it all while being a single parent, his answer was always easy. Gianna felt more like an adult than a child. She was the one making sure he didn't forget his lunch, did laundry on some days, and was always on top of her school activities. Sebastian got absolutely lucky. Meadows Real Estate turned out to be something outstanding. It didn't take long for it to be successful in the San Francisco area, so an expansion was next. 

Sebastian always wanted to return to Catalina Island, just not without having something up his sleeve. Returning home without showing his father he could do well on his own had always been out of the question. Expanding the business to the Los Angeles area, with extra office space on the Island, seemed like a great idea -- especially considering the properties and land the Island had to offer. It also opened the option to work on a couple Bed and Breakfast and vacation home ideas. The permanent move, however, was postponed until everything was sorted out. Gianna needed a place in school, they needed a place to live, and Sebastian needed to work out the client base's nature first. Honestly, so much of his thinking now is thanks to his daughter. While his parents may think stepping up to take care of an unwanted child had been the wrong decision, in reality, it was the best thing that could've happened to him. Gianna changed him for the better, made him a better man.

PERSONALITY

Positive: Outgoing | Responsible | Kindhearted

Negative: Stubborn | Competitive | Impulsive

Sebastian Prescott is portrayed by Nessa.

[athingthatwantsvirginia]

Can I Look, Miss O’Keefe?

PART SIXTEEN OF THE DO YOU SEE HER FACE? SERIES

Pairing: Jess Mariano x Original Character (Ella Stevens)

Warnings: mentions of parent death and family issues, we’re back to being super emo folks, plentiful pop culture references

Word Count: 3.7K

Summary: Distance grows between Ella and Jess as they dance around forbidden topics and discuss their fears.

Crunchy snow and ice coated the streets of Stars Hollow, and large flakes fell from the dark, cloudy sky as Ella sat up, awake in the Gilmore living room. The monkey lamp on the side table offered a yellow glow. It was the early hours of the morning, New Year’s Eve. Christmas had come and gone, and the days before the return to school were filled with good books and movie marathons. Though Lane had gone home earlier, before they finished their last John Hughes flick, Lorelai insisted Ella stay on the couch for the night. It was past midnight and the roads were in no condition to be walked on. And though she was comfortable, probably more relaxed than she was in her own home, she’d tossed and turned for about an hour before deciding the effort was hopeless.

Instead, she took the copy of Slaughterhouse Five from her bag and read quietly, adding her own notes to the margins alongside Jess’s. Before, the room would have been drafty. But Luke had recently fixed the windows (again). Ella was cozy beneath a bunch of spare blankets, dressed in only a tank top and a borrowed pair of Rory’s sweatpants. The Gilmore women were tall though, and Ella had to cuff the pants at the bottom so they wouldn’t drag on the floor when she walked. Her eyes were starting to get heavy, but she was too engrossed in the story to consider putting it down. She had no idea what time it was, though it was still pitch black outside, when soft footfalls sounded on the stairs.

Clearing her throat, Ella marked a place in the book with her finger, and looked up to see a sleepy Lorelai. “Hi, sorry. Did I wake you?”

Lorelai shook her head slightly. “No, sweetie. I got up to use the bathroom and I saw the light was on. Wanted to make sure you and Rory didn’t start a midnight cult behind my back or something.”

“That does sound like us,” Ella said, cracking a small smile.

Lorelai sat down on the coffee table next to the couch, elbows on her knees. “What’s going on?”

Shrugging, Ella averted her eyes and gestured to her book. “Oh, just reading. Jess gave me his copy and I wanted to be done by our shift tomorrow. There’s just so much to argue about.”

“Well, it’s good to know I need to steer clear of you two tomorrow, but is that really why you’re up with Vonnegut at almost three in the morning?” Lorelai asked, tilting her head.

Ella hesitated a moment, but then sighed and clutched at her necklace. “I just...people are starting to get college decisions in the mail. And...I don’t know.”

“You’re gonna get in, Ella. You’ve got perfect grades, and a job, and-”

Scoffing, Ella nodded. “Yeah, I just...I’m gonna have to live at home. And I’m worried I’ll never get outta here.”

“Stars Hollow?” Lorelai asked, sympathetic.

She nodded again. “I mean...I wanna live in a city. Where every day I walk out the door to new people, and there’s new places to go and...I know and like this town. I do. But it stopped being home the day my mom died.”

Though she had passion in her voice and a smile still on her lips, Lorelai could see the sadness in Ella’s far-off gaze. It was something so striking and mature, something she never saw in Rory or Lane. Though Rory was an old soul in her own right, Lorelai could see Ella out on her own and doing just fine by the very next day. Lorelai leaned in a little closer, and the mothering tone came to her voice, which she had used on Ella more times than one in the past two and a half years.

“Ella, I want you to listen to me. You are smart, and talented, and you’re one of the strongest people I know,” Lorelai said, and raised a hand as Ella scoffed at her words. “I know it feels like it’ll take forever. But you have to be patient, okay? I know that one day you’ll get to have everything you want.”

Shaking her head, Ella swallowed back the shine in her eyes. “You can’t know that.”

“But I can. I have the sight,” Lorelai said mystically. “It’s a certified Gilmore talent.”

It made Ella chuckle a little, and Lorelai smiled in response. “Okay, Lorelai.”

“Sweetie, I spent years living in a shed, just me and Rory. I was a maid who worked eighty hours a week. But now, I have a house and I’m a manager and I…” she paused to sigh, gesturing to the room around them while she tried to articulate her thoughts. “Anything worth having is gonna take time. You’ll get there. I know it.”

