#he did the right thing at least 11/10 Price good job

[ladykailitha]

The Caged Bird Still Sings Part 14

Hey guys! Welcome back! So this chapter is getting a little heavy on the angsty side, so just a heads up.

Things have been going great for all the stories especially the Christmas one.

This will be the story that keeps its usual schedule next week. Every other posting day will be finishing up the Olympic Swimmer one. So be on the look out for that.

Also super long chapter!

Steve tries out some hobbies, Joyce pushes, and Steve gets depressed.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13

~

Steve would like to say he got right on the job search the next day, but he really didn’t. He woke up refreshed and feeling good about himself. After a run on the treadmill and big breakfast he had already talked himself out needing to.

But instead he decided that he wanted to learn new hobbies. He had the money and pretty much unlimited time so why not?

The first thing he tried felting. Yeah, he had a lot of money, but he wanted to start with something cheap in case he got bored with it.

Taking the kit out of the box, he already ran into a problem. The leather finger gloves were much too small. Like he didn’t have fat fingers or anything but they were much too tight to fit on even his pinkie fingers he turned them inside out to see if he could make them bigger somehow.

He only succeeded in ruining the finger gloves. He tried rubber thimbles as replacements but still the sharp tool would pierce even the tough rubber.

The kit sat abandoned in a corner of his hotel room until one of the porters saw it and asked if he could have it. His sister did the felting all the time and she was having trouble finding colors she liked.

So Steve let him have it. Three days later the porter came back with a bright yellow canary and a female robin. He proudly displayed them on his nightstand next to the phone and alarm clock.

Robin loved them, but refused to take the robin. She said they shouldn’t be separated at any price.

Steve loved her a little bit more when she said that.

The next thing he tried was painting.

That lasted all of six hours before they got handed off to Will. It was a beautiful oil, acrylic, and water color set, with all the paint brushes and pallet and metal wood-handled pallet knives.

It lasted that long was because that was the time it took for Steve to set everything up, including an old sheet Rosa let him have, start painting and promptly knock everything over. The water, the paints, the easel. Everything. He broke the easel, knocked a hole in the canvas, and smeared paint all over the apron he had bought just for the occasion.

Will was happy to receive the paints, but in turn he gave Steve a simple notepad and pencil and taught him how to draw.

Steve liked that.

It was just for doodling and making silly pictures so it didn’t make him feel like a failure. He went to the bookstore and bought a bunch of books on how to draw certain things. Animals, the human figure. He even found this great reference book on clothes sorted based on the English monarch who was in power at the time the were wore.

Which was all well and good, but it wasn’t exactly what he wanted.

One day while he was over at Will’s talking art and whether or not kneaded erasers were worth the pain they caused if you dropped, Ellie introduced him to a new hobby. Will was against the things, Steve was for.

Jonathan huffed, “That’s probably a class issue as Steve here can afford to replace them and Will can’t.”

Steve and Will stared at each other in complete shock, but had to admit that Jonathan was probably right.

“Yeah, okay,” Steve huffed, “that’s fair. I guess I really didn’t think about it because it’s not my money I’m spending.”

“Have you tried looking for a job?” Joyce asked. She didn’t like that someone was paying to keep Steve safe. As nice as it was, in her experience the well tended to dry up when you least expected it to.

Steve rolled his eyes. “Yes, Mrs. Byers.” Which he had. Yes, he had been focused on trying to learn things that would keep his mind from atrophying, he had also been looking. “If they seen me coming they take down the sign or if they don’t get to it in time, they say it’s an old sign and that they forgot to take it down.”

Joyce’s shoulders slumped in sympathy. The rumor around town is that because Mr. Harrington was the landlord for a lot of the properties that the businesses were on, he had threatened to raise their rent if they gave Steve a job.

Something that all the adults promised not to tell Steve so that he wouldn’t get so discouraged as to not try at all.

But surely Clint Harrington didn’t own every business in Hawkins and she told Steve so.

“No,” Steve huffed. “But he’s friends with ones that he doesn’t. I’m going to try the mall next. Most of the them are franchises and have their main bosses outside of Hawkins.”

She let out a little sigh of relief. It showed that Steve was trying and actively thinking of these types of pitfalls.

Steve shifted uncomfortably. “What have you got there, Ellie?” he asked trying to shift the focus off of him for a moment.

Joyce was watching Ellie while Hopper was at work.

The young girl held up long satin strings of embroidery thread. She had three shades of pink, a white, and a red. She tied the ends to a safety pin that was pinned her leg.

“I’m making friendship bracelets for me and Max,” Ellie said proudly. “The pink is for me, and then I have these colors for her!” She held up blues and purples.

“That’s way cool!” Steve said scooting over to sit next to her.

Jonathan and Will shared a smile. Steve was lost to the shiny allure of friendship bracelets.

“I could teach you if you like,” she said with a smile. “I also have boondoggle!” She held up shiny plastic strips. “I make key chains and other things that need to last a lot longer than the thread.”

Steve really lit up, but then frowned when he saw out intricate it all was. “I’ll never be do anything that fancy.”

Ellie sat closer and pulled out a little paper that she had in her caboodle. “I couldn’t at first either, so I went to the library and took out a book on all the different ways you could plait and how to do boondoggle. Then I copied a couple of the pages I wanted to try.”

She handed it to him and pointed to the easiest. “That’s the one I started with and it will probably take a little bit to get the spacing right.”

Steve tilted his head. “Is this like braiding hair?”

“Yes!” Ellie said excitedly. “That’s right. I forgot you braid Max’s hair all the time. So then it will be easy for you.”

Soon they were off in their own little world.

Joyce watched with her arms crossed and a concerned expression. Jonathan spotted her and shook his head. He stood up and went to stand next to her.

“You’ve got to let it go, Mom,” he said gently. “You aren’t his mom and even if you were, he’s still an adult. As near as anyone of can tell, whoever is footing this bill isn’t in it to exploit Steve, just making sure he’s taken care of.”

Joyce breathed out through her nose as she tried not to snap at her son. She didn’t know that as a fact and Hopper’s reassurances weren’t enough. She hated having to take his word that whoever this was wouldn’t harm Steve. And that galled.

“It’s all the expensive gifts,” she tried to explain. “The car, the unlimited credit card, cash drops weekly, the gold necklace, the hotel. It’s just not right, it’s not decent.”

Jonathan shook his head. “What about all the non-expensive gifts? Things this benefactor thought Steve would like or get a kick out of? Like that little canary with top hat that he keeps on his dashboard? Or all the music tapes they send, thinking Steve might want to try something different. Hell, according to Steve until they left the country, they talked once or twice a day. That doesn’t sound like someone out to hurt him.”

She let out a shuddering sigh. Because Jonathan was right, that didn’t sound like someone trying to use Steve. “I know.”

Jonathan patted on her shoulder and then went into his room, probably to call Nancy. Another person like his mom who worried Steve was being taken advantage of. But even if he was, that was a lesson he was going to have to learn the hard way.

On his own.

Will had long since left to go hang out with Mike while Ellie and Steve made friendship bracelets. He made four. A black, red, and dark grey one for Eddie, a red, a brown, and a light grey one for Robin and two yellow, white, and black ones. So he could one each to Eddie and Robin.

“Those are really pretty, Steve,” Ellie congratulated him. “Those are some interesting color choices.” Spoken as though she was silently judging, but too polite to say so.

He blushed and held up the first one. “This is for my special friend, they are his favorite colors.” Then he held up the second. “And this is for Robin. The colors remind me of a female robin and the last two represent who I am now.”

Ellie blinked for a moment as she took in the information. “I can see that now. Thank you for explaining it to me.”

“I get my thread at Melvand’s,” she said serenely, “if you wanted to continue to make more, that’s where you would go to get your own.”

Steve kissed the top of her head. “Thank you, Ellie.”

He didn’t stay much longer than that, now that both of the other boys were gone, Joyce was keeping too close an eye on him with Ellie. He knew it wasn’t the gay thing as she didn’t mind Will being around her. And it wasn’t being a barely legal adult considering she would gladly leave Jonathan to look over her.

Nope.

It was entirely because she didn’t know who Steve’s mysterious benefactor was. And the thought of this unknown, probably male, person might hear about Ellie later? Yeah, that’s where she drew her invisible line.

Which was bullshit, like with Robin’s mom, Eddie wasn’t going to prey on little girls. He was freaking out about Steve might be underage when they met in the club. But it wasn’t like he could tell Joyce that. She might revoke his time with Will and Ellie if she learned he had been underaged drinking that night. The night Eddie saved him.

Steve went up to his hotel room and flopped face first into his bed. He was tired. Tired of all the questions about finding a job and getting out from under Eddie’s thumb. Like Eddie was financially abusing him or whatever.

He just wanted to bring people to his hotel room and show them all the little things Eddie sent him just because he walked into a gas station and saw something cute he thought he would like. The keychain from Kansas City with his name on it. The bright yellow shirt that said “I don’t take no shit” and had the Iowan state bird of the American goldfinch. That one came with a little note explaining that it was a canary, but the black on the wings reminded Eddie of the deliciously tight black leather pants.

Steve blushed for hours after that one.

He wiggled onto the bed and crawled under the covers without having taken off any of his clothes. Maybe he could hibernate until Eddie got back in America.

~

Steve managed to bury himself under the covers before the porter with the felting sister ripped the blanket off from over his head.

He stared blearily up at the porter. “Martin?” He struggled to sit up, but flopped back down on the pillow in distress. “Just leave me alone.”

“It’s Marty actually,” the porter huffed. “The only people that call me Martin are my boss and my mom. You’re not either.”

“Marty, I just want to go back to sleep.”

Marty pulled the rest of the blankets and yanked Steve off the bed. He went with a startled yelp. He leapt to his feet to fight him, but he saw that Bob and Rosa were standing by his bed with looks of concern on their faces.

“I have the shower running,” Bob said, “you will get in there and at least clean off the sweat you reek of. Then Rosa will change the sheets. Marty will bring up some food while you are showering, then the three of us are staging an intervention, because this isn’t like you!”

Steve opened his mouth to refute that statement, probably something about how no one called the whole time he as sulking.

Bob pulled out a stack of messages. “I have thirteen messages, and that’s only because the answering machine is full.”

Steve looked behind him and sure enough the machine was blinking complete with a full tape.

“Oh.”

He meekly went and did as he was told. He was only going to do a perfunctory wipe down because they were waiting for him, but once he got under the water it felt so good that he began to thoroughly scrub himself down. Normally going without a shower for a couple of days really didn’t do much, but because he had barely moved to pee, he was covered in thin layer of sweat.

He washed his hair and got out of the shower. He dried himself off and put on the long robe Eddie had gotten him. He opened the door and was instantly hit with enticing aroma of chicken noodle soup. He moved out of the bathroom to the main room, lured by the scent of real food.

The sofa was full of the hotel employees so he grabbed his bowl of soup and spoon and sat down on the armchair curled up as small as he could make himself.

“You frightened us, mi corazón,” Rosa huffed. “You weren’t answering your phone, you weren’t ordering food. The only way we could tell you moved at all is that occasionally the cup in the bathroom would be wet or you would be on the other side of the bed.”

Bob nodded. “We were told to look after you, money was no object. That’s what we were told, but you turned out to be kind and generous and frankly better than ninety percent of the patrons here. You treat us like we’re human, so it became our pleasure to serve you. So when you weren’t opening your door to anyone or answering your calls, we knew something was wrong.”

“Sorry,” Steve muttered into his bowl. “I just got so tired of everyone trying to find out who is bankrolling my life style and telling me to get a job that I just didn’t want to deal with it anymore.”

“It’s none of their business,” Rosa huffed. “They’re just jealous that they don’t have this life. I know your papa wants to hurt and all this for you protection, but it seems to me your friends just see the money you...” she snapped her fingers. “What’s the word?”

“I’d use ‘splash around’,” Steve said with a shrug.

“Ehhh,” she knew it wasn’t the word she was looking for but it would have to do. “They see the good. Not the bad. They see new car, but they weren’t there to see you give up your old car. They see the fancy hobbies, but they don’t see your big room and no one to fill it with.”

“She’s right,” Marty said. “I don’t think even the girl that comes with your gifts from Eddie Munson quite understands the crippling loneliness and isolation you have to be feeling right now.”

Steve sniffled into his soup. “Thanks, guys. I don’t know how to impress upon them how dangerous this all is for me. Like the only ones that remotely understand are the Hendersons and that’s because my dad showed up on their doorstep. But even then I don’t think Dustin quite grasps the enormity of it all, but then he’s thirteen so...”

“The only reason your father hasn’t penetrated hotel security,” Bob said with a grimace, “is that the owner, Dr. Sam Owens hates business men like your father. Otherwise, his hold over this town would have extended to here, no doubt about that.”

“So this is what’s going to happen,” Marty said, “if you need to sneak out and just go for a drive to get out of your head, call Bob and he’ll arrange it. If you need someone to talk to ring up Rose or myself. We’re here for you. We understand that Mr. Munson is out of the country right now and it makes it harder, but we’ve got you, okay?”

Steve nodded and said weakly, “Okay!”

~

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog @beelze-the-bubkiss @blondie1006

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @cryptid-system

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji

5- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @sticknpokelightningbolt

9- @scoops-aboy86 @kurofuckingshi16 @watermelonmite @eyehartart @dreamercec

10- @little-birch-boy @yearningagain @micheledawn1975 @sadisticaltarts

[cthulhusstepmom]

Gaz is a fish person.

His collection was truly impressive before he joined the SAS and now that he's in the 141 with a semi permanent home base he has a few tanks in his room(2 planted 10gals and a blackwater 5gal, for a small community tank, a copper plakat Betta, and a mustard gas Betta).

When Price finds out about the fish he gets Gaz a goldfish(a little calico from the local Petco/smart/whatever they have in that barbaric country) and Gaz dies inside while trying to gently explain just how big of a space goldfish need to his CO (also the fact that it's a Coldwater fish and that he values the plants in his tanks thank you). He puts her in a bowl for the time being until he can return her in the morning but he wakes up to an exhausted Price telling him to go the rec room. Lo and behold there is a brand new 75 gallon tank with a huge canister filter and the highest quality Goldfish pellets money can buy.

Eventually Gaz gets three more goldfish for the 75 gallon in the rec room(once it's cycled and he's sat the team down to explain the nitrogen cycle, proper maintenance and "for the love of God let me add any fish").

An old oranda that someone was looking to re-home named Cap.

A ryukin with a ridiculously tall fin named Dawn.

And a giant black moor named Spooky.

The little calico? Her name is Monster.

[returntosaturn271995]

April 18th: Fricken Pissed Part 2: Reframing it.

Life is difficult, anger is normal. Let’s make this right in your eyes:

1.  ChicExecs took my 10 page presentation and never emailed me back. I added a negative review to Glassdoor (among many already there) and somehow that just made me angrier?

Reframe: If you had worked for them, you would have had a super shitty experience. You dodged a bullet and now you just have another example of work to send people. 

2. My interview (the third one) with Diff Eyewear was disorganized and I felt like the execs were sexist despite reaching out to me on Linkedin. GOD. Job hunting is bleak.

Reframe: If they move forward, ask for a fuck ton of money. If they don’t know what they’re doing, then they don’t know what you can’t do. These people can’t recruit for shit.

3. Marvelous Mrs. Maisel hasn’t been good since season 2

Reframe: You’ll always have those beloved seasons. Besides, there might be some watchable moments along the way. (cough Luke Kirby). 

4. Pretty sure Effexor withdrawal gives me vivid nightmares and night sweats.

Reframe: Pretty sure Effexor is also what keeps me from taking a marinara bath after a hard day. All good things have prices. 

5. Now that Scott’s back in Austin he never reached out again. Which is weird because he basically wanted to marry me before. I guess pussy power is about proximity.  

Reframe: Life is long. He treated me like a queen when he was in town. 

6. James hasn’t reached out since our date last week. After all the stuff he said about being so in to me. Maybe he’s just a bad texter because he’s always been like that but still. Am I allowed to be angry? Why does this make me like him more when two weeks ago I wasn’t even sure if I was that crazy about him?

Reframe: Well at least I’m hot. That’s the only explanation for why men go so crazy for me at the beginning. He’s also been out of town. He also spent over a hundred on dinner last week. Fuck it, let him self-select out. We used a condom. 

7. I got drunk and sent my college roommate a nice text wishing her well on her engagement. Ugh I’m lame. No, she did not respond.

Reframe: At least your drunk texts are friendly. Saying kind stuff is still saying kind stuff. Also if you die first she’ll feel like a total bitch for not saying thank you. 

8. Kate’s had a dude here for two days straight and he keeps using my and Hannah’s bathroom. He goes through toilet paper at an alarming rate. He’s either buidling a mummy costume or Kate’s dating another dude who lives in his van.

Reframe: In fairness to Katie she’s only dated one dude who lived in his van. Also he clearly makes her happy. And thank god he’s moving to Bali soon. Even if his suitcase is stuffed with my toilet paper.

9. Kara Godfrey. She’s just a shitty friend. And she reminds me of a lot of shitty friends. So I project a lot of anger at the idea of her. Sara sent us both a text today, which was actually very sweet of her. I’ll try and focus on that.

Reframe: Kara’s got her own problems and I did fuck her brother years ago. She may or may not know. She’s also kind of a bad friend to everyone. 

10. Is it me? Why does it feel like it’s me? And why hasn’t therapy made me less annoying yet? I know I’m supposed to FEEL better, but I would sure love to be treated better and somehow deemed lovable. 

Reframe: All this anger is more perceived rejection than anything else. So maybe it’s a good sign it pisses me off. Because honestly I’ve been working hard on myself goddamnit. I’m having my back here.

11. I was pretty shitty at yoga today. Maybe I’ll give it another shot now that I’ve hopefully journaled a chunk of my crazy out.

Reframe: I at least rolled out the mat and cat-cowed a little. A couple of months ago that would have been a fucking punchline. Who knows maybe I’ll do it again in a bit. 

12. Once James messaged me and said “Why are you acting like a stranger?”. When he was the one who hadn’t reached out after our first date.

Reframe: So many men want to be chased and I aint doing it ‘lil mama. Lisa reached out to get pedicures, I’m going to hang with her instead.  

13. I still haven’t made the goddamn smoothie I promised myself I would make. I bought the ingredients Saturday. Maybe I’ll put on a murder podcast and TRY.

Reframe: I put on the murder podcast and made two smoothies. I feel better/more hydrated now. Some of this anger may have been based on my working out on an empty stomach. 

14. I was reading about Joe Biden and his first wife died in a horrible car crash right before Christmas that also took the life of his infant daughter.  Yes, it was 50 years ago. Yes, I already new about this. But now I’m downloading his autobiography and just lamenting the fact the BAD THINGS HAPPEN TO GOOD PEOPLE AND DONALD TRUMP GETS TO DO WHATEVER THE FUCK HE WANTS.