Blowing out a soft breath, Ella leaned back against the pillows. “Okay. Thank you. Sorry for being such a freak.”

“Hardly,” Lorelai said, shaking her head. “Freaks are the only people worth being around. I think you already know that.”

“That I do.”

Lorelai rose from the table and draped the blankets up over Ella more. “Now go to sleep. You’ve gotta be in fighting shape if you’re going up against John Bender tomorrow.”

Ella scoffed. “I could take him on no sleep at all.”

Laughing, Lorelai made for the stairs. “I’d bet on you.”

“Hey, Lorelai?” Ella called, snuggling down into the couch and turning onto her side.

Lorelai turned. “Yeah?”

“Thank you. For everything. I mean, I’ll never be able to-”

“Sweetie,” Lorelai interrupted, a kind expression softening her face. “You’re welcome. Now, dream of those Eggos we’ll feast on in the morning.”

.   .   .

Tuckered out from a long day of waitressing and literary sparring, Ella leaned her head on her crossed arms against the counter. She sat at a stool, already dozing by ten o’clock. Having finished up closing the front of house early, with Luke’s help, she waited for Jess to complete his dishwashing duties. He was back over the steaming vat as soon as his stitches were yanked out. Upstairs, she could hear Luke trying to set up his small, black-and-white TV. Her thoughts were becoming hazy when Jess finally emerged from the back, smirking.

“You told me not to let you fall asleep yet, Stevens,” he said.

She lifted her head, brows furrowed. “I can do what I please, Mariano.”

“Oooo, angry face,” he teased.

“Fuck off,” she grumbled, clearing her throat as she hopped down off the stool.

“Oh, this is bound to be an amazing night.”

Ella tugged on her coat and grabbed her bag. “Sorry, sorry. Just give me five minutes and I’ll be back to Little Miss Sunshine.”

Jess snorted a laugh. “I think that’s too ambitious.”

“You underestimate me, Mariano,” she quipped, smirking. Going back over to the checkered curtain, she shouted up the stairs. “Hey Luke, we’re leaving!”

“Okay!” he yelled back.

“Are you sure you don’t want us to stay and celebrate with you?” she asked, ignoring Jess when he shook his head at her. She’d been asking it over and over all day. No matter how much Luke insisted, she couldn’t believe he actually wanted to spend New Year’s alone.

Finally, Luke opened the apartment door and she could see him at the top of the creaky stairs. “For God’s sake, go. No drinking, drugs-”

“Or animal sacrifices, I got it!” she finished for him, smirking.

“And Jess will be back by-”

“Two!” Jess chimed in, tone flat and his mouth set in a thin line.

“Happy New Year!” Ella said, grabbing Jess’s hand and leading him towards the front door.

“Yeah, yeah,” Luke grunted, shutting the apartment door behind him.

.   .   .

Ella could feel the rumble of Jess’s voice, her head on his chest, as they laid together in her bed. The lavender candles were lit, and her old alarm clock was set for ten til midnight. A bottle of red wine sat in the fridge, the only alcohol left in the house by her father and Fiona before they went out of town to celebrate with Fiona’s sister in Nevada. They were going to toast when the clock on the stove struck midnight, then go back to her room to continue with Jess’s reading of Frankenstein. Originally, the plan had been to watch the Twilight Zone marathon all night. But, Adam and his friends had gotten to the living room first, playing video games on the modest TV. Being confined to her bedroom wasn’t so bad, but the challenge for Ella was staying awake. Jess chose the Mary Shelley novel simply because he knew how much she loved the story, hoping she wouldn’t fall asleep to it. Especially because he knew he wouldn’t have the heart to wake her if she truly fell asleep.

Shifting in her space, Ella caught a glance at the clock and saw it was a half hour to midnight. Jess was halfway through a passage, and she sat up with crossed legs and looked down at him, yawning.

“Jess?” she asked when there was a pause in the text.

“Hm?”

“Are you happy?”

His brows furrowed and he sat up against the mural. “Excuse me?”

Scoffing, she averted her gaze. “I just mean...working at Walmart and Luke’s and being...here? In Stars Hollow?”

Jess shrugged, setting the book aside and crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s not too terrible a place to be. And I plan to get out of Stars Hollow.”

“And go where?” she asked, eyes rimmed red with fatigue.

“Wherever.”

She smirked at his nonchalance. “And write?”

Again, he shrugged, sitting up straighter. “Maybe. I’ll live where I live and work where I work.”

Ella snorted a laugh. “Alright, Kerouac. So you’re not going back to New York?”

He shook his head, expression guarded.

“You don’t miss it?”

Though he seemed to hesitate a moment, his tone was firm when he spoke again. His eyes were somewhere else, staring over at the stack of records near her dresser. Led Zeppelin played low from the turntable, another effort to stay awake. “Miss my mom drinking herself into accepting random wedding proposals and barely scrounging up enough cash to keep the heat on?”

Her heart sank into her stomach, and, instinctively, she began to run her fingers through his hair. On break from school, she noticed he used gel and other products less and less. It was more relaxed and fell down a little over his forehead.

“No, I can’t say I’m bending over backwards to get back there again,” he said.

Ella nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“Nothing for you to be sorry over,” he replied immediately, though not angry. He wanted to squirm under her touch, still uncomfortable talking about his past, but tried to relax.

“Hey,” she said softly, after a momentary silence. Jess finally met her eyes again. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too.”

As she kissed him sweetly, slow and simple, he interlaced their fingers, finally losing the tension in his body. Skin against skin, she could feel the thin, pinkish scar on his hand. When she pulled away, he put his arm around her shoulders and she moved to lean back against him. His free hand was still in hers, and she touched the scar gingerly.

“And you wanted me to wait for Luke to superglue this up,” she said, with a teasing shake of her head.

He rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t have died.”

Ella sighed. “Anything’s possible.”

Jess bit his lip, feeling his heart twist slightly. Though he’d heard a fair bit about her mother, he still didn’t know how she died. From the way the townspeople sometimes looked at her, with so much pity and sympathy, Jess could gather it wasn't a ‘going gently into that good night’ kind of situation. Whatever had happened, it had been sudden, and it had been shocking. He pressed a kiss to her head and tried to keep his voice light.

“Well, it definitely wasn’t as Texas Chainsaw Massacre as the other time I got stitches.”

“The other time?” she asked, looking up at him.

Swallowing dryly, he held out his left arm for her to see, sleeve rolled up. On the inside of his forearm, near his elbow, there was a large, semicircular scar, pale and raised, but old. For a moment Ella wondered why she’d never noticed it before, but she knew if she wasn’t looking for it, she wouldn’t ever have spotted it.

“Jesus. What happened?” she asked, a crease between her brows.

“Cujo,” he said, smirking slightly. “This dog across the hall from us when I was five. I tried to pet him and he wasn’t on quite the same wavelength.”

“Fuck, Jess,” she said, shaking her head slightly. Ella squeezed his hand.

“It’s alright,” he said. “World bites you, dog bites boy. It’s chaos out there.”

She chuckled a little, nodding. “Sad but true.”

“Did you ever get stitches?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “But, your dogs and needles are my oceans.”

“Oceans?” Jess asked.

“When I was seven, we went to Ogunquit to visit my grandparents. It was the only time I ever went to a beach, and I got caught in a riptide. I didn’t pass out or anything, but I drifted out pretty far before my dad got me. Waves kept crashing over me and I kept going under.”

“Well, I guess I’ll have to cancel those tickets to Bora Bora, huh?”

She smiled. “Yeah, I’d recommend it.”

He smiled back, then they settled back down into the bed, Jess grabbing the book again. Before he started, however, he looked over at her in askance.

“Are you happy, Eleanor?”

“At this moment? Very.”

.   .   .

Storming into the diner, Ella shook the snow from her peacoat and unwound her scarf, huffing in frustration. January was frigid, but Ella’s blood boiled and her heart pounded in her ears. Schoolwork weighed down her bag, heavy with post-break assignments and reading. Once inside, the heat hit her pleasantly, but her nose began to run and her face flushed. She wasn’t surprised to find Jess not inside the diner; he’d been at school only twice in the past week and he was taking more shifts at Walmart than he once had. New Year’s had been a good night, a kiss at midnight and heads buzzing on red wine as Ella walked Jess back to the diner in fresh snow and the twinkling light of the town square.

But she could see something was bothering him. He didn’t leave quite as many notes in the margins, looked tired most of the time. And each time she asked him about it, he brushed it off, told her he was fine, and pressed a heated kiss to her lips. He didn’t call her as often. The recent disconnect between them, which she thought now might have begun even back in early December, did nothing to help her current mood. She went to the back to grab her apron, tucking stray strands of hair behind her ears. If he didn’t want to talk, she didn’t need to talk to him. Whatever he needed to work out, apparently he wanted to do it on his own. It was what she said whenever Luke asked after him. She wasn’t his mother, and Luke was his guardian. It wasn’t her job to fix Jess. And, in her mind, Jess didn’t need fixing.

Luke stood behind the counter filling coffee mugs, and he nodded at her as she passed. “Hey, Ella. How are ya? You have a good week?”

“I’m just peachy,” she said back, no emotion in her voice.

Perking up, Luke furrowed his brows at her. She wasn’t known for being cheery, exactly, but usually she strung together more than three words. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said quietly, her voice a sigh.

“C’mon, kid, we’re well past white lies,” Luke said, hands on his hips.

Ella rolled her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, an ache behind her eyes. It wasn’t migraine level, but the throbbing pain made her feel a little sick to her stomach.

“They got married,” she said shortly.

“What?” Luke asked.

Sighing, she watched Babette and Maury walk in, waving at them with a tiny smile.

“Hey, sugar! We’ll need a minute to order!” Babette called in her breathy, gravelly voice. It made Ella feel marginally better.

Her serious demeanor returned when she turned back to Luke. “My dad and Fiona got married. In Vegas. They took a whole week off—who knows how they could afford it on an electrician’s and a hairdresser’s salary—and apparently they thought: ‘Hey, let’s get married, not tell anyone, and not call for the whole week. In fact, let’s not go visit Fiona’s sister,’ which is what they said they were doing in the first place.”

There was a beat of silence, and finally Luke nodded, mouth slightly agape. “Wow.”

“Yeah, so, that’s what’s wrong. There ya go,” she said, taking a rag and wiping down some water on the counter. She didn’t meet Luke’s eyes.

“Ella, I’m-”

She raised a dismissive hand to stop him. “Luke, don’t worry, it’s alright. They seem happy, so, who am I to care? And besides, now I don’t have to give some phony speech at the wedding.”

.   .   .