Reframe: Donald Trump could still go to jail. Joe Biden eventually met Jill. Hold your families close and persevere. Still that story is so fucking awful. My problems aren’t that big. 

15. Made the mistake of thinking too long on my walk home about a guy who took sexual advantage of me in college and realized that’s why I can’t stand soccer outside of a Ted Lasso episode. Idk why this is under the Mrs. Maisel season and yoga, but it is.

Reframe: I’m not alone. Soccer is boring. And I’m part of the cause that will improve the lives of future girls/women. Campus sexual assault is common, but that doesn’t mean it always has to be.

[tundrainafrica]

Title: Lovebug (13/14)

Summary:

“It might be a bug.”

“A bug?”

“Sometimes the developers of this application make mistakes. This is our first time meeting I’m sure so…Isn’t it a bit weird that we just met for the first time and it rings like this? And for two strangers to coincidentally ring each other’s alarms?“

Levi is the developer of the Love Alarm App and Hange is married to Zeke.

Link to cross-postings: AO3

Other Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

Notes: Feedback is very much appreciated :D

With attire alone, Levi was already a fish out of water.

As the seconds ticked though, his self consciousness only grew.

It wasn’t just an issue of clothing. Too many things had been against him the whole way to the dinner room. The white and silver of the windows of the private dinner room in the hotel reflected the setting sun, the marble floors, the glass bridge, the carpeted floors.

The scenery was only half the battle though. The men and women strode in and out of the dinner room with attire much grander than is. There were leather bags, the jewelry and constantly hovering in the air were the business vernacular that fell into one ear and out the order.

There were too many conversations on mergers, acquisitions, business climates, market prices he could never be part of. And his own direct companions weren’t making it any better.

As Levi soon understood, it wasn’t their job to make him feel comfortable anyway.

“Yelena,” he repeated, a memory exercise for himself. The whole journey from the convention center on the first floor to one of the rooms in the mid floor of the hotel was silent and long. In the sea of business pleasantries though, it seemed ironic that the blonde had never even made conversation beyond her own name.

Even as she sat next to him on the dinner table, she didn’t speak, not even bothering to respond to her own name. She was too close though, only a few inches away that Levi swore she had heard it.

“That’s your name right?” Levi added. He couldn’t think of much else to say. After blurting her name mindlessly, with Porco and Pieck seated just in front of him, looking at him expectantly, he knew he had to continue with something.

“I introduced myself back in the lobby already,” Yelena finally responded.

“You did,” Levi said.

“Is there anything you want to ask?” Yelena asked, no hint of benevolence in her tone.

Levi had been rolling on the bed, in and out of sleep the whole day. He didn’t trust himself to say anything else. He didn’t trust himself to think.

Yelene had a knowing look on her face, as if she knew something he didn’t. And she seemed to be enjoying it. Since a while ago, she hadn’t at all been subtle with the fact that somehow, by just their first meeting, Levi had managed to rub her the wrong way. It wasn’t too radical of an idea, that she may enjoy his pain.

Levi’s mind was suddenly racing, reminding him why he had even considered going in the first place. Is there anything you wanna ask?  Those words echoed for a while longer. The longer he sat there silently, the more restless he became. He avoided her gaze, looking behind her, then behind Porco and Pieck, taking in his surroundings again. He was observing mannerisms, branded bags, branded ties, branded purses and Zeke in the middle of all of it, going from one table to the other.

Eventually, after the discomfort settled, Levi realized he was torturing himself for a reason.

Hange wasn’t there. And he shouldn’t have needed that long look to notice it. But you’ve given up already? Right?

“You’re not going to eat?” Pieck was a lot more friendly. There was a huge difference between being polite and being friendly and Levi suspected, he was only seeing politeness as friendliness given the stark contrast of Yelena’s overall approach towards him

In the air, tension hung so thick. Levi didn’t notice a piece of bread and a bowl of soup had been served in front of him. “I will.” He immediately went for the spoon in front of him.

“That’s the spoon for the main course,” Yelena said.

“What?” By the second, Levi was starting to realize how disconnected he actually was. Around the soup, there were spoons, forks and knives in multiple sizes. In a panic, Levi had looked around to see it was the same for everyone else.

Yet, everyone else knew how to navigate such a complex design.

“The small one is the soup spoon.” Pieck was helpful at least. “No, that’s the tea spoon,” she added as she looked pointedly at the smallest one Levi had taken hold of.

Levi was familiar enough with tea to be familiar with the size of the teaspoon. At that point though, who cared what spoon he ate with? He wasn’t there to dine.

By some pride or just utter frustration at the whole situation, the spoon debacle was never solved and Levi never touched his soup that night. He closed himself off from everything else, keeping his world closed to anything but the entrance, Zeke, the crowds, and the one familiar face he wanted to see.

But Hange never showed up.

“She’s not coming. If that’s what you’re thinking.” Yelena could have been reading his mind.

“Who’s not coming?” Levi asked. He widened his eyes in mock surprise but he kept his voice toneless. In his mind, that seemed like a good balance to display both calm and disconnect.

Yelena never answered the question. Maybe she knew silence was the right answer, that is, if her attention had been to keep his insides boiling in frustration, his mind racing.

The grin on her face only proved it. Maybe that was her intention.

It only got worse though as the night dragged on and Levi noticed his own restlessness around the salad course that he could barely even look at.

He could barely coordinate his hands. His legs were trembling.

Those few moments he focused on evening out his breathing, he was able to grip the spoon, then the steak knife as the main course came in.

As if to add salt to whatever wound she had, Yelena commented abruptly. “It’s not everyday people like you will be able to get steak like this.”

The steak could have just been soft. Or Levi was recovering. One of those, he couldn’t be too sure. But it was a good steak. He could tell that much. It melted in his mouth and he had spent an inordinate amount of time contemplating how it was physically possible for steak to melt in his mouth.

Then suddenly the delectable steak rotted mid chew. “You look like you’re enjoying yourself.” It was as if Yelena was on a mission to be a total buzzkill. Maybe she was being paid by Zeke to do just that.

And she was doing a wonderful job. Levi almost choked on that last piece, his fork fell to his lap. In a bout of embarrassment, he stood up. “Toilet.”

Five minutes and an empty bladder later, whatever peace and calm he had managed to muster alone in the toilet completely dissipated. It seemed like that dinner was also on a mission to make him as miserable as possible even in a supposedly pleasant environment.

“Where’s my steak?” Levi put too much energy into keeping his tone as subdued as possible.

“Oh, you weren’t done?” Pieck asked, seeming genuinely curious.

He had only gotten two bites. Of course, he wouldn’t be done. He was close to raising his hand up to call the waiter until he was reminded, he didn’t even pay for the dinner. Did he even have the right to complain?

At that point, Levi was just a little ticked, his grumbling stomach at having missed three courses over his own discomfort and tense state was already catching up to him. “What made you think I was done?”

“You put your spoon and fork together, like this,” Pieck said. “That means you’re done with the course.” She organized her plate the same way Levi did, for just a second.

Maybe Levi had been too self conscious. In an attempt to seem more posh than he actually was, Levi had channeled his own fastidiousness into putting the utensils together before he left for the toilet.

“I would think someone who works in corporate would know this. This is standard fine dining,” Yelena said nonchalantly.

Fine dining for Levi meant a dinner at a cafe, or a sit down restaurant. The whole world that existed for the sake of fine dining, the course meals, the secret language he didn’t seem to understand felt completely unnecessary. And the longer they sat there as if deliberately keeping him in the dark while he starved, Levi only became more and more impatient.

“I’m sure you wouldn’t have known any better at first,” Levi said.

“I’ve been handling Zeke’s properties overseas for years so I’ve had my fair share of fine dining experience.” She then turned to Pieck and Porco who both nodded. “Even before that, my parents have taught me this. Have yours?”

Levi’s earliest memories of fine dining had been sit down restaurants, diners, nothing too fancy. He shook his head. “Well, I didn’t come here with the intention of dining. You put me on that list yourself, without even waiting for a reply.” He regretted it, as soon as he let it out. His grumbling stomach had him almost out of control.

Yelena raised one eyebrow. “Oh? Then why did you still come, Mr. Ackerman? The free food?”

Levi froze.

“The free food you barely even touched?” Yelena pressed.

And Levi stiffened up, much harder than he would have thought was ‘completely frozen.’

“You have some business to settle with Mr. Jaeger I’m guessing?”

“It’s none of your business.” Levi managed to say.

“I’ve been working for the Jaegers for years. I manage their overseas properties, a few apartments and houses here and there,” she said proudly.

“And?” Levi challenged. “Does that make you entitled to whatever other business Zeke has?”

That question was a response enough. Enough to get Yelena crack, her expression shifted from incredulous, to abrasive to subdued. One eyebrow raised, mouth twitching slightly. “I had to clean up the mess you two left behind.”

Mess? Levi had an inkling of an answer.

A clatter of metal on a plate. “Yelena! Not here,” Pieck said.

“Then we should talk outside then.” Yelena was half way to standing up, before she stopped herself.

Levi found himself following her gaze. The one view that had her frozen in her tracks had been Zeke and before Levi even knew it himself, he was just as surprised as Yelena.

“Should we retire early?” Zeke asked.

“Sir, you haven’t eaten yet,” Yelena argued.

Zeke shook his head. “I hold these dinners to find potential business partners, not to eat.” He turned to Pieck. “I think Pieck can take over from here. I’ll leave you to answer any questions about Jaeger healthcare holdings.”

Pieck nodded. “Yes sir, I’ll take over.”

“No hurry, everyone’s still busy with their meals…” Zeke looked pointedly at his surroundings at the other people. HIs staff table had been conveniently placed by the corner, and it didn’t seem at all like their conversation had been heard by everyone else.

Pieck and Porco were noticeably eating faster, seeming deep in thought. Back into business mode maybe, the caustic exchange of a while ago completely forgotten. Or at least they looked like they were attempting to forget it.

Not burdened with that same responsibility, Yelena didn’t seem to put up any facade. Her own antagonizing attitude towards Levi didn’t falter. Yet somehow, Zeke’s presence had kept her mum, subdued her to just venomous glares.

They exited the dinner hall and made their way out of the hallway, opening up to the open hotel lobby. “We can talk in my private suite,” Zeke said. “I don’t like having a lot of my conversations in public.”

Levi didn’t respond. The glances Yelena snuck him only made it harder to come up with anything more than a few mumbles which he was sure would only make him look pathetic in front of Zeke.

“Did you pay for the flight yourself?” Zeke asked.

Levi nodded. Where’s Hange? That thought tore into his mind so abruptly, Levi found himself having to clamp his mouth shut, much tighter than normal. He couldn’t trust himself to speak. God knows, he might end up asking just that cursed question.

“You’re quiet,” Zeke commented as they entered the elevator. “Did you enjoy dinner?”

Levi nodded and mumbled some hint of a yes.

Zeke raised his eyebrows. “Really what was your favorite course?”

The steak obviously. Even those words got caught somewhere in his throat, admitting to Zeke that he enjoyed the food seemed almost like flaunting himself naked.

Luckily—or unluckily, Zeke didn’t prod, instead going for another speech which made Levi regret keeping silent. “I hold dinners every night for PR, get the right potential partners to the same room, for my healthcare holdings, my supermarket holdings, my…” Zeke rattled on.

To Levi, it felt the blonde had just been jacking himself off instead of actually making conversation. Still, that gave Levi time to think.

Thinking turned out to be a bad thing.

Even before they arrived at the penthouse floor, Levi had to admit, the hotel was posh. The scent of new wood hung in the air, the marble finishings, the lamp made out of metals Levi suspected weren’t easy to acquire. And when they stepped from the elevator wing to the matted floor of the penthouse, whatever plush they used underneath greeted him in some strange manner.

Strangely, Levi felt guilty for dirtying something which he was completely aware was supposed to be dirtied anyway dealing with foot traffic everyday. Then the more they walked, the more self conscious he became of the way he was walking.

Zeke and Yelena both walked ahead with confident strides and Zeke never stopped talking. When Levi found himself listening, he noticed, Zeke's tirades only made the grand hall seem grander, a completely different world to Levi, something he wasn’t supposed to be in.

Was he a visitor. Hell, maybe not even a visitor. A slave? A serf?

“The convention is to attract potential resellers. We’re planning on reselling our research, our products, our technology, to this region...”

They walked towards the end of the hall, stopping in front of some fancy door only accentuated by the plush carpets and the decorative lamps.

“... And this city will be our hub…” It looked like Zeke had been too distracted by his own grand plans to even bother to open the door. It was fortunate then that Yelena had the key and that she knew her way into the presidential suite.

They settled on the sofa in the living rooms, the first room past the foyer.

“We’ll set up office space... Maybe a building...”

It was around then that Levi noticed he hadn’t been offered a seat but he didn’t mind it too much. The multiple sitting rooms, the wide window to one side that gave a good view of the infinity pool on the balcony, and beyond that, a view of the city.

Did Hange get to swim? Levi looked out for a while longer and he couldn’t look away. The longer he looked, the easier it became to imagine her leaning over the infinity pool in her purple bathing suit.

“It will cost a few million dollars…”

Just like in the country club.

“Levi, you want to go for a swim?”

Levi coughed, an instinctive movement. “Sorry… Excuse me, what?”

Zeke looked very unimpressed. It was obviously a joke. “For gods sake, sit down. It’s distracting just watching you stand awkwardly.”

“So why did you invite me here?” Levi asked. If not to listen to you ramble. He added silently to himself.

“I think I have a right to answer first,” Zeke said. He nodded to Yelena. The latter walked away and back to the kitchen. “Why are you here? Don’t tell me you’re here for the convention?”

“What if I am?”

Zeke spared a small grin. He leaned back on the sofa and looked to the side, as if sharing an inside joke with himself. “And do you have plans of investing?”

Millions of dollars. Those three words echoed in Levi’s head. He didn’t have that money and he most likely never would.

Zeke didn’t give him time to speak. “Figures,” he muttered. “So why did you come here?” He asked in a clearer voice.

“You invited m---”

“I wouldn’t have invited you if you weren’t here already,” Zeke said.

Yelena chose that moment to come in between them, a wine bottle on one hand, two wine glasses on the other. Her movements were too casual, the fine dining positions of a while ago seemed almost like a facade.

Zeke gave a nod in thanks. “Sit where you’re comfortable.”

Yelena didn’t hesitate. She settled on one of the sofa chairs, a comfortable distance between them. She mirrored Zeke’s own expression, a mix between mocking and expectant.

It only became harder to speak. When Levi was weighing between speaking up and staying mum, he found, as painful as it was to continue speaking, the outcome seemed more desirable.

At least in his head.

“What’s wrong? Can’t tell me why you visited my convention?” Zeke took a sip of the wine. “Unless it’s something… controversial? Embarrassing? Offensive?.”

Levi felt his skin crawl. Not completely in control of his body, he almost feared his facade cracking and not noticing it. He cleared his throat. “I was going to speak.” He paused, using that moment, to meet Zeke’s eyes. “It’s about Hange.”

“What about my Hange?” Zeke had put too much emphasis in those last two words, it seemed almost out of place. In one sleek movement, he straightened up on his seat and tightened his grip on his wine glass

It was as if Levi was walking on Zeke’s territory, completely unwelcome. And Levi was starting to notice that. He shook his head and softened his voice, a subtle peace offering. “I had plans for the emotion alarm, I wanted to discuss them with Hange, get her opinion---”

“Erwin hasn’t told you yet?” Zeke put down his wine glass. “We’re terminating the contract.

It was like a ton of bricks fell on him. His stomach followed suit. Levi went for his wine glass and took a long sip which quickly turned into a gulp then he let out a cough. Water would have done a much better job to clear the tickle in the throat, the pang in his chest and the hollowness in his chest that followed. But he wasn’t going to ask for water in Zeke’s territory yet.

A ninety five percent chance of termination. Erwin had said back in their meeting.

“So it’s final?” Levi asked. The crushing disappointment had been enough proof that Levi had been vouching on that five percent.

Zeke nodded once. “Hange won’t be bothering you anymore. We’ll find another developer for her to work with.”

“I was working on some plans. They’re suggestions I was hoping she’d consider. If I---”

“Levi, can you send it over through email? Do you have to talk to her?”

Levi felt the blood rush to his face. He bent his head down almost immediately, focused on his shaking hands that were only gripping his knees tighter. He dug his nails into his knees, as if that would be enough to stop the shaking. “No, I don’t need to.” It could have come out as an exhale or an actual response.

“Well, that makes things easier. You know, she doesn't want to see you.” Zeke’s voice was painfully casual.

Levi looked up again, regretting it almost immediately. Zeke had a look of triumph on his face. It had only served to piss Levi all the more that Zeke had tried to hide it behind a nonchalant face. Seeing the small smile that decorated his lips, Levi dug his nails deeper into his knees. “Then why?”

“Why what?” Zeke pressed. “Why doesn't she want to see you?” His voice was getting colder and colder with each word. They twisted into an almost malevolent sneer.

“Why invite me here?” Levi asked, his voice clipped. Grappling with both Zeke’s attitude and the revelation on Hange’s feeling, Levi was finding it harder to speak.

“So you came because you were invited then?” Zeke took another sip. “And how were you invited?”

Does he expose Hange? And maybe Levi had taken too long vacillating.

Zeke had ended up answering the question himself. “An email? A support ticket with a flyer? Spam mail?” He took another sip. “You and your company have your very techy love alarm. And I have my own version too, my very old fashioned love alarm.” He gestured in front of him, right at Levi. “And it’s ringing in front of me right now.”

It took a few more seconds for Levi to understand it.

Zeke was either impatient. Or probably he thought Levi was a total idiot. He bent forward, leaned his elbows on his knees and dropped his wine glass on the wooden table with a loud clack.“Tell me, why would you go all the way here, over a fake email?” he asked. “Her name really was enough for you to book a plane ticket and fly across the ocean?”

Levi didn’t respond.

And it looked like Zeke didn’t need an answer anyway. He waved one hand in front of him and rolled his eyes. “I’m sure you’ve been in the corporate world long enough to know, there are meetings that could have been emails yet you still chose to take a plane and come here.”

“Do you want me to write an email?” Levi asked.

Zeke shrugged. We don’t need your input. This project...it’s mine and Hange’s.”

Yours and Hange’s? He raised his eyebrows in mock surprise, as if that slow and subtle movement had been enough to quell the fire in his chest. “What makes you say that?”

“It’s our project. It’s my gift to Hange.”

What does that make me? Levi didn’t say it out loud. He didn’t even want that instinctive jaw drop, the twitch in his mouth that followed to expose what the hell he was thinking.

“You’re merely someone paid to do the work.” Zeke continued, as if he had heard Levi's silent question.

Levi didn’t even feel it. He wasn’t even completely aware it happened until Zeke’s eyes widened for a split second in surprise, then narrowed again, shifting instead to one could have been pure fury.