The Clash blasted through the boombox, and though it did nothing to help her headache, it, oddly, made her heart slow. It took her mind off the storm of emotions brewing in the pit of her stomach. What if they ended up having another kid? Would her father mend the mistakes of his past? Would he see the error of his ways? She doubted it. People didn’t change. They acted differently, but they didn’t change. Sometimes, she knew, all people wore disguises. It made fear rise up in her throat, and her hands shake. But, instead, she sang along to “Bank Robber” and drew a garden full of roses and wasps. On the other side of the page, there was a sketch of Fiona with a veil over her head. It almost made her want to cry.

Luke was closing up downstairs, and offered the apartment to her to hang out in for a few hours after her shift. He knew what her home could be like. And the practice felt bittersweet and familiar to her; she’d spent many an afternoon at Luke’s kitchen table, sketching in the days after she lost her mother. The words she’d spoken to Lorelai a few nights earlier spun around in her brain. She would never be able to accept her mother’s death until Stars Hollow was in her rearview mirror. Everything seemed to be a reminder. Though maybe it wasn’t location-specific. Maybe it’s just what happened when you lost someone close to you.

It was long past dark outside when Jess stepped through the door, blue vest in his hand. His dark hair was gelled and crazy. He kicked off his boots and a smirk covered his face when he saw her there. And no matter how conflicted she felt about him at the moment, a sense of relief filled her at the sight of him, and she couldn’t help but smirk back from her spot sitting up in his bed. She took her sketchbook from her knee, closed it, and dropped it on his nightstand.

“Hi,” he said, putting his vest in the top drawer of his dresser. As he walked by the boombox, he turned it down slightly so he could hear her.

“Hey, sorry. I didn’t think you’d get off until later. I stole your bed,” she replied, scooting up to the head of the bed as Jess sat down on the end.

He shook his head. “Don’t be sorry. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Well, I can assure you, there was no tequila involved today,” Ella said, crossing her arms over her Sonic Youth t-shirt. “Just didn’t wanna go home yet.”

“What’s up?”

She shrugged and clutched at her necklace with one nail-bitten hand. “Long story short: That rendezvous to Nevada Fiona and my dad took? They got married by some Elvis impersonator in Vegas and just...didn’t tell anyone until yesterday.”

She thought of the night before when she had, in a rage, called the diner to tell him. Jess had been the only one she wanted to talk to, the only one her heart was aching for. Instead, Luke picked up and told her Jess was out.

Jess sighed, and put a hand on her jean-clad knee. “I’m sorry, honey.”

Ella ran her fingers through her messy hair and then took his hand in hers. She sat closer to him, until their knees were touching, but still she didn’t lock eyes with him. Jess could practically see the gloom radiating off her. Dark makeup painted her eyes. Black Doc Martens were discarded at the side of the bed. Her nails, polished in chipped black, were still bitten down. But, she managed a small smile.

“It’s fine. I don’t wanna talk about it anymore.”

“Okay,” he said shortly, nodding. Finally, she looked at him and bit her lip. His face was drawn in fatigue.

Bringing her hand to his cheek, Ella’s gaze softened. He leaned into her touch. “Are you okay, Jess?”

“Yeah. Fine.”

“Seems like you’ve been working a lot. You haven’t been at school. I just...are you sleeping alright?” she asked, hesitant.

Jess did his best to straighten up, nodding. “Stevens, don’t worry. Luke just won’t let me keep the music on to sleep anymore. I’m still getting used to it.”

She nodded and kissed him, hearing the song switch in the background. “Okay, James Dean. Just checking.”

Clearing his throat to hide the flush in his cheeks, Jess cracked a smirk. Ella thought she saw something flash across his eyes, but she couldn’t identify it. For the first time since they started dating, there seemed to be a charged energy lingering in the silence between them. Without the music playing, Ella knew she wouldn’t have been able to handle it. She would’ve blurted out everything going through her head, but she refrained. Instead, she watched Jess’s eyes move to her sketchbook on his table, his grin widening.

“Can I look, Miss O’Keefe?” he asked.

Pursing her lips, she let her worry fade and took on a teasing air. “Only if you don’t laugh.”

“Never.”

[lindsaywesker]

Good morning! I hope you slept well and feel rested? Currently sitting at my desk, in my study, attired only in my blue towelling robe, enjoying my first cuppa of the day. Welcome to the working week!

Over the weekend, we had a real Lockdown Saturday night! Once I got back from the studio (5.00pm), I had some dinch and immediately fell asleep in my armchair (while The Trouble watched ‘His Dark Materials’) which meant that my body clock was out of kilter. So, at 1.00am, I was still wide awake! We were on Sky Arts, so we watched the David Crosby documentary followed by ‘Laurel Canyon’ (for the second time) and then The Trouble and my son said they were hungry! It was midnight, for crying out loud! So, we had pizza at midnight, which was a daft thing to do but, in Lockdown, all the rules have gone out the window; eating patterns, sleep patterns, TV-watching hours, washing and dressing routines have all gone up the swanee!

If you enjoyed eighties, John Hughes films such as ‘Sixteen Candles ‘The Breakfast Club’ and ‘Pretty In Pink’, you will enjoy ‘Dash & Lily’; cute, smart and very easy on the eye. We binged Season One and look forward to Season Two. I also watched three episodes of ‘The Queen’s Gambit’ on Sunday. My goodness, how good is that? Award-winningly good!