But Levi didn’t care. Even when looking down had revealed, he spilled wine all over the lush carpet. The wine glass had hit the table, scattering pieces of broken glass on the table and over the floor.

It would be a bitch to clean up. Levi didn’t care about that either, it wasn’t his mess. It wasn’t his fucking presidential suite.

Zeke just had more practice in the diplomacy department. “Why do you feel it necessary to stand up and cause such a ruckus?”

The calmness had Levi’s blood boiling more violently inside him. He could only be grateful that the breaking the wine glass had released some of that pent up energy.

Zeke was only making it harder and harder to stay still. “I’m only stating facts. The money I put into it makes it mine. The fact that you’re being paid to do it. The fact that you even signed an employment contract relinquishes all ownership you have of all the projects you do in the company. You of all people should know that. I can’t even believe I need to school someone like you on this. You can’t even keep yourself together.”

Levi looked away, back at the view of the balcony, the glowing city. How much of it was owned by people who knew nothing about construction, architecture or just the hard work that went into even making such a view possible? A tiny injustice that surfaced in Levi’s mind as he let Zeke’s words sink in. “With all due respect... ” His last few words came out softer than expected. But Levi had seemed almost confident with them. “...You know jackshit about coding or psychology.”

Soon, Levi gripped enough of that new found confidence to take control of the conversation. “You know nothing about how any of that shit works. You didn’t stay up all night working on that damn application. I’ll fucking bet my whole life savings you don’t even know how this application works.”

“Ackerman, watch your mouth!” It was Yelena who spoke, looking as if she had just recovered from shock, eyes wide, her own wine glass on the table.

Levi cleared his throat. “Once again, with all due respect.” He was mildly aware then, that he may have raised his voice. Zeke was surprisingly—almost admirably calm. He put one hand as if to stop Yelena and spoke up. “And does ‘knowing jackshit’ make me less of an owner?”

That was a question that Levi couldn’t answer. He regretted losing control. In shock, or in some punishment which only the inner workings of his mind understood, Levi could only stand still, unable to even sit back down.

Zeke stared at him accusingly. “Mr. Ackerman…” he started. “You don’t believe there’s any dignity in the labor of moving money around? Investing and reinvesting?”

Levi felt shame wash over him.

It was a strange state to be in. There was more than enough dignity in being a billionaire, in being one of the top one percent who just bought and sold whatever they got their hands on. It was an inarguable fact that society thought highly of the top one percent regardless of where they got their money. Yet Zeke had a way of speaking that made Levi reflect the validity of his own words, any disrespect or any backhanded insult he could have been sending to anyone else.

Levi knew he was being manipulated but he couldn’t seem to point out how.

Maybe it had been the way Zeke had opened his eyes, his face a mix of confusion, hurt, with a hint of derision. Or maybe everything had been Levi’s imagination and once again he was faced with the prospect that maybe he didn’t mean it.

“That…” That wasn’t what I meant.

At that point, Zeke had stood up and at that difference of height and difference of social status, Levi had to bite his tongue, not to lose his composure.

Zeke though seemed to know he had taken control of the conversation. “You’re trying to cover your ass?”

“Cover… my ass?” Levi said that last word with a little more venom in his mouth. Somehow, the eloquent Zeke suddenly putting so much force into one single curse only added to the tension of that moment.

“Trying to justify your own mistakes by emphasizing your own superiority. It’s a very common tactic. You’re not the first to employ it.”

“I never---”

“You should be thanking me. I’ve been treating you fairly, paying you for your hard work. And on top of that, I’ve tolerated the transgressions, even putting more money unnecessarily into covering this up.” Zeke said. He walked towards the kitchen island, pulling an envelope from next to the telephone and slamming it on the counter. He wasn’t motioning though for Levi to come.

Levi preferred to stay frozen, just standing between the sofa and the coffee table. But when Zeke opened the envelope, pulling out pictures, and a few pages which he waved on the air and slammed on the table, Levi’s curiosity peaked.

Levi covered the distance in so short an amount of time, he never figured out if he seemed too desperate.

In hindsight, it wasn’t important. The contents of the papers, the pictures bundled together by paper clips had only been a more pressing matter.

Zeke’s words only confirmed it. “You went on a road trip up north on Hange’s birthday?”

“We did,” Levi said. There wasn’t much else he could have said to deny it. The evidence was too overwhelming— blurred pictures, screenshots of comments online in threads, subthreads, all speculating Hange’s side relationship.

“No use denying it. Yelena made a call to our employees in our estate up north. They mentioned Hange’s companion when she visited.”

“But we didn’t do anything…”

Zeke raised one eyebrow as if he had caught them in the act. “I’m not accusing you of it. But what would you say in your defense? When the Love Alarm rings, when you book a double room in a motel and when you’re together, almost inseparable in all of these pictures,” Zeke spread the photos on the table, shots of them in the motel, in the train station, in Zeke's house. “Hange isn’t a high profile person. It never made the news, Yelena and I made sure of that but people talk, anyone familiar with the tech world and particularly interested in it, would know how our family looks like."

It was funny, how anger could so easily sour to shame. At that moment, Levi considered disappearing an almost welcome development. Zeke pushed the pictures nearer to him, in one messy pile, the screenshots on comments, mentioning words like ‘misters,’ ‘paramours,’ ‘who’s the man???’ “We purged the internet of all photos, no names. Some people repost but I have people watching and reporting. This isn’t cheap.”

I’m sorry. Levi’s first instinct was to apologize, the adamance of a while ago almost completely forgotten. But sorry’s wouldn't work. “How much? I’ll pay what I can.”

Zeke scoffed. “Can you?”

Levi couldn’t think up much to say. He scanned his eyes over the comments at first to feign business, an excuse not to speak up. The more he looked, the more engrossed he got at lines of comments. Others towards him, then as he turned the pages, they were all towards Hange.

Slut. Whore. Low life. Cheater.

“I’ll pay what I can,” Levi said.

“How much are you willing to shell out? A hundred grand?”

That was a huge chunk of Levi’s annual earnings already. He wasn’t one to disclose salary though. He kept his mouth a thin flat line and nodded.

Zeke shook his head. “I’ll be generous, considering all the inconvenience you’ve caused both of us. While you're here, humor me,” he said. “I may not be a coder or a psychologist but I’m sure, there are things I can teach you. If you’re willing to shell out a hundred grand, let’s gamble with it. I haven’t had a good game in a while.”

“A good game?”

Zeke turned to Yelena. “Can you be a dealer again?”

“You plan on playing heads up?” Yelena asked,

“We have a table in one of the private rooms, why not?”

“Heads-up poker?” Levi clarified. There was only one game heads up that the two could have been referring to, mentioning terms like ‘deal.’

Zeke didn’t even bother to answer the question either for lack of consideration for Levi or just an expectation that Levi may have understood.

Levi didn’t live under a rock and he was very much familiar with the game. He had played a few games on online poker sites back in college.

Still, he moved a little sluggishly behind his two companions. Levi could have just been a little too wary or Zeke could have been out for blood.

The stakes then and there were completely different. For one, he had never bet almost a year’s worth of his own salary on a single game. He had never played with anyone whose net worth was a thousand, or maybe even a million times his own.

At that moment, Levi felt like a total beginner and it was as if hesitation clipped every single moment he managed to pull out of himself. There wasn’t too much he was expected to do but watch as Yelena prepared a few playing cards then chips.

Zeke made himself comfortable right in front of Levi. “Willing to bet a hundred grand?” he said those last words with an ominous smile on his face.

Levi sensed danger, but he couldn’t sense any proper way out either. He owed Zeke, he knew that much, whether it be for the money or the utter disrespect he had been treating him with since a while ago. Maybe he owed Zeke for more than that, for any inconvenience Zeke may have experienced at Levi having gotten a little too close to Hange.

Levi admitted, even just to himself, he had been a little too close to Hange for either of them to have been comfortable. Guilt, a sense of duty or just hyper awareness of everything all at once had Levi conceding, “Do I pay now?”

“We play with chips first,” Zeke responded.

Yelena dropped colored stacks of chips in front of them. Levi counted reds, blues, yellows, browns.

“You should have a hundred thousand worth,” Yelena said. “Do you know the colors?”

“Yes, just a bit.” Dabbling into online poker for a few months at least, Levi had enough experience to tell the browns as five thousands, the light blues as two thousand and the rest had inferred for himself from the amount of chips in front of him. He looked up to see that Zeke had a noticeably larger stack. “That looks like a lot more than a hundred grand,” Levi noted.

Zeke didn’t answer immediately and the flicker of realization came quicker, quick enough to have Levi coughing in surprise. The odds were against him.

“It is,” Zeke said as he counted his own chips, as if it wasn’t plain and utter cheating or even deception that he had a glaringly higher amount of chips than Levi. He slipped the chips towards the side and looked questioningly at Levi.

What had Hange told him back then in the golf course?

Zeke likes winning...But the way he goes about winning is like...He’s always been smart about it, always playing safe.

And what a better way to play safe than to have a larger pile than your opponent.

Zeke spoke up. “Hange and I, we’d play games with business partners while talking contracts and logistics. And Hange always said this about games. They teach things and sometimes they expose parts of ourselves… And the more I played with Hange, whether it be mahjong, blackjack, golf, or chess, I started to notice something. Games are a mirror of life, almost a clear reflection of what you deal with in business and in relationships.”

Zeke paused for a second and closed his eyes as if deep in thought. The room filled with the sound of shuffling of cards, the sound of the clack of chips as Zeke ran his hand over the brown ones, tapping them over the wooden round table in stilted and deafening movements.

“Poker is one of my favorite games. Like business, you base your decision on three things… Tells, numbers and circumstances,” He paused for a few seconds longer and he could have been expecting Levi to speak.

Levi didn’t look up though, instead using the brief silence to make sense for himself the amount of chips on his side.

Zeke spoke again. “Yelena, shuffle up and deal. We’re playing heads up. Our small blind is five hundred dollars and our big blind is one thousand dollars,” he said coldly. “I hope that isn’t too much money.”

In truth, that was enough money to make Levi’s stomach turn. Zeke’s manner didn’t look like it welcomed any protest though, so Levi merely nodded as some weak reply.

A weak nod could have sufficed as a response. Zeke turned to Yelena. “Give our valued guest the dealer button.”

The dealer plays the small blind. Levi counted five hundred dollars worth of chips and pushed it in front of Zeke.

Two cards lay in front of him, care of Yelena. Levi had played before and he was familiar at least with what a good hand would have looked like. In one swift movement, he held the cards in front of him.

Ten of Clubs and Nine of Clubs. With just one look, he knew he could complete either a flush or a straight.

If the board plays to his advantage.

Zeke tutted. “It’s not considered good practice to lift the cards. Most poker players would just raise the corner just high enough to see their own cards.” He demonstrated that exact same movement, only raising high enough that he could get the contents cards with one glance. “You’ve never played on the board?”

“I’ve played for a few months online,” Levi muttered. He would look back at that experience with little animosity. After all, a few months dabbling with bets online and just applying what little he learned from his statistics class had seemed like an overall enriching experience at first. Then and there, on the board, with thousands of dollars at stake, Levi felt utterly vulnerable. Like a beginner. Maybe, in the grand scheme of things, someone with only months worth of casual experience was a beginner.

And Zeke held a glaring advantage, something Levi couldn’t so easily brush away. Levi’s own instinct, his own experience with odds had him considering raising. Just for a second. When Zeke was staring at him though, his own pile much bigger than Levi, Levi could only weigh between two decisions, fold and give up that hand or match Zeke’s bet.

It’s still a good hand anyway. “Call,” Levi said, matching Zeke’s bet.

By the way that Zeke was looking at him though, Levi knew he was probably not playing on the board properly. Zeke spoke up. “Tells. One important concept in both poker and business is tells,” he explained. “The way you carry yourself tells me you never played on the board. Am I correct?”

“Yes.” There was no use denying it but Levi didn't have to spare him a long answer.

Zeke dropped five purple chips on the table. “Raise to 2500.”

There was value in those chips, his lifestyle, his savings. And for a split second, he saw an abyss. He had spent too much on a flight ticket, a hotel room, just all the food he had been eating in that town. Then another year's worth of income on stake, reduced to chips.

By some strange instinct, by some adrenaline rush, Levi had managed to brush it away, reducing whatever stakes to the few chips on the board. And he was grateful for the power of delusion. By god, if he didn’t have at least a sliver of self-delusion, he could have folded right then.

“Call,” Levi said, once again matching Zeke’s bet. He needed to calm down. It wasn’t a loss yet, the game hadn’t even started.

There was hope in whatever cards Yelena was shuffling. She spread the first three on the table.

“We call that a flop,” Zeke said. “Just in case you didn’t know.” And of course Levi knew, he had played online long enough to pick up some terms. With the grin on Zeke’s face, a far cry from a face more appropriate for a game of poker, Levi was certain Zeke was provoking him. “I know what a flop is,” Levi said, running his eyes over the three cards.

Ace of clubs. Seven of Clubs. Eight of Hearts.

Levi started to calculate. He had 2500 dollars, a months worth of basic living expenses on the line. He wondered if it would have felt better just dropping the one hundred grand to Zeke from the start. There was something notably more painful and more terrifying about the possibility of watching his money whittle away slowly.

“During business meetings, I like to tell which topics, which specific products make my business partners uncomfortable, when dealing with stakeholders, with employees. I like to take a few quick guesses on the backgrounds of the people in front of me, to see whether they’re worth dealing with in the long term. ” Zeke explained. “How they handle pressure…”

Was that a threat? A challenge? Maybe it was. Levi was suddenly morbidly aware that he had licked his lips, that his hand shook as he took another peek at his cards.

He had a chance for a straight. But what would Zeke have? And Levi had made the mistake of looking at Zeke then.

“Another ‘tell’, your eyes widened just there. You have a pair? A potential straight? For someone who wears her heart on her sleeve, Hange does a much better time hiding than you do.” Zeke had deliberately put more emphasis on the word Hange.

If Levi hadn’t frozen solid, tensed up by the shoulders with Zeke’s almost accurate guess, the word Hange had done the trick to make Levi terribly, terribly self conscious. In an instinctive moment, Levi bent his head down, raised one hand in an attempt to cover his own eyes, only to realize a second later with his hand halfway to his eyes, that that had done worse to even show that he had something to hide.

“You don’t have to hide it. We all know already, you’re in love with Hange.”

Levi had accepted that part already. If he had been in complete denial at that moment, maybe he would have lost himself in Zeke’s accusing glare.

“Are you going to deny it?” Zeke dropped an alarming number of yellow and purple chips. “Raise to four thousand.”

Levi let out a sound, a combination between a no and a quiet huff and he matched Zeke’s bet.

“A month ago I heard from the staff in our summer house up north mentioning the man, who always followed closely behind Hange, the man who so willingly got a single bed hotel with her, the man in the train station who sat close to Hange Zoe,” Zeke said. “People talk, Levi. Did you consider that? And I thought to myself back then, maybe, it could have been a coincidence but Hange had her own tells as well. When Hange saved you from drowning, did you know she didn’t want to let go?”

Yelena put one more card down. Two of diamonds.

“This is a convenient turn card ,” Zeke commented. “If you have a nine, or a ten, you have a chance at a straight. Have you calculated?” He raised one eyebrow.

Levi didn’t answer. Hell, anything he did say could probably be taken against him.

“Hange would have. When we played, she would babble on about statistics. Everytime she held out a hand, completely beating me, she would babble all the calculations in her head. She has always been quick witted, intelligent, clever. That’s why I fell in love with her too.” He had said that part louder, more confidently and so matter-of-factly, and Levi was reminded he would never have that same confidence to say those words about Hange, even if he would have meant it.

There was a clack of poker chips. Four thousand dollars? Levi counted. He looked towards the pile next to Yelena. He had four thousand dollars there already. A total of eight thousand dollars on the table, months worth of rent for most.

From the expectant look on Zeke’s face, Levi was expecting he’d only go higher. Do I fold? But maybe with the excruciating mentions of Hange, that was something Zeke had wanted him to do. In a sliver of weak protest, Levi matched the bet, his own bet up to eight thousand dollars.

He needed a jack or a six for a straight. But why was Zeke easily dropping bets? Did he have something better?

“Let’s consider numbers in real life. Even with how you and Hange were acting, I thought I could give you the benefit of the doubt. When the alarm rang, when you and Hange accepted it as truth, I realized my suspicions might be right. Hange might actually be attracted to you, she might actually love you. So what does that mean for me?” Zeke was once again playing with his chips.

Five thousand dollars worth? Levi thought loudly to himself as he counted the chips.

A bluff? Levi’s mind was racing. Zeke’s own words were deliberately or even just half heartedly disturbing. But there wasn’t much else he could do, four thousand dollars were on the line. Zeke proved to be confident at least with his own hand.

Bluffs happened, Levi played enough to be aware that people did put more than enough money than necessary just to scare people into folding. Another surge of protest later, Levi had matched the bet, putting his total bet at eleven grand.

The final card on the board was a jack and Levi didn’t have to look back at his own cards to confirm it. He had a straight. When Zeke had bet ten grand in chips, it had been much easier to call.

Soon the cards were revealed, an Ace and a King. Zeke had the strongest pair.

But Levi had a straight. He took the pot, more than a total of twenty thousand dollars, more than enough to offset his whole trip. When Levi looked up at Zeke, he regretted it almost instantly.

The latter didn’t seem at all affected by losing over twenty thousand dollars. “Circumstances, the most powerful tool but the easiest to control with the right resources. ” Zeke said, as if that had been the explanation for his own strange behavior. “It’s only natural when the person I’m married to starts running off with another man, I’d feel threatened. When she started working on the love alarm and I noticed she was happier, happier than I’ve ever seen her before. Then she was crankier than I’ve ever seen her before, then sadder. I wondered, what was our head developer doing to make Hange like that.”

Nothing. Fall in love with her? There weren’t too many things which could have fit what was starting to seem like a redundant question, so once again, silence was the best response.

Yelena spread the deck of cards over the table and Levi instead focused on dropping the new blind and appreciating the deft manner at which Yelena ran her hands over the cards.

He wasn’t in any state to be mesmerized by cards though.

Zeke’s voice echoed in the room. “Levi, I asked you a question.”

“What did I do, you mean?” Levi asked. That was the last thing he remembered and it had seemed almost redundant, not worth an explanation. Zeke shook his head. “Do you think she’s in love with you?” A strange question to ask someone, too personal. Zeke had a way of speaking that demanded answers.

Levi’s mind was working faster, vacillating between answering or not. He thought back to the ringing of the love alarm, Hange’s words up in the tower. Hange seemed happier, then crankier, then sadder, than I’ve ever seen before. “That’s for Hange to decide, right?” Levi said.

Zeke’s voice was suddenly softer as if they had released a sigh with his words. “Considering circumstances though, I was assured Hange can’t just leave.”

That last word had peaked Levi’s interest. “Leave?” He repeated.

“Even if your love alarm is correct, even if by some chance she loved you, and she didn’t love me, Hange can’t leave. I made sure of that. I’ve covered my bases.”

Covered your bases? Levi bent his head down, hiding that incredulous look that forced itself out of him.

“I paid for her research. I paid for the emotion alarm. I paid for the media embargo so your photos wouldn’t get printed.  I paid for everything, our home, our trips. Hange can’t just leave, after I put so much into this relationship right?”

Yelena dealt a new set of his cards and Levi pulled his new cards towards him and took a peak.

Eight of hearts. Three of hearts. Shitty hand with a potential for a flush.

Zeke slipped the new cards towards him. “She’s not going to leave. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized, why are you still hurting yourself over this. Why don’t you give up?”

“There’s nothing to give up. I wasn’t holding on to anything.” Those words had been surprisingly easy to say. “Hange married you. I went here to talk to her, nothing more than that.”

“You could have sent an email. You could have sent it through Erwin. Why come here yourself?” Zeke’s words were suddenly ringing through his ear.

“Why are you so bothered by me showing up? You didn’t have to invite me here,” Levi said, and somehow, a cathartic release that came with those words.

The shocked almost speechless expression on Zeke’s face, a far cry from the calm, poker face of a second ago, sent a rush of confidence over Levi

Maybe there were things he knew about Hange that Zeke didn’t. Levi continued “I don’t understand why you had to go through all this trouble, covering the embargo, sending Hange away, buying the emotion alarm. Even if you didn’t cover your bases, even if you give Hange all of that, she wouldn’t have left you. She really believes she’s in love with you.” She’s a prideful prick that way. He added silently to himself.

“What do you know about Hange? You only met her months ago.”

Long enough to feel like I’ve known her my whole life. If his words could have at least been enough to ensure some happiness for Hange in the future, it was worth a shot. “You should have just trusted her. You take in the most free-loving person I have ever met as your partner and you trap her by hanging all that over her head? That’s not how to love someone like Hange.”

“Who are you to tell me how to love the person I’m married to?”

This time, it was Levi’s turn to ask a question. “Do you love Hange?”

“More than you’re capable of understanding,” Zeke answered venomously, as if it was an attack on Levi.

Somehow, of all the things, an attack on his own ignorance didn’t feel like anything at all. Levi was confident, he wasn’t ignorant. “Hange really believes love is a choice, love is freedom. And you think the best way to love her is to tie her down with money and gifts? With circumstance?”

“You can’t assume that.”

“Then why do you have to make her feel guilty? Why do you give her everything just so she won’t leave? Why are you assuming she’ll leave the moment she gets the chance?”

One hand on the table, and the table rocked, the pile of chips Levi had meticulously organized fell in one crash, the few others as they slid amongst each other, colors mixing amongst one another.

Yelena was the first to speak. “Focus on the game, Ackerman.”

“Check.” He didn't have the best hand. As the river opened up to reveal a potential for a flush, he still thought it worth a shot.

Zeke pushed a huge pile of chips to the front. “Raise to a hundred thousand dollars.” Almost all of Levi’s available funds.”

“Fold,” Levi said.

The button switched. Levi and Zeke dealt their blinds again. Yelena dealt another two cards. And the game continued.

Carefully raising the corners of his pair, Levi noted a three of spades and a queen of hearts. Even before Yelena had dealt the river on the table, Zeke had already pushed his pile to the middle. “Raise to a hundred thousand dollars.”

Levi couldn’t win, and just like the hand before, he folded.

It continued with that same pattern for the next ten hands. Zeke started to bait him, going all in towards the fourth hand, enough for Levi to lose all his savings, and Levi would fold. Hands later, Levi had lost the winnings of the first hand, he had absorbed a net loss. Zeke’s large pile was starting to seem more ominous.

Circumstances. The word started to hold more gravity as Levi reflected the unfairness of it all. Zeke wouldn't have minded putting one year’s worth of Levi’s salary in a single round, he had more than enough to spare.

You can’t win against money. What the hell was he thinking, giving up his blinds every single time. Zeke obviously bluffed a few times. No one would be lucky enough to have a streak of good hands.

But which hand? Levi thought loudly to himself, as if by some miracle, a god-sent answer could echo in his head.

“We can do this all night,” Zeke said, his composure once again collected, the exchange of a while ago forgotten.

Levi lost track of the number of hands. A quick look at his chips only made him realize he had forty thousand dollars left. Did he lose that much by just folding?

He would lose a hundred dollars that night if he continued playing but when he willed it, he realized was ready to lose that money. But the more Zeke played, the more he spammed all ins, the more urgent the loss started to seem.

It took a few more handsfor Levi to gather the courage to play, even with the stakes completely against him. Levi spared some thought to calculation, taking from Zeke’s rulebook.

Tells.

Zeke wore a poker face...Nothing there.

Circumstances

He had to do something fast, or risk losing all his money.

Numbers

Most importantly, statistics were on his side. He had opened his new hand to find a pair of aces.

Ace of Clubs. Ace of Spades. Statistically, the best poker hand. He could easily win everything back.

Then came the first three cards.

Ace of Diamonds. Queen of Diamond. Nine of Clubs.

“Raise to ten thousand dollars,” Zeke said.

Three of a kind, with the strongest cards. “Call,” Levi responded.

The next card was dealt. Ten of diamonds.

“Bet twenty thousand dollars,” Zeke said.

“Call,” Levi said again, pushing his pile of chips to the middle of the world. He couldn’t be too sure how he looked then. Were his hands shaking? It wasn’t a graceful movement for sure. He had to push his pile to the middle with three clumsy movements while Zeke did it in one elegant push.

But Levi noted the subtle way at which Zeke raised his eyebrows before they met eyes. And for one second, Levi allowed himself a long stare, a slight movement of his lips, nothing close to a smile. If that one expression would be enough for Zeke to fold and give up everything, it was worth a try.

It wasn’t.

Yelena dropped the last card on the board. An Ace of hearts.

“Raise to one hundred thousand dollars,” Zeke said, notably louder than every other time before.

Enough to make Levi jump, enough for him to doubt. He snuck another look at his cards. Four of a kind. You’re fine. Why was his heart still beating wildly? Why was meeting Zeke’s eyes for a while longer such a harrowing experience?

It’s a poker face. People do this when they play poker. Levi told himself and the longer he was able to convince himself that Zeke knew what he was doing. And maybe it had always been good practice to stay calm, even when everything was stacked against you.

“Showdown,” Yelena said.

Or maybe Zeke just wasn't that connected, especially since nothing much was at stake for him.

It could have been all those guesses, or it could have been the ugly one that opened up in front of them right then and there.

And it looked like Zeke had figured it out first. “Have you heard of the term bad beat?”

Levi was taking longer than usual to make sense of the cards, much slower than usual and maybe it had been the exhaustion of calculating the past almost countless hands.

“There is roughly a four thousand to one chance of getting a four of a kind. But sometimes, people have something better than that… Not often but… It’s still worth considering.”

Something better. And when Levi was considering every hand better than a four of a kind, it became much easier to scan the river then Zeke’s hand for the answer.

Zeke had two cards: King of Diamonds and Jack of Diamonds. A Royal Flush.

“There’s a six hundred thousand to one chance of actually getting a royal flush. First one in my life.” Zeke could have been genuinely amazed, but that big ham reaction had been more than enough to piss Levi off.

It made it difficult to sit still.

“When you consider circumstances, you introspect, you strategize and you pray for a little luck,” Zeke said. “Believe me, you had every other chance to win before. I went all in with the worst cards and you folded every single time. Are you that terrified of losing a few thousand dollars?”

Hundreds of thousands of dollars. Levi corrected in his head. An annual salary’s worth. And maybe that was the point Zeke had wanted to make. By circumstances alone, Zeke had manipulated Levi's choice.

Zeke smirked. “Circumstances rely on luck too and luck is a funny thing. Even if you play everything correctly, you can still lose. Life’s unfair isn’t it.”

“You had less to lose than I did,” Levi said, his lip trembling. “That’s all there is to it. If you lost all the money, you would have put more in.”

“I would have,” Zeke admitted.

“I was playing a losing game.”

“At least you got the lesson. These are your circumstances. Every life lesson everyone should have learned from birth, life isn’t fair. I’m surprised you’re expecting that from a casual game.”

“I never said that. I knew I was playing a losing game and I expected that.” It had taken all his effort to keep his reaction unreadable, and god he wished he had managed it every other time before. “Thank you for the food. Thank you for the game. Thank you for covering for me and Hange.”

With the game over, it didn't look like he felt compelled to wipe that smug grin off his face. And there were things Levi wished he could tell Zeke, and maybe it was worth the risk. “One last thing, I don’t agree with you about relationships, businesses being like games. Loving isn’t a game. When you give all this money to Hange do you expect her to give back? You expect to be able to manipulate relationships through circumstance alone?"

“I told you Ackerman, don’t tell me how to love my partner.”

"I don't have enough fucks to give for every single person in this world. I’m not telling you how to love the person you married because I actually give a fuck about your love life. I’m only telling you how to love your partner because your partner just so happens to be Hange and Hange’s a free bird. She doesn't deserve at all to be loved like that. Don't cage her in with circumstances. Don’t tie her down with money, with a debt of gratitude.” He pushed his seat back and walked away.

“Where are you going?”

“I need some fresh air.”

The sliding door wasn’t locked. He forced it open gently then too hard, enough to make it rattle, He gave one was long look at the infinity pool then leaned his arms on the balcony railings. He took a deep breath.

And that reprieve was just a little too short. It turned out Yelena followed behind him, a piece of paper in hand. “Zeke’s bank details,” she said.

That had seemed too abrupt. But really, what was he supposed to expect, a consolation prize? Hange’s location?

“It would be much easier if you paid immediately,” Yelena said. “Do you have the money on hand?”

He didn’t have the credit rating to pay that in one go. He opened his own banking application and attempted to transfer that much in one go.

Bank error.

“We accept checks,” Yelena said.

Levi had never dealt with checks. His credit card limit was far less than how much he needed to pay. And a few exchanges later, a quick google search later, Levi had figured it out. He could pay by wire transfer but by god, and just the wire transfer would cost him more money than necessary.

Levi was a man of principle though. Slip of paper on hand, Yelena’s contact details on his phone he made his way out of Zeke’s presidential, without even bothering so much as a goodbye. It looked like Zeke had retired to his own private room or study anyway. Did he need that pleasantry from Levi of all people?

On the way back to his own hotel, he took a long cut, through the hotels that connected to one another through glass pathways, a few floors above ground. He made sure to take a longer time than usual, enough time to reflect on his own shitty luck.

A fruitless reflection with a very very repetitive and depressing conclusion. That’s just how life is?

If it hadn't been for those two who had talked a little too loudly by the side, maybe Levi would have deemed it fruitless.

If didn’t look to his right to see the entrance to the casino, if he didn’t walk quickly past the slot machines, taking in the red plush carpet, he would have said it was a total waste of time. The dim room only further accentuated the lights that never seemed to come from an exact same place. The casino had a way of just letting some strange feverish state, some illusion blanket his surroundings.

Hange Zoe. The man at the front had said her name, too proudly, as if in total amazement. For a while, the dazzling casino lights had him doubting that name clipped into one brief exchange. Others seemed to be talking about her too. Then he was following the crowd.

Murmurs of Hange Zoe, none of them demeaning or admonishing. Others seemed breathless, and Levi thought it worth his time, to tiptoe just to see a good look of what they were staring at.

Fruitless.

Levi dove into the crowd, slipping his way through, bending over, moving his hand through when necessary. He never made it to the front, but he did note the messy mop of brown hair, tied into a high ponytail, bent over the table. The autumn jacket, the side profile and the glimmer of some tight lips.

Hange was deep in thought in the middle of what looked to be some poker game. Her own pile of poker chips right next to her, much larger than everyone elses. He knew her enough to make that type of guess.

Circumstances.

Levi decided it would be a waste of time. Circumstances were never his to control anyway. They were Zeke’s, they were hers.

Hange Zoe’s win again.

How many hands had she played before that?

She’s cheating.

No, she’s just lucky.

I heard she calculates every single hand.

Levi felt some sense of superiority, knowing something the murmuring crowds didn’t.

All summarized into three things. Firstly, lady luck was probably on her side, it had always been as if making up a string of misfortunes in a previous life. Secondly, she probably calculated every single hand. Third, Hange would never ever cheat.

And those would be last few thing he would allow himself be proud of. That would be the last time he would think of Hange as someone remotely his.

As Levi turned the heel and walked back to his hotel, he decided, although it wasn’t too fruitless a detour, he still regretted making that quick trip into the casino.

***

If Levi knew he would have felt like shit as soon as he came back from vacation, maybe he never would have gone on that stupid vacation in the first place.

Monday. Monday morning. Those words managed to taste bitter, even when Levi was barely forcing it out of his mouth. It could have been the fact that he barely had time to get over the jet lag or it was just way too early in the morning. Scratch that, it wasn't any of that at all.

Zeke was sitting on the couch, seeming very much unaffected by what should have been transoceanic jet lag and very much unaffected by the words that came out of Erwins house just a second ago.

At first, Levi even doubted what I heard, attributing it to exhaustion. He turned back to Zeke, no sadistic grin, no furrowed brows. He was calm, unimpressed and all business.

"Sorry… it's too early in the morning… I don't think I heard you correctly,” Levi said, an attempt at professionalism even with the trappings of shock, disbelief and very inconvenient drowsiness.

“We don’t usually invite lower management to these types of meetings… But Mr. Jaeger requested you be here, to answer any questions that might pop up...” Erwin said apologetically.

“No. Not that… You mentioned it a while ago...Why is Mr. Jaeger here?”

"We’re making amendments to the contract," Erwin answered.

“And why do you need me here?”

“He’s here to buy the love alarm,” Erwin said so casually that Levi had to clear his throat, get rid of whatever popping sensation had been going on in his ears.

My love alarm. The love alarm he worked more than half a decade on. The love alarm which he knew like the back of his hand, from the backbone of the codes to the front end bugs.

"It's for sale?" Levi spat out. There were only so many ways he could speak and so many ways he could even articulate the emotions running through his head.

Erwin cleared his throat, seeming uncomfortable at such a simple question. "Initially no… we never considered selling it but when Zeke called about it last week, we thought it worth a conversation.” He turned to Zeke then back to Levi. “We were able to run through Zeke’s proposal with the higher ups last Friday, and given the generous proposal, we are more than willing to sell him the rights to the Love Alarm and the Emotions Alarm project.”

How much did he offer? Levi instinctively looked towards Zeke but he soon figured out that no matter what he said, Zeke probably would never disclose the final price. In some vague response, Zeke pulled the brown envelope on the table closer to himself. "Everything has a price,” he said matter-of-factly.

Erwin spoke up. "I did the calculations as soon as I received your call last Thursday and it looks like it would be more than enough to cover what potential earnings we expected within the next two years and more than enough for the development of another project.

Last Thursday night. The night they had met in Zeke’s penthouse suite. Was buying the love alarm an impulse decision on Zeke’s part? The timing just seemed too right.

And they only continued to talk about it, as if Levi wasn’t there. What did an engineer know about business though or about purchases as high volume as the rights to the love alarm?

For something that had taken countless all nighters over time and years of development, the process of selling it just seemed too easy. “Mr. Jaeger, if I may ask, what made you consider buying the love alarm?” Levi asked.

“Hange’s research,” Zeke said, as if it was the most obvious and the most noble reason in the world.

“And when you buy it, what then?” Levi challenged.

“I’ll work with Hange. We’ll hire new developers to fix the bugs you never fixed. We’ll further improve the product and the code and we’ll break the product down, see what else we can use to improve the emotions alarm project.” The answer was disappointing, a far cry from what Levi wanted to hear.

Your other plans with Hange. He had opened his mouth, ready to expound on the question.

Erwin though may have sensed the thick tension between them. "You have the contract?"

Zeke nodded. "I had our lawyer work on it over the weekend, a rush job. You can run through it with the higher ups and I'll have someone pick up a signed copy by this week"

"Believe me, we’re decided, you can even pick it up tomorrow," Erwin said as he opened the envelope, pulled out papers and flipped through the pages. For a second, he dropped the paperwork on the table then onto the page where the executives were expected to sign.

All familiar names from the big wigs all the way, down to Erwin. Levi's name wasn't there at all. Figures, Levi after all, was merely an engineer. He couldn't help but sense irony though in the fact that the one who knew the most about the product had no say in its actual fate.

Erwin's words only made the irony seem more glaring. “We'll use the next two weeks to do some clean up on our end, pack up the resources and work on data migration.”

By ‘we’, Levi knew Erwin would be ordering him to do that.. He couldn’t help but feel slightly cheated though. He would be basically ordered to take apart something he built from scratch, send it off and never see it again. And the longer he stared at the contract that would be ordering all that, the more desolate the air around him seemed to feel.

The product he had worked on for years, taking apart every now and then, breaking and putting back together to find even the smallest bugs, going on countless hours of overtime over, was like a child to him, a child he was unwillingly sending it away to some known.

Some masochistic part of him had him still staring at the contract, long enough still to remember his first contract when he first signed into the company, something that stayed snug into the back of his mind, unexpectedly kicking his arse then.

Ownership of Intellectual Property. Employee agrees that the Company shall own, and Employee shall (and hereby does) assign, all right, title and interest...

Everyone in the room seemed to have too much regard anyway for pleasantries anyway and never felt the need to clarify it. Levi had to rely on his own memory of Zeke saying it just a few days ago in his hotel room.

The company pays you. Any effort, ideas, projects you put into our product is company property.

And Zeke will be buying it so it will be his property.

Whether Zeke even knew how the alarm worked didn’t seem to matter to him though.“So, I guess in a matter two weeks, all server data and resources should be with Jaeger corporation.”

Erwin nodded. “We’d be happy to expedite the process. If all goes well, yes.”

When a huge sum of money was on the line, suddenly red tape was so easy to squeeze one’s way through. It took an enormous amount of effort to stay calm as they signed away the culmination of his own hard work, his countless hours of overtime, the blood, sweat and personal investment he put into that one application, all signed away in a brief second, all the red tape of a few weeks ago, non-existent.

Erwin turned to him, “If you can stay behind after the meeting, so we can discuss the logistics…”

Most days, Levi appreciated the manner at which Erwin spoke, the way he took some regard of Levi’s own time when giving orders. That day, there were too many things happening to even appreciate.

What else do you expect me to do? Say no? Hell, he had wanted to say no, but by the glaring lack of his own name on the contract, the glaring lack of regard for his own opinion on the matter, Levi could only seethe silently.

“Oh yeah,” Zeke snapped his fingers, loud enough to call Levi’s attention. “Hange sends her regards. She enjoyed working with your company a lot.” He turned to Levi and gave him a nod. “And to you too Ackerman, I just have to say we’re very grateful for your hard work and your generosity.”

What generosity? The implication that Levi had any say on commercial decisions seemed mocking.