Unsurprisingly, The Daily Fail have started on Marcus Rashford MBE, another person that’s made our PM look like a complete imbecile. The Daily Fail hate the fact that Marcus owns five ‘luxury’ properties. I bet they don’t say shit about Harry Kane’s spending habits! It goes back to this fallacy that socialists can’t enjoy wealth (or wealthy people can’t be socialists.) They try and guilt you with this term ‘champagne socialist’. I’m a socialist and I’ll drink whatever I want! If you gave me the most expensive bottle of champagne, I’d drink that too. I work hard, so I deserve the best things in life. If you work hard, you deserve them too.

Thank you to everyone that tuned-in for my weekly radio show ‘The A-Z Of Mi-Soul Music’ (Saturday @ 1.00pm.) Remember, if you missed it, it’s available on my Mixcloud page. This coming week is The Letter U (Pt. 1.) Two parts of The Letter U before moving on to The Letter V.

Have a marvellous and momentous Monday. I love you all. And, remember, if you’re looking for an easy book to read, check out my second novel, ‘Whatever Makes Them Dance’; a love story about a DJ.

[luminescentlyricist]

🎲 Musings From The Hero of Light 🎲

Hi! This is just a simple drabble I did for an AU that Aaron and I established where we'd join a Sburb session together. It's written as if in a book, so it's essentially just one ramble of dialogue, and that's why there are no quotation marks.

~

Hello, there. The name's Lucy. It's not likely that anyone'll really see this stupid little book, but it's worth writing something down. I have no idea what's going on with myself, but I haven't slept in a few days, and I don't... really think that I have to, even though it makes no sense. Judging by the GameFAQ for this game, that isn't supposed to happen until God Tier. Are these delusions, then? Am I really dreaming, or am I just going nuts? I dunno, man.

My friend and sessionmate has just... disappeared, but I think I'll try and find him if the conditions become nicer. It's scary out here, even though my Land is relatively tame-seeming. At least the consorts are nice, though they don't talk to me. They seem scared of something, but I've been blasting music to drown out this awful whining echoing across the Land. Song and Fortune, huh? I could do with a little less Song - if you could call it that - and a little more Fortune, to be honest.

I don't want to sleep. The horrorterrors whisper at me, and I have a feeling they're trying to warn me about something, but all it achieves is giving me a headache. Does anyone around here have an eldritch dictionary? A translator? There's no wifi in this land, even though the crystals seem to emit some energies. I think we're slowly being driven insane, to be honest with you. Our session's already Void, provided that Skaia didn't change the Cardinal Aspects for us like we hoped it would.

Aaron... I haven't visited him or tried to contact him since he disappeared from his spire, but that's down in Derse. He's probably back there by now, and I hope he decides to let me know that he isn't dead some time soon. I'm sure not going into Derse to find him, due to my position as a human and not a sniffer dog. If he lets me know he's here, or at least somewhere in the physical world and not on the grape planet, I'll gladly search. Until then, I'm not moving. Plus, I can't even use my music to drown out the eldritch fucks yelling at me down there. It's like... their speech isn't broadcast in the actual world, but worms its way into your brain and vibrates in your skull cavity. It shakes me up physically and mentally.

Aaron's a bit more strong than I am in a psychological sense, so I think he'll be fine if he doesn't go Howard Hughes-y neurotic on my ass and loses his already fragile sanity. In that case, I'd be truly screwed over. Sure, I have some logic, but that mostly goes out the door real quick when I'm stressed out. And these conditions are pretty fucking stressful... Nothing to do but wait, wait with my own thoughts. My dice haven't been giving me any decent rolls, although I think I got Mindfang's Journal at some point a few days ago. It would have been a fascinating read, had it not been written in the true Alternian script and untranslated.

What a pain in the ass this all is.

In a Land to do with Fortune, and yet not one fortunate thing has happened since I've accessed here. Can someone please just... I dunno, man. Is there an intergalactic equivalent of Uber? I need to get the Hell out of this Land before I cave in to my thoughts and do something especially stupid. It's lonely, more than anything. The consorts are supposed to be guides, aren't they? They're hiding from me, I know they are. I've only seen a couple of little axolotl buddies scattered here and there, but they aren't willing to give me any information. The noise is distracting them, but I have no idea how to stop that. The crystals vibrate from it enough to shake me up, echoing the buzzing voices of the horrorterrors. It's more than a little disconcerting, but it doesn't seem like I'm going to be able to change anything for a long while.

It's boring and lonely and I want to get away, but I bought this upon myself. I was the one who convinced Aaron that he should enter a risky two-player session, and I don't think I'm going to make it. He should be able to, and that's really all I want. For my stupid actions not to wound someone who doesn't deserve it. With each roll of the dice, I feel like my luck is worse and worse. I didn't realise that the dice rolls could affect someone so negatively, let alone their own user. In the Beta session, the only other recorded use of Dicekind, it only buffed [her] physically and never wounded. I guess [she] had a stronger 'positive' connection to Light - if you could call a Thief a positive thing - but that's a useless theory because I don't even know my God Tier yet.

I don't have bandages, which is a pain, and I'm aching all over. It's bizarre how bad my luck has been since I entered the session. I've tripped more times than I can count, and I haven't been able to locate my Denizen, even though they should be pretty visible from a player's Land as far as I've read. It's been about a week here in this place, and I'm already sick of it. I can't figure out what my Quest will be like, despite the fact the others always had some kinda clue in their Land name. All there are in here are these cliff-gorges and spooky crystal caves that I can't access yet. Well, I can, but - like most things in this game - I really don't want to, especially not without Aaron here.

I wonder which Denizen I'll have. Yaldabaoth is off the table, since my pal seems to think that he's reserved for the strongest players. Probably Aaron's, then. He's remarkable, even though I'll probably die before I get to say that to his face. He's smart and logical, and I bet he'd be able to help me if he found me. I'd pin myself as either having one of three: Cetus, the perceived Light denizen, Nix, the perceived Void denizen, or Abraxas. Abraxas is the weakest Denizen, so I think they're the best fit for me. That's not just me being self-deprecating, either. I know I'm too weak for this game, and it was a mistake coming here. My physical health and mental health alike suck. I can't know for sure who I have until I find the damn snake, though it might be possible that I don't even need to meet them in a place like this. There could very well be something wrong with the session or my Land in general preventing my Denizen's rise.

Skaia seems to really, really enjoy fucking around with us. Come to think of it, I can't even remember what Aaron's Land is called. Land of Musings and Angels, I think... My recollection is fuzzy, though, and I can't seem to remember what I did five minutes ago, let alone a week ago. I think he has such a good, borderline-photographic memory that mine's just given up in its stead. 'Oh, you don't need to retain any more information. Aaron can handle it all.' So. I'm just sitting here, at the edge of one of the gorges, trying not to lose my fucking mind. It's always daytime here, as far as I can tell. I wonder what's up with that. At least the weather seems to be nice and staying that way. The wind's a bit cold, but I'm glad for it. Maybe this insistent wind is the reason why the whining's going on? I can't be sure whether or not there are some hollow crystals here, but that could change the tone of the 'song'. That's the only thing I can think of that could explain it, anyway. Some kinda disruption.

Can I sleep, do you think?

I'm not so sure I even can.

What am I kidding, writing this for someone who'll never read it. It's like having a conversation with yourself, which is pretty depressing. I suppose It's normal, but not written out in ink like this. This is all that I have left, this little documentation, to keep me tethered to this world. Ah, jeez... never realised how dramatic I was getting. I guess it's true to an extent, though, because there're no other humans to converse with except for Aaron.

Speaking of Aaron, I suppose it's due time I go and find the man.

See you.

~ Lucy H

Resident Derse-Dreaming Asshole

LoSaF

[khaoticallykat]

◇The Prince and The Punk◇

Summary: you and Ransom get to know each other.

Word count: 2,139

*Warnings: physical abuse

A/n: sorry for the delay, I'm trying to update this every sunday or monday, thanks for the support and likes. ♡

Chapter 2: Clarissa

You ignored Ransom as you talked to Harlan, it was amazing how much tension was in the room, Marta shifted uncomfortably around, fiddling with the books, Harlan tapped his fingers against the velvet chair, doing his best not to pry in the business of the both of you. You sat on the loveseat, facing Harlan with a smile on your face as you talked about your research paper, Ransom was burning holes in the back of your head, he chewed loudly on the biscuits he got from his coat pocket, doing everything in his power to think of a way to make you leave, or just torture you. 

"Excuse Grandpa," Ransom said getting up, "may I have a word with Y/n? Please? Alone?"

You gave him a look like he had five heads, about to protest, Ransom took your hand and pulled you to a door that lead into a different hallway from where you came in at. 

"You wanna tell me what you're doing here?" Ransom asked, "and you can't run this time honey."

"First off, don't ever call me honey in your life again or it will be short." You waved a finger in front of his face, "second off, I'm here because it's the main priority of my class, like I said to Harlan, it's my research literary paper, that has to be twenty pages and I don't see you doing any sort of work Hugh."

He clenched his jaw, "I don't have anything, my main priority is the football team," 

"Of fucking course it is, and what girl you sleeping with?" 

"She's my girlfriend, not some girl, it's love, her name is Clarissa." 

"Clarissa Monroy? That insanely too happy cheerleader?" You cringed

"She's the captain, and I'm working on being the football captain." 

On the other side of the door, Marta and Harlan listened closely, mainly Harlan. 

"Harlan, you shouldn't do that!" Marta whispered, trying to pull him away from the door.

He shooed her off, "This is my house I can do whatever I want." 

"Just stay out of my way and we won't have a problem, honey." Ransom smiled

"Whatever you say Hughie, it seem like you're always in my way though." You turned around and grabbed the door handle, Ransom had his hand blocking you from leaving. 

He leaned down, close to your face, "get your paper done and go, I don't want people thinking I have anything to do with you."

You rolled your eyes and pulled open the door with all your strength, making Ransom stumble slightly. Harlan was sorting in the same chair smiling at you, Marta was facing the bookshelf. 

"Everything alright Y/n? I hope Ransom isn't giving you a hard time." Harlan knew exactly what was going on, he had a plan that would be put into action very soon.

"I'm good, me and Ransom were just catching up." You smiled, looking back at Ransom in the doorway, looking a little peeved. "Let's get back to work shall we?" 

Over the next few months you were between, school, work and Harlan's house. You started to see Ransom more around, whether it was a passing glance at school or walking around Harlan's. Harlan often invited you over for lunch and would ask you to stay and use his study for your paper. You were happy to take the offer of course, but that offer also came with Ransom who would creep over your shoulders while you typed. 

There were a few incidents with Ransom and you, the first was when you were in the bathroom, he took the opportunity to take your items and place them on the top shelf of the library and taking the ladder, leaving you to look around, panic and finally trying to climb up the shelf to get your stuff. He stood in the next room laughing, watching you dismay for about half an hour until Marta begged him to help you. 