“We’ll take good care of both applications,” Zeke continued. “And regards from Hange, she wishes you all the best with Petra.”

Petra. Levi let out a cough, letting out a subtle look at Erwin. If the latter did seem bothered, he didn’t show it.

With that, Zeke left the room, and Levi started to understand how someone could keep such a confident demeanor even with the slightest inconveniences. Somehow, having that many assets, wealth and power under one’s belt really had that paper.

The way he strode, embodied it, the way that in just a few phone calls, he had completely dismantled everything Levi had worked on, making it his own.

And when he closed the door gently behind him, leaving Levi and Erwin alone in the room, Levi was reminded once again, the love alarm, the emotion alarm, were never his, as much as he would have wanted to claim ownership.

They were never his, but suddenly they were Zeke’s. Levi turned to Erwin, narrowing his eyes, as he watched the blonde make his way to the desk. Erwin seemed uncomfortable as if he sensed the strange betrayal that something so standard as corporate procedure could bring. Then he cleared his throat and spoke up.

Two weeks. Levi was given two weeks to clean everything, migrate all data and vacate the office.

It was the company's project but it was Levi's responsibility. There was a broken partnership which somehow ended with two products sold. Yet even with all the damage dealt by that deal, the management needed some scapegoat from within the company.

Erwin had explained everything with as professional of a face as possible. With the tight lipped attempt at a grin that followed, the way he had avoided Levi’s eyes one too many times, Levi suspected Erwin knew more than he was letting on.

The photos maybe? The bug with Hange? The broken partnership? Of course someone would end up having to take the blame for giving Zeke a ‘bugged’ application.

Too many reasons, many among those rooted in some attempt to save face, in filthy office politics. And by then, Levi hadn’t been expecting too much.

That probably had been the reason that when Erwin looked back at him with a much softer expression, Levi couldn’t help but let out a long sigh, something to abate whatever emotion was threatening to let loose.

I didn’t think it was right for the mastermind behind the application to be terminated completely empty handed.

Erwin had arranged for some severance pay after the two weeks were over.

Enough to get out of the country, start somewhere else.

A job termination shouldn’t have been enough to be driven out of the country. Levi didn’t make too much sense of Erwin’s words until he had experienced it for himself a week later, through an empty email inbox after sending out the same resume to twenty companies for over thirty roles.

Have you heard of a no poach agreement? Erwin had asked back in the office.

A no poach agreement?

It’s technically illegal so this usually comes as a verbal agreement among companies. They’d note their best employees and if they have to let one go, all companies agree, they cannot hire them for a certain period of time, five to seven years. It's a 'scratch my back, I'll scratch yours' type of deal.

To keep company secrets apparently or to keep Levi from making a similar application in any other company.

If you want to continue working in the development industry, your best chance would be abroad.

Around one week left before his termination would become effective and Levi gave up on finding a development job in his city, hell even his country. Around that time he had started to clean up his studio apartment, throwing out whatever was needed.

He started looking through immigration laws, consulting when necessary. He looked through apartments in other cities, then labor laws. The severance pay was more than enough at least to get him out, and Erwin had been a big help in straightening other legalities out.

He had an extra few weeks to clean out his room, pack up his things, straighten out immigration issues and buy a damn ticket out of there.

In between, his final week at work. He had never considered leaving his job of over a decade to have ended such a long bittersweet moment. In reality, he never really had the time to appreciate normalcy and he felt some regret at that.

Migrating server data, resources, making sure everyone under him had straightened out their leaves, making sure they were assigned to new projects took time. Allowing himself reprieves in-between to just sit down, and stare at half filled boxes also took longer and more effort than he had expected it too.

He stared at the ever increasing boxes that lined his office walls for a while longer. Surprisingly, for someone so fastidious, he had a lot he needed to clean out, both inside the computer and outside.

You will lose all accesses, to emails, to chat accounts and to company property by end of day Friday. He got that same message, in different forms from human resources, from Erwin and Levi was on a strict time limit to get everything out.

In some protest, some act of empowering rebellion, Levi was taking his sweet time. He continued to reserve conference rooms, staying out of his own room as much as possible, going through each line of code slowly as if he they were all individuals all deserving of their own greeting.

He started with the backend, then went to the frontend. He looked through the pull requests and the merge requests and the fixes that would never make the next release.

And Friday couldn’t have come any faster. By then, Levi had ninety percent of  his office space cleaned out. He entered the room to find his own team lugging out some of the boxes.

100 percent done then? Levi thought to himself.

Eld was the first one to speak up. “We thought you’d need some help. We heard you only had until five to vacate the room." Yet, he had the expression of a guilty child caught taking cookies from the cookie jar at midnight.

His whole team looked similar.

Levi shook his head. "No, this is much appreciated," he said. A stiff choice of words if he did say so himself but the last few hours of work weighed on him more heavily than the days leading up to it.

He only had two hours before he lost access to everything he had worked on for years.

He held his work laptop close to himself as he watched them lug box after box out of the room.

"Eld was suggesting we go get something to eat tonight," Gunther suggested.

"That depends…" Levi started. Definitely, whether he enjoyed it depended on how quickly he could brush off that weight then that tightening in his chest. "Have you talked to your new team leads? Your new managers?" he asked, an attempt at a light conversation. He wondered if his expression betrayed his words.

Maybe they did. "Or we could wait a few days," Eld said.

"We'll see. We have a few more hours before the end of day," Levi said. He slipped past them and walked back into his office.

Shelves empty, desk spotless and even the floor shone with some unsettling gleam. It had always been spotless, he made sure of it but there had always been something melancholic about rooms that had been full for years, suddenly empty.

And until a few weeks ago, the room had felt like Hange. He had deliberately left many of the crooked books on the shelf, the crooked documents, the titled reusable paper tray and the test devices messily lined up on the shelfs because Hange had left it that way.

And the whiteboard right next to his desk which Hange had failed to clean many weeks before was suddenly wiped clean. Levi didn't even noticed he let out a sound, a mix between a gasp and a whimper when he saw Hange's list of emails completely gone, erased over.

"You okay in there, boss?" Petra asked.

"Someone cleaned the whiteboard," Levi said.

"Oluo, I told you he'd point out your shitty job cleaning the board!" Petra said, from just outside.

Oluo responded. "Well, he's not going to be using it anymore so I though--- Ow!" Some silence followed, then approaching footsteps. "Sorry sir, I'll clean it again."

"No, it's fine," Levi said, he put his hand up, as if to stop Oluo from making that quick trek back to the white board. "I'll clean up the rest. Thanks for the help."

For once, he was grateful for someone's carelessness. The white board wasn't as clean as he thought it was a second ago and maybe because he would have rather it wasn't clean.

Hange wrote in crooked lines where ends hit one another, others fell and the fonts and sizes were never too similar from one line to the other. And the closer Levi came to the whiteboard, he noticed it, one email peeking out, spared by the shoddy erasing job.

Wingsoffreedom132

Hange had multiple emails she used for testing and when Levi opened his work laptop one last time, enjoying the last few hours of access as he cleaned up folders and code repositories, he found himself looking back at the email.

Does she still use it? He asked himself

Maybe. It was worth a try at least.

He looked once again around the room, the very empty room. Then he looked back at his screen, opened the repositories that were ready to be sent out to the point person from Jaeger corporation.

Then he opened his own personal folder, the unfinished codes from the love alarm then the mood alarm then the plans, the files and on the upper left of the file 'the Mood Alarm.'

To hell, with red tape, bureaucracy and all that shit. It was his project, right at his fingertips. It wasn’t Zeke’s nor was it management. The only reason they probably hadn’t sacked him on the spot was because he was the only one who could have so efficiently organized it before they sent it off to some poor sap who worked under Jaeger corporation.

He allowed himself one rebellion, or more specifically a string of rebellions.

If he were forced by some bureaucracy to send all the resources of the love alarm and the mood alarm to Hange, he would do it on his own terms.

He disconnected from the office wifi. He opened a hotspot then he opened his own personal email. Opening an incognito tab, he transferred all the codes and resources to his own personal repository, organizing it in a similar manner.

Then copied the link and started to compose an email.

To: wingsoffreedom132@wahu.com

All the codes for the love alarm

He pasted the link right below.

All codes for mood alarm.

And below it, he pasted another link.

He waited for a few more seconds as the email loaded the attachment, the file with all the plans he had for the mood alarm, allowing himself a small smile as he imagined Hange pondering the name 'mood alarm.'

He vacillated between writing a message under and keeping it brief. Then a second later, his fingers moved for him, he didn't even realize what he had been writing until it was on the page, ending on a period for finality.

“Dedicate your heart.” He read it out loud, then he felt a pang on his chest and a twist at his gut.

Dedicate your heart to what? He didn't want Hange dedicating her heart to anything. He wanted her free, flying high, doing whatever the hell she wanted to, bound by no role, no debt of gratitude, no excuse for love.

Reach for the sky? Hell, she could probably even make it to the stars.

So he went for something that left him cringing.

Reach for the stars (or anything higher than that).

Then he added something, collateral from that rush of indignance.

Don’t let anything stop you. Just remember, I would have given you all these damn codes for free.

After sending the email, he took a few precautions. He cleared his history, his cache, his browser and he deleted the rest of the files in his laptop. With one hour before the end of day, he turned off the laptop.

“Do you need any more help?” Petra had entered the room, hands behind her back in some very faux casual manner. And she seemed to be avoiding his gaze.

Levi used that moment to wipe that last line of Hange’s email, as if that could have been evidence to that bout of rebellion. “I’m done. Let’s leave the rest to whoever will be cleaning up the desk.”

Petra didn’t seem at all suspicious, or maybe she didn’t care. “That’s good. WIll you be joining us for dinner?”

Levi nodded. “Maybe my leaving is worth a dinner.”

“You’re really leaving?”

“Looks like it.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“I bought a plane ticket, secured a visa. I'll go somewhere, far from here, then find a job or maybe work freelance.

“I want you to stay here.”

“I wanna stay here too,” Levi admitted. “But I couldn’t even find a job.”

“I’ll miss having you here… And working with that love alarm. I really believed in the product and it made me realize my own feelings too,” Petra leaned by the window, looking worse for wear.

When Levi gave a long look, he noted maybe she had been crying. He almost felt guilty for not even struggling to fight back tears then.

Maybe his body had already reached the point of pure catatonic, pure acceptance at the hopelessness of the situation. “I’m sorry.” What was he saying sorry for? “I mean— I’m sorry I can’t stay.”

Petra took a deep breath. “This is probably the only time I can say something so I’ll say it now and you know, if you believe in your love alarm, you probably figured it out already,” Petra started. “I like you, I really like you. Actually you know what, it might be love. I don’t know if that would change anything—”

“It won’t.” Levi kept his voice firm. “I bought the ticket. I organized my papers and I have a place to stay. I’m leaving.”

“For good?” Petra had on a wounded look, her mouth twisted into something similar to a pout, by her eyes were elsewhere as if she knew there was a little too much vulnerability in her voice. “So, whatever I feel, it won’t change anything?”

Levi shook his head. “I don’t think it would be fair to you if I accept your feelings. I’m in no hurry to date.” He let out a clipped sardonic laugh. “At this point, I’ll probably die alone.”

“You deserve—”

“And you deserve someone who wouldn’t decide to date you for convenience.” Maybe Levi had been a little too frank at that moment.

Petra didn’t respond, her mouth frozen in a tight lipped line.

“The love alarm will be back so maybe you can use that to find someone else whose alarm rings with yours,” Levi continued, his voice deliberately gentler. “Or what about growing something organically, without the help of that stupid app. I honestly think, sometimes the love alarm causes more chaos than actually fixes things.” He shrugged. “It depends on the circumstances really.”

Circumstances he probably would never understand. He turned back to the black screen and reflected for a long painful moment about it. He was a slave to circumstance.

They were silent for a while longer and Levi used that time to recover, willing himself not to meet Petra's eyes.

She broke the silence a few seconds later. “We’ll meet you by the gate for dinner?”

“I’ll see you then, just give me an hour or so,” Levi said, checking the clock on his phone. He had a little more than an hour left before EOD. “Or just text me when you find a restaurant.”

It took a little longer to convince Petra to leave and it had ended with them having to text Levi a familiar restaurant name.

Levi had taken his time doing nothing at all, just sitting on his office chair in his bare office room. He counted down the minutes on his phone until five. A few times he had even stared at the seconds counting down on the digital clock view on his phone.

Around a minute past five. He booted his laptop again, typed out his email and password.

Access Denied. Please contact your IT Administrator.

At exactly five in the afternoon, he lost access to the system. He took a deep breath and let reality weigh him slowly, then sink deep into him in one swift sensation.

The love alarm and the mood alarm were never his. Any delusion that they were his had dissipated with all the company accesses.

***

In an airport, the point past immigration is international space.

Maybe that explained that strange liberation that came with getting past immigration and walking through the gates, searching for his own. Or it could have been many things at once. He was out of his old job, out of his old environment and somehow, in its own way, it symbolized a new beginning.

Even as an international space though, some things weren’t completely unavoidable. Settling on the departure gate, Levi went through some final checklists on his phone.

He had a new bank account. He had a place to stay as soon as he landed.

And his inbox was a confluence of unread mail. Many of them were goodbyes, from colleagues, some from finance, from human resources, from his own team and he wondered how the hell people found out and what they were thinking about his leaving.

Erwin sent a few tips on taxes and getting housing loans. Petra had sent a ‘safe flight’ message with the same pleasantries of meeting up when she gets to visit.

There was one message was avoiding and he decided to open it last. He spent the first few minutes before that spamming the same thank you message to every single goodbye message.

That one other message after all, was easy to ignore, just a bank notification that money had been wire transferred.

One hundred thousand dollars, the exact money he had lost and sent over to Yelena, he realized as he opened the message and put a little more thought into it.

You have two weeks to claim it. Two weeks? The countdown started a week ago and he only had a week to claim it.

Actually, not even a week. Looking up at the boarding time, he realized he only had an hour. He could probably organize something to have it sent over to his new account. Considering timing and the logistics though was stressful enough already. And besides, his mind found it more enticing to just indulge the context behind such a large sum of money.

It could have been a scam. The amount of money though had seemed too much of a coincidence and admittedly, Levi was a still lovesick.

Don’t send me money. Just fucking talk to me. Levi whispered to himself. Just in case, just in case that was Hange.

In some indignant response, he decided to delete the message and instead, spend last few hours going through some obscure threads on the industry. Something he had been actively avoiding.

Business Jaeger Zeke Jaeger acquires the love alarm… The mogul had found a fatal bug on the love alarm…

In a noble effort to improve the efficacy and accuracy of the product, he took it upon himself to oversee development….

Head developer behind the love alarm has been terminated....

Unnamed developer. He had at least been given that much. Levi let out a sigh. For a high profile application, no one really figured out the name of the head developer. It was a thankless job but Levi never thought too much about the glory of it.

And at that moment, he could only be grateful for the anonymity, whether or not Zeke had done it deliberately.

Plane ready for boarding.

They would be starting with first class passengers first and Levi knew he had more than enough time to take a trip, to the farthest trash can, yet still something near enough to catch the flight.

He unzipped the front pocket of his backpack, pulling out a small sim card pin. He poked it, pulling out the tray, noting the bronze sheen of the sim card. It had taken him a few tries to hold the small card between his fingers and a few more tries to bend it between his fingers, bend it to the point of unusable.

He pocketed his phone and quickly made his way back to the boarding gate.

No bank account. No phone number. He wondered why he went through that much of an effort to destroy everything.

Maybe just for an attempt for a new beginning. Or maybe because he didn’t want her to find him.

The more he thought about it though, the sooner he realized he wanted her to find him. He just thought it better to assume that she wouldn’t even try.

[oldmanatom]

A Locked Tomb Fanmix But It’s All Classic Country

this exists entirely because one night the thought “but what if i made a Locked Tomb fanmix with only classic country songs” popped into my head, unprompted, and i thought it was too hilarious to not do.

the art on the cover is done by @starfleetofficial​​, who this mix is also dedicated to. thank you for recommending me these books, continuously “yes, and”ing my semi-coherent TLT messages sent at 5 in the morning, and being so supportive about this idea. (also check out her version, A HtN fanmix but it’s all Fiona Apple!) the cover design is referencing the famous Marty Robbins album, Gunfighter Ballads and Trail Songs.

my one listening note: this will probably be more enjoyable if it’s approached with an open mind and an expectation that it’s taking itself about as seriously as the official fanmixes do.

see below the cut for a song list and some lyric excerpts.

this mix has implicit spoilers for both Gideon the Ninth and Harrow the Ninth.

Gideon the Ninth mix: youtube / spotify / full res cover Harrow the Ninth mix: youtube / spotify / full res cover full mix: youtube / spotify / full res cover

Gideon the Ninth:

1. Johnny Paycheck, “Take This Job And Shove It”

You better not try to stand in my way 'Cause I'm walkin' out the door Take this job and shove it I ain't working here no more

2. Dolly Parton, “When Someone Wants To Leave”

It's a sad situation I must say When someone wants to leave as bad as you want them to stay

3. Loretta Lynn, “I’m A Gettin’ Ready To Go”

I'm gonna praise my savior's name everyday that I'm livin' Glory hallelujah I'm not ashamed to let my salvation show This old world's just my dressin' room and I'm a gettin' ready to go

4. Waylon Jennings, “I Ain’t Living Long Like This”

I tried to run but I don't think I can You make one move and you're a dead man friend Ain't living long like this Can't live at all like this, can I baby?