Another incident happened, this time it was from you, you waited around a corner in the house with the dog's toy, Ransom sat outside on the patio by the pool smoking until get finally got up and began walking back in, "Hey Ransom, catch!" You yelled before throwing that toy at him, he caught it with ease and rolled his eyes, until he saw the face of two dogs jump him and fall into the pool. 

The last incident that happened was just about the same, except you were talking to Harlan by the pool, "Hey Y/n! Catch!" He yelled, you fumbled with the football but was able to catch it, you looked at Harlan, confused.

"Ransom, you know there's no throwing-" Harlan was cut off by your shriek as Ransom tackled you into the pool, he had to admit, it was rather funny, but he kept a stern face. 

Marta came running out, gasping at the situation, "Harlan is everything ok?" She asked rushing to the edge of the pool, "are they ok?" 

You and Ransom came back up, you were pissed and you swam over to him and began splashing water at him, "YOU PIECE OF SHIT!" 

Ransom laughed, blocking himself from your attacks, "that's what you get!" 

"Every is going smoothly" Harlan assured Marta, smiling at the two of you fight in the pool. 

 Another two months passed without a fight from either of you, Fran, the maid, made sandwiches for the both of you in the kitchen, Ransom always called her "The Help".

"You really shouldn't call her that," you said one day, taking a bite of the sandwich Fran made for you, it's been about 5 months since you first came over and the tension between the both of you was normal, you both welcomed the challenge of fighting with each other.  "she'd probably stop calling you Hugh if you did." 

Ransom huffed, sitting across from you at the table in the kitchen, trying to ignore you by playing on his phone.

"Don't you have homework? What the hell is end your Major? All you do is play football and fuck-"

"Shut up!" He slammed his palm down on the table "are you always this annoying?" 

"Are you always a little bitch?" You smirked

"Why does my grandpa even let you come here? You're always annoying with that loud music in your headphones." He pointed to the headphones around your neck, the music was just loud enough for you to hear without putting them on. 

"It's called metal, you should look into it instead of listening to all the same rappers," you turned down the volume, "you look like the guy that says he listens to everything, but once any kind of rock or metal plays, you're crying like a bitch." 

"I do listen to everything," he said, turning his phone to you, showing you his music library, "I listen to rock." 

You couldn't hold back the laughter, tears were coming from your eyes as you pushed his phone away, "oh Hugh, you can't be serious, your library is mainly trap, and not the good kind. Not to be rude, but you listen to shit."

Ransom took his phone, furrowing  his eyebrows "If you mean all that screaming and growling shit, then no, I don't listen to it." 

"What a shame, you should try it sometimes." 

You and Ransom talked a bit more, learning more about each other, he lived on his own while you still live with your parents. You told him that your mom was a doctor and your dad was a realtor, that you still work at the bakery, even though you could live comfortably off of them. He even offered to buy you an apartment, you politely declined. You wanted to work for what you needed, even if it was a part time job. He told you that his major was engineering, which made you laugh, you could never see Ransom living a finger to do anything. He said that football was his main goal, though, engineering was to fall back on. You applauded him for his plan, at least he was smart enough to have one. 

You both were so deep into conversation that his phone ringing surprised you both, he looked at it and held up a finger. 

"Clarissa, babe, how are you?" He smiled, "oh? Really? Ok, I'll be right out." Ransom got up from the table and began making his way to the front door, "Clarissa is here." You got up and followed him, he opened the door and waited on the porch.

Clarissa had been over a few times with Ransom, you've never ran into her before, she was the exact image of what a rich white girl would look like. Petite, long, blonde hair and blue eyes, had plans for plastic surgery to get her boobs and ass bigger. She drove up in a newer model BMW and parked right next to Ransom. She stepped out of the car with a gift bag, still dressed in her cheer uniform. Normally the dogs would run up to people, but for some reason they stayed by you in the foyer with you.

"Ransom!" Her high pitched city girl voice called out, running up to him and jumping in his arms, "I got you a present." She winked, holding the bag out for him.

"I can't stand that damn girl," a voice from behind you said, it startled you but it was only Harlan, "she's sweet but so disrespectful." 

"Thanks sweetheart" Ransom dropped her and opened his gift, Clarissa walked in, seeing you and the dogs.

"Aww," she smiled, reaching her hand out to pet the dogs, but they snarled and growled, "guess your still getting used to me, it's ok." She turned her attention to you, "and you must be Y/n, Ransim told me that you were a high friend of his." 

Friend? Yeah, right. 

"Yeah, something like that, he told me a bit about you, even though I've seen you on campus." You held out your hand to shake but she didn't seem to care.

"That's right, we go to the same college, you must be really smart, it's like, really hard getting into a college like that, it's very expensive." 

"I worked hard to get into it, unlike some people who can just buy their way in." 

You could already tell that she was looking down on you and you didn't like it. Ransom came up from behind her and held her, almost like he could tell the tension in the room, "hey, we're gonna go, we have dinner plans tonight." 

"It's at the restaurant on 5th, The Wine Bottle," She winked and held on to Ransom, "maybe you could try it one day." 

Ransom looked at you with sorry eyes as he started to drag her out, "see ya,  gramps, Y/n." 

The door closed behind, leaving you, Harlan and the dogs alone, "I told you, she's rude, I don't see what Ransom sees in those women." 

You sighed and shrugged, "I guess if they look like a sex doll, it works for him." Harlan let out a hearty laugh. "I should get going, thanks for having me over again Harlan." 