5. Loretta Lynn, “This Haunted House”

This haunted house I'm livin' in is killing me And the ghost of your love won't set me free Each morning finds me crying and alone In this haunted house we used to call our home

6. Loretta Lynn and Conway Twitty, “After The Fire Is Gone”

We know it's wrong for us to meet But the fire's gone out at home And there's nothin' cold as ashes After the fire is gone

7. Loretta Lynn, “How Long Will It Take”

(How long will it take?) How long will it take to make you want me How much longer has this old heart gotta break (How long will it take?) How long will it take to make you need me I keep a waitin' and a wonderin' how long will it take

8. Stonewall Jackson, “Don’t Be Angry”

Maybe someday you're gonna hurt me I've been hurt in love before Only God can know And time alone will tell

9. Dick Curless, “A Tombstone Every Mile”

It's a stretch of road up north in Maine That's never ever ever seen a smile If they'd buried all them truckers lost in them woods There'd be a tombstone every mile

10. Johnny Paycheck, “(It Won’t Be Long) And I’ll Be Hating You”

Lately life with you has been unbearable All my faith in you has gone and I know it won't return I did everything to make you happy I could do Now you've gotten me hatin' things I used to love to do And it won't be long and I'll be hatin' you

11. Norma Jean, “Let’s Go All The Way”

All the way means happiness living side by side Halfway means a heartbreak if one of us should lie Just give me a clue that you love me too Hold me in your arms and say “Oh, let’s go all the way”

12. Loretta Lynn, “Everybody Wants To Go To Heaven”

Everybody wants to go to heaven but nobody wants to die Lord, I wanna go to heaven but I don't wanna die Though I long for the day when I'll have new birth Still I love the livin' here on earth Everybody wants to go to heaven but nobody wants to die

13. Homer & Jethro, “She Made Toothpicks Of The Timber Of My Heart”

She was seasoned, I was green Yes my darling lumber queen Wound me ‘round her finger like a clinging vine

14. Patsy Cline, “The Heart You Break May Be Your Own”

You'll look around and when you've found That you are all alone Then you'll get wise and realize The heart you break may be your own

15. Buck Owens, “I’ve Got A Tiger By The Tail”

Well every night you drag me where the bright lights are found There ain't no way to slow you down I’m as 'bout as helpless as a leaf in a gale And it looks like I've got a tiger by the tail

16. Charley Pride, “All I Have To Offer You (Is Me)”

Before you take another step, there's something you should know About the years ahead and how they'll be You'll be living in a world where roses hardly ever grow 'Cause all I have to offer you is me

17. Faron Young, “Live Fast, Love Hard, Die Young”

I wanna leave a lot of happy women A-thinkin’ pretty thoughts of me I wanna live fast, love hard, die young And leave a beautiful memory

18. Dolly Parton and Porter Wagoner, “The Last Thing On My Mind”

I've got reason a plenty for goin'      This I know, this I know The weeds have been steadily growin'      Please don't go, please don't go

Are you going away with no word of farewell Will there be not a trace left behind I could've loved you better, didn't mean to be unkind You know that was the last thing on my mind

19. Marty Robbins, “The Master’s Call”

I felt the end was near, that death would be the price When a mighty bolt of lightning showed the face of Jesus Christ And I cried “oh Lord forgive me, don't let it happen now I want to live for you alone, oh God these words I vow”

Bridge: Lefty Frizzell, “Long Black Veil”

She walks these hills in a long black veil She visits my grave when the night winds wail Nobody knows, nobody sees Nobody knows but me

Harrow the Ninth:

1. Hank Williams, “I’ll Never Get Out Of This World Alive”

Every thing's against me and it's got me down If I jumped in the river I would probably drown No matter how I struggle and strive I'll never get out of this world alive

2. Dolly Parton, Linda Ronstadt, and Emmylou Harris, “Those Memories Of You”

In dreams of you, my body trembles I wake up and call your name But you're not there, and I'm so lonesome Without your love, I'd go insane

3. Hank Snow, “I Don’t Hurt Anymore”

I don't hurt anymore, all my teardrops are dried No more walking the floor with that burning inside Just to think it could be time has opened the door And at last I am free I don't hurt anymore

4. Patsy Cline, “Stop The World And Let Me Off”

Oh, stop the world and let me off I'm tired of goin' round ‘n' round I played the game of love and lost So stop the world and let me off

5. Charley Pride, “Lie To Me”

Oh, lie to me, say you love me Tell me I mean the world to you It would mean so much, I'd be so happy And it's the least you can do

6. Hank Snow, “Ninety Miles An Hour (Down A Dead End Street)”

Warnin' signs are flashin' by us but we pay no heed Instead of slowin' down the pace we keep picking up the speed Disaster's gettin' closer every time we meet Doin' ninety miles an hour down a dead end street

7. Patsy Cline and the Anita Kerr Singers, “I Can’t Forget”

Where are you, darlin'? Are you with someone new I can't forget you I'll always be loving you

8. Lynn Anderson, “If I Kiss You (Will You Go Away)”

You're so much hurt I wish you wouldn't stay If I kiss you will you go away?

9. Connie Smith, “Once A Day”

Once a day all day long And once a night from dusk till dawn The only time I wish you weren't gone Is once a day, every day, all day long

10. Charley Pride, “Just Between You And Me”

But just between you and me I've got my doubts about it 'Cause just between you and me You're too much to forget

11. Buck Owens, “Hello Trouble”

A comin' up my sidewalk Just as plain as day A well a here come trouble that I never thought I'd see When you went away

12. Loretta Lynn, “Fist City”

You'll bite off more than you can chew If you get too cute or witty You better move your feet if you don't wanna eat A meal that's called Fist City

13. The Davis Sisters, “I Forgot More Than You’ll Ever Know”

You think you know the smile on his lips The thrill at the touch of his fingertips But I've forgotten more Than you'll ever know about him

14. Kitty Wells, “Pick Me Up On Your Way Down” (Charlie Walker’s version is on the Spotify playlist)

When you learn these things are true I'll be waiting here for you As you tumble to the ground Pick me up on your way down

15. Loretta Lynn and Conway Twitty, “You’re The Reason Our Kids Are Ugly”

And that's the reason that my good looks and my figure is gone      And that's the reason I ain't got no hair to comb And you're the reason our kids are ugly, little darling

16. Loretta Lynn, “Who Says God Is Dead”

If I were you I'd kneel and pray 'Cause we're not promised one more day Remember blood was shed Who says God is dead?

17. Patsy Cline and The Jordanaires, “Imagine That”

Can you believe I'd swallow my pride (Well yes, yes, I guess you can) 'Cause you know you've always had my foolish heart Right in the palm of your hand, oh

18. Jody Miller and Johnny Paycheck, “Let’s All Go Down To The River”

Jesus is the man at the river And he's washing people's sins away He can save your soul if you give him control Oh be ready for that judgement day

19. Bobby Bare, “Dropkick Me, Jesus”

Make me, oh, make me, Lord, more than I am Make me a piece in Your master game plan Free from the earthly temptation below I've got the will, Lord, if You got the toe

20. Lynn Anderson, “Heaven’s Just A Sin Away”

Devil's got me now Oh, gone and got me now I can't fight him anyhow I think he's gonna win

Heaven’s just a sin away Oh, just a sin away Heaven help me when I say I think I’m givin’ in

21. Loretta Lynn, “Out Of My Head And Back In My Bed”

I'm gonna search everywhere that you might be When I find you I'm a bringin’ you home with me I want you out of my head And back in my bed Before the morning comes

22. Johnny Cash, “Big River”

Now, won't you batter down by Baton Rouge, River Queen, roll it on Take that woman on down to New Orleans, New Orleans Go on, I've had enough, dump my blues down in the gulf She loves you, Big River, more than me

Now I taught the weeping willow how to cry, cry, cry And I showed the clouds how to cover up a clear blue sky And the tears that I cried for that woman are gonna flood you, Big River And I'm gonna sit right here until I die

[evakuality]

Mia, episode four

1.  Hanna staring deep into Mia’s face as she talks = not loosening my conviction they should be together.  But either way, I like this little scene.  One thing I think Druck does well is translating the ideas of all the russ-stuff from the og into its own thing that makes sense in its own context.  These suggestions really are all terrible, though.  I’m not at all surprised that Jonas and Matteo are taking the mickey out of it (side note - I missssss themmmmmm).  I know I’m seriously anti Alex and so I’m not feeling even remotely charitable, but I really dislike the way he’s walking in all ‘I have a much better idea than you guys’ and acting as if he’s better than them.  Plus, then they ended up using it and... ugh.  I just... I really hate William and poor Alex is bearing the brunt of that.  It’s probably not his fault; I just brought a whole lot of baggage into this viewing.

2.  I do love that Leonie is still ‘in charge’ in this way.  It’s a nice continuity from s1.  And she’s not perfect in any way; a lot of her little mannerisms and the way she acts and speaks from s1 are still here, but she’s mellowed a bit.  It’s not as directed and petty; she just likes being in charge and running stuff.

3.  Wow a lot is going on in this first clip.  Amira is getting her voice heard like a boss here!  (sidenote #2: she is stunning in this outfit with this makeup etc).  It’s obvious that she’s pretty used to Mia and her very set opinions (a bit like Leonie but she does it in a different way) and knows the only way to get what she/they need is to basically steamroll over every attempt Mia makes at speaking.  I like the point that Mia’s principles aren’t as important as the people who wouldn’t be able to pay the larger price.  Like, I get it - she’d rather not have anything to do with Alex (me either tbh) but Amira is also right.  Excluding him on principle isn’t fair to the bulk of the students.  However, ‘he shows up with all his money and his damn poster and now he’s a nice guy?’ - I mean, exactly.  Still.  There are other considerations and it shouldn’t be black and white.

4.  Oh, this walkway/ramp thing again.  My beloved setting returns!  Honestly, I really really love this school building.  It’s got so many little corners and changes and different spaces and this space in particular is used to really good effect.  Like rn, Alex has the high ground and while Mia is trying to stand up to him, it’s ineffectual because they’re having to use high angles on her vs low on him.  He still has the power.  And even when they come together, and there’s a seeming meeting of equals, he’s still got the high ground, even if just barely.  And as he walks away with his insufferable smirk, he regains that high ground even more (do I like this plot at all?  No, but I do like the film techniques used to explore it). I just really really love the way the camera works in these spaces.  Unlike a ‘normal’ school, this one has so much depth and variety even when they reuse the same spaces.  None of the times this thing is used is the effect exactly the same even when it seems similar.  Hmmmm, now part of me wants to look at every time it’s used and see how it’s done.  Somebody stop me.

5.  Yikes - I’m only 6 minutes in and I already wrote an essay.  Okay, let’s try to be more brief as we continue.  Oh.  Mia alone and in a nice space with warm tones around her (unlike the other two scenes this episode).  I do like these moments when we hang out with our mains and I’m glad we’re starting to get that more with Mia.  Very interesting that she chooses to fold and iron her clothes as a reaction to the ‘mega geil’ comments about Alex.  Clearly she’s starting to feel out of control about the whole business with Alex and the things he’s saying to her, and this is one way of her reasserting her control.  She likes having things under control and we see it coming out in these odd ways now that she’s found something that is out of her control.  She clearly gets some peace out of it, but it’s so rigid that you can tell it must be about to crack soon.  Nice touch with Hans bringing the comic relief.  I love him so much!!

6.  Lol, Matteo looks super disgusted by this chirpy conversation about Hans’ affliction.  I like that his characterisation is still traceable.  He’s not AS low and isolated as he seems in his season (the benefit of perspective I guess), but he’s still slumped and isn’t as engaged in the things around him - here and even with Jonas earlier.  It’s just nice to see because I know his season came pretty close after Mia’s so it’s good that it doesn’t seem to come out of nowhere.  Continuity - Druck is good at it.  Also how uncomfortable he is when the discussion turns to what gay penises look like - clearly he already has some ideas about how himself and equally clearly he doesn’t want to talk about ‘gay’ anything when it might be connected to him.  Little does he know, his phone already gave them ideas.  But I do like him already being the biggest Hanna/Jonas shipper - like, he’s so determined to make up for his interference that he’s fully trying to interfere again, and it’s a nice segue into ‘why does anyone spend a whole evening stalking someone’ - yeah, we see you Mia.  You’re more intrigued by Alex than you care to admit.  I enjoy these little seemingly unimportant clips of them just hanging out that actually advance the plot or characterisation.

7.  Hanna: Mia, please come to this place to save me from being alone with Jonas.  Mia: I’m on my way (despite not wanting to go at all) - are we seriously telling me she’s not at least a little bit in love with Hanna?  Seriously.  The need to help Hanna out is strong in this one.  But also... more mirror reflections, but this time she’s more centered (not entirely but more so) and her whole face is in shot.  Things are ‘coming together’ so to speak.  And ion hindsight, I can’t even seem to spot Jonas?  Is he even there?  Was Hanna trying to get Mia there through stealth????

8.  Yikes, this thing they’re doing where they say stuff about each other is a bit brutal.  Amira’s ones are mostly pretty awful, and targeted at her religion.  Very interesting that for the others, they seemed more focused on who they are rather than ‘what’ they are, but it’s not the same for her?  Like, I know we explore this a bit in her season but there’s been so much through the whole 2 seasons so far that I feel even more like we lost the opportunity to truly explore that more.  RIP the s4 she deserved!  

9.  I don’t like Alex still (he’s still too arrogant and irritating for me) but I do like the quiet slow way Mia is warming up to him.  She doesn’t want to, but you can see her re-evaluating him and starting to recalibrate her thoughts.  Like it’s not rushing and he is at least a little more interesting than William and has more charisma so I can see why she would become intrigued once she shifted her perspective.  Unlike William, who remained gross through the entire thing.

10.  So Mia’s desperate need to be in control and have everything perfect even extends to Alex’s place and his stuff?  Considering she still thinks she doesn’t like him, she’s taking a lot of trouble with his space.  Suuuuuper awkward alone times here though I do like this shot of Mia exploring Alex’s place and the camera just sort of following along with that and taking in what she sees.   Being this tight on her really plays up how ‘tight’ her PoV is and how she’s not seeing outside the bounds of what she wants to see.

11.  This is a very very long clip, but there’s something charming about it too.  Alex is... hmmmm, not exactly a good guy as yet (he’s still doing some quite douchey things), but he’s starting to open up and be real while still trying to protect some stuff that’s and that’s a lot more believable than William was.  I know he was supposed to be like that, too, in a lot of ways, but I never found him convincing.  Not the way Alex is.  I don’t like him (this is genuinely not a type of guy that appeals to me at all) but I can see why he might win Mia over.  Which I never did understand with Noora.  We shall see - there are things from later in Noora’s season that fill me with incandescent rage, and if those happen then I can’t warm to Alex properly at all.  But for now, I can see why Mia might be won over.  Even if I can’t forgive him for the way he treats Kiki and acts like he’s the only one with all the right answers.

Lots of long clips in this one with a whole heap going on.  It would have been something to go through this live, I’m sure.  I found lots of little moments in this one to like, and I like how Druck has managed the characters and the interactions to make it feel natural.  Considering that I really cannot stand the og of this and that one was very long, I think they’re doing a fairly good job of keeping this one engaging and a decent pace even if I still dislike one of the characters.

[cloudshapedpatch]

take my money (take my heart, too)

the awkward julie & luke sugar daddy/baby au no one asked for

rated teen and up for swearing and semi-mature themes such as the concept of a sugar daddy/baby arrangement

no smut! insane tooth-rotting fluff tho

slow burn juke

and disaster lesbians flarrie side plot and (eventual) willex

also a coffee shop au because i said so

read on ao3 (chapter 1 and tag list below the cut)

* * * *

Julie is nervous. No, nervous is an understatement. Her knees bounce uncontrollably under the table, shaky fingers twirling the straw in her iced coffee. And the knot in her stomach seems to grow ever tighter.

She pulls out her phone to check the time for the third time this minute. How is it still 10:57 am? Just as she is about to put her phone back in her pocket, it buzzes with an incoming text from her best friend/roommate, Flynn.

Flynn: calm down

Julie smiles despite herself, turning around to look at her friend a few tables away. Thank goodness for her friend, willing to throw away a morning to make sure she is safe and comfortable on her blind date. She shoots Flynn a small smile. Flynn, to their credit, is taking their job very seriously, wearing an absurdly large sunhat and sunglasses, sipping on a mug of hot tea with a decoy book under her nose.

Julie turns to anxiously watch the baristas, moving around the small space with ease, mixing drinks hot and cold alike. Twirling around each other without even looking. And she lets her mind wander.

How had she gotten here? Waiting for a man whom she had never spoken to, let alone seen? And she isn’t counting their text messaging. Not really. Not even if they had been talking for weeks. Not even if they regularly stayed up well into the night just to keep talking to the other. Not even if he had her blushing furiously, toes curling from giddiness and hiding under her sheets, smiling at the flirtatious speech bubbles on her phone for longer than she’d like to admit.

Because that doesn’t count. She has never heard his voice. She has never seen what he looked like. Anyone could be a charmer, and she is undoubtedly nervous about who she might find walking through the door and towards her.

How had she gotten here? It is a simple question, and one she has the answer to. Doesn’t mean she likes it. She had made an offhand comment to Flynn at work one day. Julie is sick of working 12 hour days in the cafe (not this one. she would be dumb to meet a stranger in her workplace) and barely scraping by. She had joked she needed someone to fund her shopping sprees.

Flynn had suggested a sugar daddy.

Julie wants to bang her head on the table. Past Julie is an idiot. And now Present Julie is going to pay the price.

Why had she let Flynn convince her to download that dumb app?

(Because she has a virtually useless college degree, bills to pay, and school loans creeping up on her and she is cutting back every month. Living in L.A. isn’t cheap.

And, if she really lets herself think about it, Julie is lonely.)

She checks her phone again, pleased to find it is finally 11 am. He should be here any minute. Luke should be here any minute.

Is it a red flag that he had only been willing to share his first name? Should it have concerned her that he didn’t have a profile picture on his online dating account? Is she dumb for letting him change the subject every time she asked about his job? Solid ‘maybe’s to all of those, but! After they had started talking, they had instantly clicked. He loves music almost as much as she did, maybe even more. They bonded over that, and many other things.

This is fine.

She straightens her posture, glancing down at her dress to make sure all is in order. It’s baby blue with golden sunflowers all over, and she had slipped a cropped denim jacket on top, the one with patches of all her favorite bands. She fusses with the loose curls hanging by her face, her hair pulled into a half bun at the top of her head, leaving a clear view of her sunflower earrings. It’s the perfect outfit to be noticed in, she had told him she’d be wearing blue and sunflowers, certainly he wouldn’t miss her.

Whenever he decided to show up.

Wait. he would show up, wouldn’t he?

Of course he would.

...Right?

Before she can get too far down that rabbit hole, the chime above the door is jingling, and Julie has to fight hard not to turn and see who it is. The anticipation crawls up her spine and settles in her neck, jaw tingling.

A man comes in, approaching the counter with confidence in his step. One barista takes one look at him and gapes like a fish, turning to a coworker to nonchalantly point at him. Both girls look at each other and quietly squeal, letting one of the male cashiers help him.

Must be attractive, she thinks, and she isn’t disappointed by what she can see from the back. His sleeves are short, showing off his muscular arms and he’s tall. She’s always liked tall men.

Supposedly handsome stranger orders his drink and waits at the counter for it. One of the girls hands it to him with a gleeful smile. He accepts, then says something to her before the girl’s smile falters and points right at Julie.

Wait, she’s pointing at Julie?

Definitely handsome stranger follows her finger and lands on Julie, eyes scanning up and down her body (at least, what he can see from above the table), his face instantly lighting up in the most gorgeous smile she’s ever seen.

And then he’s turning back to say thank you and then making his way towards her and oh no what what what--

Because this isn’t her date. It can’t be, right? But Luke Patterson is stepping up to her booth, sliding into the seat across from her.

“Hey, you’re Julie, right?” His voice, sweet and thick as honey, and Julie would know that voice anywhere.

“Luke Patterson? You… you didn’t say--” She cuts herself off before she can say something foolish.

Because there is no way in hell she’d unknowingly put up her sugar baby services to Luke fucking Patterson. Not rockstar Luke Patterson. Not lead guitarist and singer and songwriter for her favorite band, Sunset Curve. Not literally in the Rock ‘n’ Roll Hall of Fame Luke Patterson.