Packing up your stuff you headed for the front door, but could hear two people arguing on the other side. 

"You didn't have to act like that Clarissa, I'm trying to make my grandpa like you, ok?" Ransom said, clearly aggravated.

"Be like what? Did I hurt the feelings of that bitch in there?" Clarissa, not sounding like the squeaky city girl she was earlier. 

"Be nice." He seethed, "I'm doing this because I want to, not because I have too."

"Be nice? So you're taking up for her after she was rude to me?" 

"No. I'm saying that you can't treat everyone like dirt, if you want to be part of my family you need-" SMACK!

"Miss goodie two shoes making you act nice all of a sudden? You fucking idiot, you're lucky that I'm still choosing to date you." She said, "you told my parents that you wouldn't be a problem, remember?" 

"Yeah." 

"Good, let's go to dinner babe." 

You held your breath, hand covering your mouth. It made you angry, a rage burned all over your body, she can't just do that, she can't treat someone like that! 

"Something wrong Y/n?" Harlan said walking up behind you, the dogs coming up to you and whining.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and turned to Harlan, all smiled, "yeah! Of course! See ya!" You said, rushing out the door behind you, both BMW's were gone as you ran to your car taking a moment in the driver's seat to breath, punching the steering wheel out of frustration. You couldn't let that happen again, not to Ransom. 

[goosesister]

Let's talk about Guy Ritchie's 'The Gentlemen'

Coming off the so-so okay-ness that was Disney's Live-Action version of Aladdin Guy Ritchie says "I'm sorry, I came into the Aladdin thing way too late to make it my own and I was tempted by the prestige and the money, so here's a peace offering" gift with The Gentlemen. Now granted that last sentence was a mouthful, but it does paint a picture.

The Gentlemen is a stiletto knife with gold embossing. Its sharp, its quick, gorgeous, and easily hidden among the other movies of 2019 summer hits-but my goodness once it gets you, you are left breathless and with a lasting impression.

Starting with the overall look:

The Gentlemen is a cool jewel toned, smoke filled, plaid patterned, fine wool wrapped piece of cinematic loveliness. The sets sit between the posh and polished world of English nobility with their cold and precise beauty, and the blood soaked feral quality of the criminal world. Nothing is misplaced, even in the heroine soaked squalor of a junkie's apartment. Like the rest of the aspects of the movie, everything is a deliberately placed hint for something else to be revealed later. I loved everything about the atmosphere of this movie.

Now for the characters:

Mickey Pearson- Matthew McConaughey's Michael Pearson dances across that razor sharp tightrope of civility and berserker rage. Mickey thinks ahead, is a sharp intellect, employs likewise intelligent people, sells a smart product, and most importantly, his wife is not an ornament or a trophy, but a true partner. Mickey is a departure from the Matthew McConaughey we've been raised on. He's not relaxed, but in control. He's not rolling with the punches, but the one who's punching.

Rosalind- Rosalind is, to my mind, all the best parts of Michelle Dockery's best roles. She has the cold and calculating brain of Mary from Downton Abbey, the people reading skills of Lettie from Good Behavior, and the willingness to do injury of Alice from Godless. The movie describes her as a 'Cockney Cleopatra to Mickey's cowboy Caesar' and nothing could be more on the nose. Rosalind knows her husband, wants the best for him, and shes willing to push him and cut others to make that happen

Raymond- Charlie Hunnam is Guy Ritchie's muse and its a position that's absolutely deserving. Raymond is a 'speak softly and carry a big stick' sort of man, and nothing could be more enjoyable to watch. He wants to do his job and do it well. He's a long suffering right hand man and is willing to wait quietly in the grass until it's the right time to strike with a poison you do not recover from

Fletcher- I swear if I didnt know this was Hugh Grant I never would have guessed. It's not just the expertly pulled off but grating on the ear accent, it's the slimy weasel like quality that permeates his whole performance. From the second he makes his presence known by clinking the ice in a glass of Raymond's scotch, you hate him.

Dry-Eye - Way. To. Go. Henry. Golding. This is an excellent way to break that charming romantic leading man type casting mold Hollywood was about to wrap around him. Dry-Eye is a young, hungry, and terribly horrifically short sighted. I could watch him crash and burn for days

The Coach- Anyone who's ever been in charge of a bunch of teenage boys can relate to the long suffering, wondering at the sheer stupidity of The Coach.

The Script:

I personally love the way Guy Ritchie chooses to tell stories. It's never told in a linear fashion, everything bounces from point to point, ending to beginning, back to front until everything becomes eventually clear at the end. The way all sharp, smart, conversations do. And because it's not told in this linear fashion we've grown accustomed to, it's much harder to tell where the twist is coming from and what it's going to be.

In Conclusion:

The Gentlemen, like all worthwhile movies, can not be understood and appreciated in just one sitting. Each viewing is a new experience a little more is perceived and enjoyed.

Favorite Line:

Michael Pearson: I know how you lot live fables, so let me share a little fable with you. There once was a young and foolish dragon who came to ask a wise and cunning lion about acquiring his territory. Now, the lion, he wasnt interested, so he told the little dragon to fuck off. But the dragon couldn't understand what "fuck off" meant, so he persisted and continued to ask the lion about acquiring his territory. So the lion too the little dragon for a walk and put five bullets in his little dragon head. End of story. Now, allegedly there's a message in there. I don't know what it is, but you're a clever boy Dry Eye. Maybe you can explain it to me.