“Yeah, about that… I am really sorry about not telling you. It’s just not something I like mentioning to everyone I meet, you know?”

She’s having a hard time processing what he’s saying. He’s so close. Why is he leaning on the table like that? Why is he so close?

“Yeah! Yeah, totally. That’s understandable.” She laughs nervously, taking a sip of her coffee to avoid speaking any further.

“This… this is okay, right? You’re not mad?”

“Mad?” This clears her mind a bit. She takes in the way his hands fiddle with the rings on his fingers, his shoulders raised, and while his smile is easygoing, his eyes say otherwise. Why would she be mad?

She expresses this to him, and he just looks at his hands.

“Well, because I wasn’t completely truthful with you. And I totally understand if you want to walk away.”

“No!” She says before she can filter herself. His eyebrows raise in amusement. “I mean, it’s fine! I was just… surprised, that’s all.”

And surprised is correct. Luke Patterson is the same Luke she’s been talking to for the last three weeks, the very same one who’s been making her laugh and who’d almost made her miss work last week because they had texted about everything and nothing until the sun came up.

He seems to like her answer. His smile never leaves his face.

“You seemed to recognize me. You a fan of Sunset Curve’s?”

And maybe it’s the way his cocky smile burns her cheeks, or just the fact that he’s talking to her. Panic sets in and she lies.

“Never heard of Sunset Swerve.”

“You knew my name.”

“You know it’s a household name, right?”

“Your jacket says otherwise.”

And shit. She had forgotten about the Sunset Curve patch right over her heart. In fact, it was the first patch she had put on the jacket. But he doesn’t need to know that.

“Fine. You caught me. I’m a Curver. Happy?”

And though she’s teasing, he couldn’t seem to be happier. Seriously, she’s worried his dopey grin is gonna break his face. Then an ugly, ugly thought rears its head in her mind.

“Wait. You let me gush about Sunset Curve so many times and you didn’t say anything?” Her sentence ends in a laugh.

“Oh, Julie, I wanted to so bad. You have no idea!”

Julie finds herself not really registering the second half of his sentence. She had missed it, the first time he said her name due to being starstruck, and her face warms a bit when she recalls just how good her name had sounded when he said it. Like a splash of cool water on a hot day. Like sap dripping fresh from a tree, glinting in the sunlight.

“Then why didn’t you?”

He sobers a bit at this, though his eyes still hold the same fire as before. “Well, I didn’t really want to go around announcing that. Can you imagine how many matches I’d get if I put that little tidbit in my bio?”

Julie laughs at this, the absurdity of it hitting her. Of course. He’d want someone who’d like him for him, not for his status, or name, or fame or money.

Oh. Shit. She was literally here for his money.

“For sure! Must’ve been hard.”

“Oh, not really. I matched with you on day one and deleted the app once we exchanged phone numbers.”

“Really?” Julie felt a little guilty for still having the app on her phone now, even after she was pretty sure Luke was a good match. There was still the possibility that mystery man was a total creep. If she’d have known who he was, on the other hand…

“Totally! I’ll be honest, my bandmates put me up to this, but once we started talking I just knew I had to meet you.”

Julie’s mind still feels a bit foggy, like she was dreaming. A fantastic dream, might she add.

“I’ve been really excited to meet you too. My best friend also convinced me to get the app. She’s actually over there.” Julie smiled, nudging her head over towards her friend, where they were certainly trying their best to eavesdrop.

“Brought a plus one, I see?” Luke chuckled, giving Flynn a wave. Flynn hid her already shielded eyes from view with her book.

“Hey, you gotta remember I was meeting someone whom I had never seen before, and the fact that I didn’t know your last name was not helping.”

Luke’s smile turned bashful again. “Ah. She’s backup.”

“Yep! But I think they’re good to go.” Julie whipped out her phone and sent Flynn a quick message, relieving her of her duties.

“You sure? I might kidnap you.”

“I’d let you kidnap me.”

Oh god. She so did not say that.

He seemed to think it was funny. At least she was amusing. At her own expense, maybe, but amusing nonetheless.

Amusing to Luke Patterson.

If she doesn’t stop saying his last name, she’ll go insane. This is just the dorky guy she’s been talking to. The one she’ll hopefully get to talk to tomorrow.

Despite the rocky start, Julie would say it was a successful date. Coffee turned into lunch at a nearby bistro, and he walked Julie to her car a few blocks away. She didn’t get to her apartment until after 4 o’clock, and Flynn was waiting with two glasses of wine in their shared living room. Julie is eager to spill all the details, and Flynn is the perfect listener, oohing and ahhing at all the right moments.

As Julie crawls into bed after her eventful day, her phone dings on her nightstand.

PayPal: Luke Patterson sent you $500.00  “I had a great time today :) hope to see you again soon!”

Well. If she had calmed down any, this just undid all of her efforts. A wave of guilt floods over her. The concept of a sugar daddy sort of seemed too outlandish to really fathom. But now she feels awful taking his money.

She’s really doing this, isn’t she?

Julie: you really didn’t have to

Luke: but i wanted to

Luke: it’s ok tho right?

Julie: i guess it’s fine, it’s just a lot of money

Luke: i realise how conceited this is going to sound but its no sweat off my back. just think of it as a gift

Gifts. She could live with that.

* * * *

taglist! @ladyblanche :)

[crystalstar8]

Knights of the Night (ch 19)

Chapter 19

Ch 1, ch 2, ch 3, ch 4, ch 5, ch 6, ch 7, ch 8, ch 9, ch 10, ch 11, ch 12, ch 13, ch 14, ch 15, ch 16, ch 17, ch 18, ch 19

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29139240/chapters/71536491

pairing: Jungkook x oc

genre: vampire au, college au, twilight, romance

word count: 1,012

warnings: blood (obviously), kidnapping, child kidnapping, needles, France, human trafficking

notes: vampires, vampire au, college, college au, so many twilight references, blood, needles, kidnapping, children, homelessness, dance, ballet, flashbacks, romance, slow burn, probably no smut, idk yet tho, France, French things, attempted genocide, inaccurate French history, bisexual main character, @strawberriewithchocolate-blog @mozy-j  @daechwitad-2​ @zobadak​ @fallenstar-7​​​

summary: Catalina starts college in a small town all the way across the country. She doesn’t know anyone and isn’t exactly looking for friends. She just wants to focus on dance. But when she meets fellow dance major, Jimin, and adventurous, fellow freshman, Jungkook, Catalina ends up discovering a whole new side to the small college town; one that is dangerous but oh so enticing...

When Jimin finally awoke, he was met with a set of big blue eyes staring back at him. He gasped and tried to get away, but the action made his head ache something awful. He held his head in his hands and glanced up. There was a little boy sitting beside his bed staring at him…no. Not his bed. This wasn’t his bed. This was a dingy cot in the corner of a tiny cement room. The little boy was staring at him with wide eyes. He had ahead full of dark, unkempt hair. He was pale and shivering.

“What’s your name?” the boy asked.

“Jimin,” he said. He wanted to panic, but that probably wasn’t the best thing to do right now, for the sake of the child and for the sake of his still throbbing head. “What’s your name?”

“Caleb,” the boy said.

“Do you know where we are, Caleb?” Jimin asked. Caleb shook his head. It was then that he noticed the needle in his arm. The needle was connected to a tube, which ran up to a blood bag on an IV pole. His heart sank. “Fuck,” he whispered.

“That’s a bad word,” said Caleb.

“Sometimes, a situation calls for bad words,” said Jimin. Caleb smiled.

“Yeah, this situation is pretty fucking bad,” he said. Jimin’s eyes widened.

“Just don’t say that around your parents,” said Jimin. The smile fell from Caleb’s face.

“I don’t think I’m gonna see my parents again,” said Caleb.

“Why would you say that?” Jimin asked, carefully peeling the tape off holding the needle down.

“I’m not stupid,” Caleb said, picking at his sweater. “My mom told me that there’s people out there who kidnap kids and sell them. And that’s why I have to be careful with strangers. I saw a ton of people come in here and talk about prices, and they tasted my blood. It’s so creepy! I already had two roommates before you got here. Both of them got sold right away. I bet you’ll be next. The Dracula guys like pretty people who are adults more than they like kids I guess.”

“They don’t like kids?” Jimin asked.

“No,” said Caleb. “Well, they said that my blood is really good ‘cause it’s clean. But they said that kids are too much to deal with. I guess it’s a good thing.”

“Probably is,” said Jimin. He slowly pulled the needle from his arm and then reached for Caleb’s arm. Caleb let him do the same with his needle.

“They’ll get mad,” said Caleb.

“We’ll put them back in in a few hours,” said Jimin. “How often do they come in?”

“Not very often. Like, twice a day to give us food and put the needle in or take it out,” said Caleb.

“We just won’t let them take too much from us,” said Jimin. “Besides, my friends know where I am. They should be coming to rescue us soon.”

“That’s presumptuous,” said Caleb.

“That’s a big word,” said Jimin.

Caleb shrugged and said, “I learned it from a book. I like to read. Do you like reading?”

“I used to,” said Jimin. “Now I’m too busy to read. I go to college, so I have a lot of homework and dance practice.”

“You dance?” Caleb asked. “My big sister is in dance class too.”

“Oh yeah? How old is your sister?” Jimin asked.

“She’s twelve,” said Caleb. “I’m eight. I miss her, even though she’s a jerk sometimes.”

“I’m sure she misses you too,” said Jimin. “You’ll see her again. Hopefully soon.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  “You actually showed up!” Makai shouted, standing up to greet them with open arms.

               Yoongi led the way into the room, Catalina and Jungkook following behind.

               “Yoongi is the best one for this role,” said Namjoon.

               “Why? You’re the leader,” said Catalina. “I feel like they’d expect you to be the one going in.”

               Yoongi chuckled and said, “Namjoon is too nervous. He can’t act his way out of a paper bag.”

               “I…well yeah,” Namjoon said, not trying to defend himself. “I can’t act. Or lie.”

               “So, to review,” said Jungkook. “We’re acting as Yoongi’s familiars. We’ll go in, buy Jimin, and then leave?”

               “Right,” said Namjoon. “Nothing else happens that day. We’ll execute the second part of our plan another time.”

               “I suppose I was curious,” said Yoongi, shaking Makai’s hand. Makai had that easy going smile on his face. It was disarming, Catalina needed to stay focused on hating the man.

               It was nerve wracking, being able to just walk into the facility like this. Catalina had never felt this kind of adrenaline before. She tried her best to stay calm and regulate her breathing though. Namjoon warned them that vampires can basically smell fear. They can hear when a human’s heart beats faster and smell when their blood rushes quicker.

               They were standing by the desk in the middle of the lounge-like space. This was the area Catalina and Jungkook saw when they snuck in.

               “Are you looking to buy today?” Makai asked. “Or were you just in the neighborhood?”

               “I’m not sure yet,” said Yoongi. “It depends on if you have anything I like.”

               “I’ve got quite the variety,” said Makai. “And all our products are very high quality. All very healthy and clean.”

               “That’s good to know,” said Yoongi. “Most of these kinds of organizations get their products off the streets, they’re usually riddled with drugs and diseases.”

               Catalina chose not to think about why Yoongi knew that.

               Makai chuckled and said, “I have to admit, we started our company like that. We’ve improved so much over the years though. Anyway, I can give you a tour. If you’d like, there’s a waiting room in the back where your familiars can stay.”

               “No thank you,” said Yoongi. “I’d rather they stay with me. I don’t trust you just yet.”

               “What’s not to trust about this face?” Makai asked, pouting a bit. He burst into laughter. “I’m totally joking. You have no reason to trust me, you barely know me! I hope we can be friends someday though. I like you, Yoongi.”

               With that, Makai led the way deeper into the facility. The first door he opened made Catalina’s heart drop. The woman inside was limp and pale, sitting up against the wall on a cot. Her hair was thin and her lips were blue.

               “We’ve had her for a while, so I would probably let you have her for a hundred if you’re interested,” said Makai. He closed the door and continued down the hall. He pointed at a room through a pair of archways and said, “That’s the recreation room. There’s snacks, if you guys want anything.”

               “Chocolate?” Yoongi asked.

               “Haha! Sure, let’s see,” said Makai. He went in and rummaged through the cupboards. Catalina hung back with Jungkook and took his hand. He squeezed her hand back, leaning in to whisper, “Are you okay?”

               Catalina nodded, even though she was starting to feel queasy. Yoongi came back to them with a mouthful of Dove chocolate, more in his hand.

               “Jungkook will have his phone in his shirt pocket, with the camera facing out. It’ll be recording the entire time,” said Namjoon. “This way, we can map out a basic floor plan.”

               Catalina glanced at the phone in Jungkook’s shirt pocket as they were led deeper into the facility. Makai continued showing them “products”, as he called them. There were so many. Catalina didn’t know how she’d be able to leave them all here today. She hated thinking about Jimin in this situation.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

               Jimin tried his best to keep track of the days, but without any outside light source and an irregular sleeping schedule, time quickly began to blur together. He had no idea how much time had passed. He what he could though.

               He didn’t let the vampires take too much blood from him and Caleb, just enough so they wouldn’t notice a loss. He made sure he and Caleb ate everything they were given, to keep up their strength. Every few days, or so Jimin figured, they would have a break from being hooked up to the IV. During those days, they made sure to eat and move around as much as they could.

               But after a while, everything began catching up to them. They were slowly losing energy. Jimin hoped his friends would find him soon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

               Seeing these people, tired and limp, and hearing Makai list off prices like they were at a car dealership made Catalina feel sick. She knew this kind of thing went on, but to see it with her own eyes was something she would never forget. She had to keep reminding herself that they would come back for these people.

               “This one is a little feisty, but if you keep her drained, she should be fine,” said Makai, closing the door on another cell. “Did you see any you liked? Did you at least like the tour?”

               Catalina’s stomach dropped. That couldn’t have been the last one. Where was Jimin? Did someone already buy him? It hasn’t even been a week!

               Jungkook took her hand and squeezed hard.

               “Do you have anything else?” Yoongi asked. His bored façade was still going strong, or maybe it wasn’t a façade. Catalina couldn’t be sure. Did he even actually care about these humans? Either way, he was doing a good job on this mission.

               “I mean, we have other humans, but they’re not ready for purchase yet,” said Makai.

               “I want to see them,” said Yoongi.

               “Sure, were you looking for something in particular?” asked Makai.

               “Eh…not exactly. I suppose I’ll know when I see it,” said Yoongi.

               Makai pointed to him and said, “I totally understand. Ya know, it’s like buying clothes. Fashion trends change so fast and I never know what I want to buy for summer, or for winter or whatever. But when I see it, I know! Can you believe the early 2000’s are coming back? It just ended! Give it a break for a bit!”

               Makai laughed heartily as he rambled on, leading them to a different hallway. He opened a few doors and introduced a few people inside. These people looked a little less tired than the others. These ones still had a bit of color in their cheeks.

               The third door he opened was the one. Jimin stared back at them with wide eyes. The fear in his eyes melted away when he saw them. But there was another set of frightened eyes staring at them from over Jimin’s shoulder.

               A child sat behind him, clutching Jimin’s t-shirt.

               Yoongi faltered. He didn’t say anything for a moment.

               “Is this the one? Are you having your moment?” Makai asked.

               “How much for both?” Yoongi asked.

               “Oh…well, the kid isn’t for sale,” Makai said.

               “Ten thousand for the kid,” said Yoongi. “One thousand for the other guy.”

               Catalina watched with amusement as Jimin pouted, glaring at Yoongi.

               “Okay, so these guys aren’t really for sale right now,” said Makai. “So you’re gonna have to-“

               “Fifty thousand for both,” said Yoongi. Makai closed his mouth.

               “Ya know what, I like you Yoongi. So I’ll give them to you for fifty and a half,” said Makai.

               “Deal,” said Yoongi. They shook hands, Makai smiling wide.

               “I’m just warning you, this one’s squirrely,” Makai said, pointing to Jimin. “And the kid is too smart for his own good. So do with that what you will.”

               “I have these guys,” Yoongi said, gesturing to Jungkook and Catalina. “I’ll be fine.”

               “Right on, man!” Makai said, slapping Yoongi on the shoulder. “Let’s go to my office.”

               Makai’s office was beautiful; the first thing Catalina noticed was the zen garden in the corner, bamboo shoots rising from the center. The whole office was dim, with stylish, plush furniture filling the space. The sound of running water brought Catalina’s attention to the black stone mini water fountain on the desk at the center of the room.

               Makai went behind the desk and pulled out two forms.

               “Are you paying cash or bitcoin?” Makai asked.

               “What the hell is bitcoin?” Yoongi asked. Makai burst into laughter.

               “Cash it is, then,” he said once he finished laughing. “Just go ahead and sign these for me real quick. This one is a nondisclosure agreement. Don’t go posting about this on social media and definitely don’t tell the cops!”

               Makai laughed again, but Catalina didn’t find any of this funny. She wanted to get out of here as soon as possible.

               “And this one is just an agreement stating that once the transaction is complete, the product is nonrefundable and fully your responsibility,” Makai said. Yoongi signed both forms, then pulled several stacks of cash out of his jacket pocket. Catalina and Jungkook’s eyes bulged. He was just carrying all that in his pocket?, Catalina thought with a start.

               Makai laughed and pointed at them. “Looks like your familiars are thinking the same thing I am. You’re gonna get robbed doing stuff like that, man! You’re stronger than the average guy, but vamps like cash too, ya know!”

               “I don’t go shopping very often,” Yoongi said, counting out the stacks of bills.

               “Clearly,” said Makai, double checking the cash, then storing it in one of the desk drawers. The two of them shook hands. “Do you want them delivered or do you want them right now?”

               “I’m parked outside,” said Yoongi. “I can take them now.”

               “Sounds good to me,” said Makai. “Just go ahead and wait outside, I’ll have someone bring them up.”

               “Don’t damage them,” said Yoongi. “I like my products pristine.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

               Jimin and the child clinging to him stayed silent as they got into the car, all the way until Jungkook parked the car in the lot of a Popeye’s just outside of town. Then they all piled out of the car and Catalina and Jungkook immediately tackled Jimin in a tight hug. Yoongi climbed out of the car slowly, then helped the child out of the back seat.

               “What’s your name kid?” Yoongi asked as Catalina and Jungkook fussed over Jimin.

               “Caleb,” he said in a quiet voice.

               “You’re safe now,” said Yoongi. “We’ll get you back to your parents.”

               Caleb’s eyes widened.

               The whole group of them went into the Popeye’s and ordered as much food as everyone wanted. Caleb squeezed into the booth with Jimin, the rest sitting on the other side.

               “These are my friends I was telling you about,” said Jimin.

               “Ooohhh,” Caleb said, eyeing all three of them as he munched on his fries.

               “Are you guys hurt at all? What was it like in there?” Jungkook asked.

               “I mean, it wasn’t even that bad,” said Jimin.

               “Yeah! It wasn’t even that bad!” said Caleb.

               “Okay, I mean, it sucked really bad, and it would have been worse if we got bought by someone else before you got there, but it worked out fine,” said Jimin.

               “Yeah, the situation was pretty fucking bad!” Caleb said, giggling and dunking his chicken strips into too much sauce.

               Catalina and Jungkook’s eyes widened. Jimin and Yoongi just laughed.

               “Don’t say that in front of your parents,” said Jimin, ruffling the kid’s hair.

               “I just can’t wait to see the look on Namjoon’s face when we bring a child home with us,” said Catalina. Yoongi groaned and put his head in his hands.

               “Yeah, I can’t wait either,” he said, sounding like he could, in fact, wait.

[the-darklings]

—𝒆𝒙𝒊𝒕𝒖𝒔 𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒂 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒃𝒂𝒕;

—PART XII. | EXITUS ACTA PROBAT

pairing: john wick x f!reader x santino d’antonio

word count: 18.6k+ (🤡✊🏻)

summary: “It’s like everything in my life is unravelling right now and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

warnings: you will suffer

notes: 3 weeks in the making is the only explanation I have for the length aside from being a stubborn idiot and refusing to split it. We are also going to pretend like I didn’t write 60% of this chapter in the last 24hr. If you’re still reading this series, I love you! Enjoy! 

children of ares series: 01 | …. | 10 | 11 | . . | 13 |

“You don’t have to do this.”

Blinking sluggishly, you brace a hand on your work table, pausing in your preparations.

A familiar vial lays before you and it feels like an insult, like another example of your many failures. It’s not ready. Years of work and research and trying and failing and…

Now that you actually need it, you can’t be sure it’s ready. Can’t be sure it will work. So close.

Your hands shake and you press your forearms to your sides to still them.

Dragging your gaze away from it, you return to packing.

Winston still hasn’t looked at you since his earlier statement, his back to you as he stares out of your hotel room window.

“What choice do I have?”

“Every choice,” he shoots back easily, and finally looks at you. His stare is hard, cold. “Johnathan knew full well what he was doing in agreeing to that Marker, and when he refused it. Mr D’Antonio, too, is no child. They are responsible for their own actions. It is not your job to fix their messes.”

You throw down the article of clothing clenched between your fingers, stepping closer towards the older man.

“That Marker exists because of me,” you snap, breathless with anger. “And it shouldn’t. John’s home is rubble because of me. Of course, they’re both equally as accountable for this but it stems from me. It’s my responsibility, too, and I have to make it right.”

“You can’t interfere.”

You know that. Markers are as good as sacred.

Once the terms are set, they have to be fulfilled. No one can interfere with the completion of a Marker, or risk invoking the wrath of the table itself.

You can’t save Gianna no matter how much you want to. Not without throwing away everything you have worked for.

“I’m not going to,” you tell him, struggling for air. “But Camorra will hunt John, and the least I can do is help. This will end in blood on both sides otherwise. I can’t let that happen.”

Your voice softens by the last sentence but the hard look in Winston’s eyes remains. Not that you expected him to show much sympathy for anyone in this situation. He’s a man of rules, of order. In his eyes, if John agreed to a Marker then he should have honoured it, and what he does after is his business. You can’t help but agree with that, too. But the dread you’ve felt since Winston told you about the Marker’s existence has only amplified since your conversation with Santino.

It stalks your every step. Accompanies every breath your draw into your lungs.

This situation—and all the factors involved in it—are a time bomb ready to blow, obliterating everything.

“You are terrified,” Winston voices suddenly, his narrowed stare stripping you down to your core. As always, he can see right through you. His words, knowing and incisive, wrap around your throat, squeezing it tight. “So terrified that you will lose them that you would willingly place yourself in the middle of this. Regardless of the consequences.”

You say nothing. You only stand in front of him and feel pathetically small under that unwavering, wise gaze. Winston exhales quietly, shaking his head slightly.

“What if it’s you that gets torn down in this little squabble for power?” he wonders but not unkindly. “What then, (Name)?”

How can you explain it to him? What words can you use to convince a man of professional, unyielding conviction that your actions are anything other than a desperate attempt to keep people you care about safe? What is this, if not completely irrational on all sides of this unfolding conflict?

You’re teetering on that edge again and Winston is right. You are terrified.

Everything has a price, and things always come full circle.

“Sometimes—”

Your voice cracks and you swallow thickly, looking away for a second as you force yourself to take a calming breath. “Sometimes I feel so alone it’s like I can’t breathe,” you confess in a tiny whisper, faint and fragile. “And it’s like everything in my life is unravelling right now and there’s nothing I can do about it. You, Santino, John—you’re all I have. I can’t lose anyone else, Winston. I can’t.”

The man’s expression eases, the light in his eyes softening just a touch.

But before he can say anything else your phone rings. Swallowing, you grab it off your table. It must be Santino—

But you feel yourself grow cold at the number shining back at you on the screen.

“It’s the Administration.”

Winston’s chin dips, his lips pressing into a stiff line, and he gives you a serious look. “Then you better answer.”

Rome is beautiful.

Over the last five years, you have grown to love it as much as New York.

You’ve spent many days in this city, in this country, due to your association with Camorra alone.

The architecture, the food, the cobbled streets and the energetic flow of Italian in the air. It mixes with English, French, Russian, amongst many others; and stepping back into this city is like being dragged into a dance, dizzying as it is warm.

Italy has—in many ways—become a second home to you.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“I’m not here because I want to see you kill Gianna,” you speak tightly, not looking at the man beside you. On the flight here, you’ve barely exchanged more than a few words. He seemed just as preoccupied with his thoughts as you have been. All he did was give you a long, searching look and asked you if you’re sure about coming along. “That Marker exists because of me. It’s my responsibility, too. And—”

And you know Santino. You know Camorra.

“I’m your insurance policy.”

John turns after you when you move, and he almost looks out of place. This man in a dark suit and dark eyes, standing in a city of such culture and light, like an ink stain on a perfectly clean canvas. You hesitate, reading his desire to speak.  

“You’re angry.”

You almost laugh out loud. In fact, a hysteric laugh tickles the back of your throat and you chuckle instead, even if the sound lacks joy.

“Yeah,” you intone flatly, looking up towards the clear, open sky above you. “Yeah, I’m angry, John. I’m angry at Santino. I’m angry at you. I’m angry that this bullshit keeps happening.”

John’s expression is guarded and you don’t quite understand the look in his eyes.

He’s angry, that much you do know. He didn’t want to be back. But when he looks at you there is something else there now; a weight, a question, a hundred unspoken conversations.  

“I didn’t think it would come to this.”

You exhale through your nose, your expression relaxing with cold amusement. You’re so tired of everyone. Everyone and their insistence that they know what they’re doing.

Every nerve in your body feels raw, and you don’t try to hold back the acid in your voice.

“That so?” you contemplate softly, but the bite to your words is impossible to miss. “Then tell me what the hell did you think was going to happen, John? Did you think that Santino was never going to call in that Marker? You’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever known but I really have to question your logic here. I’m furious at Santino for calling it in but what were you thinking when you refused it? A Marker, John.”

Santino wasn’t exaggerating. With John refusing to honour an oath, he easily could have taken this matter straight to the High Table. And the latter is ruthless in dealing with such breach of their rules.

No bloodshed on Continental grounds and every Marker must be honoured. Such simple rules, really.

John’s refusal alone almost ended his life.

Wanting to stay away from this world is one thing. But knowingly creating a Marker only to later refuse it—

It’s one job.

Better one last head dive into the abyss than being dead.

“What is he to you?”

You don’t hear this tone often—not from him, and not directed at you. This is the Boogeyman talking with that low, icy voice that is just a touch more insistent than the John you know.

Your eyes find him and for several moments you are both silent.

Rome is a buzzing anthill of life and joy and despair but you two are suspended in this moment, and your tongue refuses to work.

Santino.

What is he to you?

I’m not your anything.

But that was a lie, wasn’t it? A hurt driven, angry lie because you are—

“A friend.”

But this time, it’s not enough.

John speaks before your lips even close. “What more than that?”

The push is unexpected.

But if this is the path your old beloved wants to walk.

“When you left—” you start and pause, gathering your thoughts. John is unmoving and silent, waiting for you to continue but you see how the corners of his mouth tilt downwards. He already knows that what you will say next is unlikely to be pleasant. “When you left I had no one. No one to turn to, no one I could trust. Every enemy you ever had then turned their sights onto me. They hunted me, tried to capture me, poison me. Santino helped me. Offered me to work for him to keep Tarasov appeased. He kept me safe. Of course, he got plenty out of our partnership over the years but…”

“But you trust him.”

Not a question.

John’s expression is drawn, and it’s difficult for you to read what’s going on behind those eyes.

His loaded statement hangs between you, and you take a moment to think about it properly.

With everything that you have gone through in the last five years alone—  

“I do,” you admit quietly, even though those words make you feel naked and vulnerable. Even when a tiny part of you still whispers that you are a fool for doing so. That Santino is just another liar in a long line of liars. “Which is why I have to ask you something, and you have to promise me that you will answer me honestly.”

I found you in six hours.

But did he really? Did Santino mean those words or did he simply exaggerate to make himself look better, to justify his own anger, his own bitterness and old resentments?

John only gazes at you, even though your confession seems to have dimmed something inside him. He doesn’t look surprised, however, and it makes you wonder what else he’s gleaned from this exchange.

“When I was taken in Tokyo,” you start after another uneasy moment between you. “How long did it take for you to go to Santino?”

The question that’s been plaguing you for so long now.

The question that immediately creases John’s expression with a muted, worn sort of sadness. Devastation.

You almost don’t want to hear his reply.

“Eight days. I—”

You interrupt him before he can go on any further, “And how long did it take for him to track my location?”

This time, John looks confused.

“Why—”

You inhale deeply and try to keep your composure. “Please, just tell me.”

He moves closer and for a moment you fear he’s going to try and touch you but he doesn’t and you’re grateful. You don’t need his pity now.  

“A little over six hours,” he tells you, and your throat closes up at his words, a lump forming. “(Name), I’m sorry.”

You know he is. You know he didn’t mean for any of this to happen. In the place of that inferno that has raged and raged inside you for years, now only ash and embers remain.

You miss the inferno.

It made you feel at least a little secure in your emotions.

But John’s words tangle around your heart for a different reason, pulling on it harshly.

Have I ever lied to you?

Santino hasn’t. Seemingly even now when you’ve been so sure that he finally has.  

“Why did you agree to that Marker?” you demand next, though this time your voice is thinner, less sure. You try to shake it, try to force iron and ice and discipline into your demeanour like your Master always told you is necessary. “You could have tracked me yourself.”

Because he’s John Wick. Because it would have been easy for him, even if it would have taken longer. At least he would have been free of the burden he now carries.  

“Because I felt like I failed you,” he admits in a hushed breath and the pain in his dark eyes no doubt matches your own. “Because you were gone and I—”

You nod your head in understanding, and a pained, brief smile flashes across your features.

“You felt guilty,” you assume and know you are right by the way your words make him briefly close his eyes. “Guilt and pity. Seems like our relationship has that in abundance.”

Your tone is lifeless and distant and you don’t look at him, choosing to gaze instead towards the breathtaking architecture around you.

For a long moment, it’s silent between you. It’s not awkward or tense though. It’s almost peaceful. In a sense, you are getting the answers to questions a part of you has always clung to. In a sense, a part of you finally feels at ease.  

“I wanted to save you. More than anything. That Marker…” he fades off. “The Marker was the fastest way to find you.”

Your eyes go back to him, meeting his, and you tell him one simple fact that he seems to have forgotten. “But you didn’t save me, John,” you remind with a slight smile but your words are not an accusation, they’re just words. “I saved myself.”

You crawled your way out of that pit on your own. And maybe you would have failed at the last hurdle. Maybe you would have been stopped or tracked down once the guards noticed something was wrong, but you had saved yourself. Killed Kishi yourself. Freed yourself.

You were alone in hell, and you had made it your own.

One person was dragged into its depths, and something else was spat back out.

You were forged in the violence and the despair of that darkness.

There is no shame in admitting that, or owning it.

John says nothing but the look on his face says everything.

“I need time,” you finally say, and try to control the fidgeting of your fingers. “I have a few errands I need to run. I’ll see you back at the Continental.”

He takes a step closer, his fingers grazing against the skin of your inner wrist.

You exhale sharply at the sensation, pulling back to look towards him instead.

His expression is torn, so you reassure him with a simple, “I’m not running from you. I think it’s finally time we have this conversation but I just—I need to…to think.”

To prepare for the inevitable pain. For tearing of the scars that have finally stopped aching after all these years.

You give him one last look, and you see the understanding there.

He lets you go. 

It takes you till nightfall to return to the Continental.

Gianna’s coronation is tomorrow night and it cramps your stomach with nerves just thinking about it.

This is a ruthless world, and Gianna is a ruthless woman.

You know very well that she would do the same to Santino if it came down to a choice. But—

But you can’t help but blame Giovanni once again.

It’s his fault. He’s the one who made his children into this. Pushed them apart because only one could inherit his seat. Morphed them and shaped them into what he needed them to be. Stole from them the loyalty and the bond that should have been between the two siblings.

It makes you feel so helpless, so bitter with disappointment. Perhaps Gianna is not your favourite person in the world after what she did, but you did consider her your friend once. Once you believed it was mutual. You’ve shared time together, too. Bonded. Cared for one another.

She doesn’t deserve this.

You hate how unfair it all is.

Tradition, old hurts, resentment, fears.

They have all come together to set the stage for a tragedy.

“It is good to have you with us again, Vipress.”

Your attention snaps to the tall man walking down the stairs of the Rome Continental, his guards only a few steps behind him.  

Julius greets you with a faint smile and a kiss on your cheek that prompts a smile of your own.

“Ciao, Julius,” you greet him. “You look well. Winston sends his regards.”

The man in front of you chuckles. “Ah, my old friend. How is he?”

You suppress a smirk. “Still Winston.”

Julius nods with a knowing look and leads you towards the reception. “The presidential suite has already been prepared for you as per Mr D'Antonio's old request.”

Santino.

God. You’ve tried not to think about him since you walked out of the gallery, leaving him behind. That look on his face has seared itself inside your mind. So much so, that it’s easier not to think about your goodbye. Easier not to think about the Lovers and how they might use your separation to get to him. Easier not to think about all the things you should have said to him instead.  

Stop. Think. This is insane. This is not worth it. You’re smarter than this.

But you can understand his desperation, too. In a sense. Because if the situation was reversed, is there anything you won’t do for him, or John, or Winston? Ares? Any of your friends?

When you have so little, you cling to things that make you happy with desperation and hopelessness only few can truly understand.

But that does not excuse his recklessness, does not excuse his actions no matter how worry driven they might have been.

“I’m sorry,” you say immediately, assuming the worst, knowing how Santino can get when he doesn’t get his way. “Was he unpleasant about it? I—”

Julius gives you a brief, amused look. “No, he was rather...polite about it, actually. He learned from last time, I believe.”

Yes, last time.

Last time when Santino chewed out one of the attendants for miserving him. Every bit the spoiled mafia heir. You refused to speak with him for the rest of your stay in Rome. Once, not so long ago, you were less than that attendant who was only trying to make an honest living. You were less. One mistake did not give him the right to unleash his temper as he did. Did not give him the right to look down on them without knowing anything about their life just because he was richer.

Your silence, your dismissal and refusal to so much as acknowledge him, had stung deeply. He had acted prissy at first, too, but with days that passed in a tense stalemate, he mellowed.

Perhaps he did learn his lesson.

He apologised for the incident eventually, no matter how reluctant.

Perhaps he can still see the errors of his way now as well.

You hope he will.

“Oh. Thank you,” you say instead, and shift in your spot while you wait for the receptionist to give you your key. “John?”

Julius makes a thoughtful noise at the back of his throat, placing his palm on the gleaming dark wood.

“Yes, Mr Wick,” the man begins, his tone leading as he gazes in your direction. “I admit I was rather surprised to learn that you have come to Rome together on business, and not with Mr D’Antonio instead. I initially feared the worst.”

You almost laugh.

A slight grin appears despite your attempt to keep it at bay.

“Let me guess,” you muse, trying to hold back your mirth. “The Pope? Not this time, Julius.”

The man’s answering stare is so unamused, you chuckle under your breath. It feels good to smile, even if it takes considerable effort to do so.

Julius takes your keycard, but hesitates in passing it to you.

“I do hope that whatever business you two have in this city will not cause too much trouble, yes?”

Your slight smile falls and you break the eye contact, glancing away.

You wish you could reassure him and mean it. But that would be a lie.

“I can’t promise that.”

Julius doesn’t look surprised to hear it. He is a man who has seen a lot just like Winston. They’re old, wise wolves in a world of bloodthirsty beasts. He knows that your and John’s presence here, now, can’t possibly mean anything good.  

“I wish you a pleasant stay as always,” Julius says, at last, holding out the card towards you. “Mr Wick is staying in room 459.”

You try for a smile again but it feels forced this time, empty. Giving him a grateful nod instead, you pocket the card and head towards the elevator, trying to pretend you don’t feel Julius’ gaze follow you the entire way.

Getting to John’s room takes only minutes, and you knock on the door once, balancing on the balls of your feet.

You feel so restless, it’s like your skin is crawling constantly.

You’re dead to the world, a sly whisper tickles against the back of your neck.

Shut up.

The voice still continues though, and you try to drown it out by counting louder in your head. Like placing bricks between you and Kishi’s ghost.  

The door swings open and John’s face appears through the crack. You know he has a gun in his hand from one look.

“Don’t look so surprised to see me,” you tell him flatly and step closer, waiting for him to let you inside. He does and your eyes sweep over the room. An old habit that’s been integrated into you by the very man who now resides inside it. “I assume you made preparations already. I will need debriefing on your plan.”

You wander closer towards the table where you notice maps already laid out. John is methodical and you know he always plans.  

“Are you sure you want to get involved in this?” his voice sounds from behind you.

Your fingers brush over the edge of the papers, humming, and you glance over your shoulder.

“The Marker must be honoured,” you state, your tone wooden. “Camorra lives by the rules even more so than other families but they will retaliate, and you will need every little shred of help you can get. Trust me.”

John comes closer, his expression thoughtful and you look back down towards the table. “Catacombs, huh? Smart.”

An easy way to get into the party and out without being seen.

You knew of the tunnels. The D’Antonio siblings have told you about them.

That gives you a pause.

Even if you were miserable back then, those months you’ve spent with them have been some of the happiest in hindsight.

“Santino told me. About what you did for me,” John speaks suddenly, like those words have been waiting to burst out of him, and comes to stand beside you. His stare is unwavering, latching onto you and your breaths even out. “How the only reason he helped me with my task is because you asked him to.”

You don’t say anything.

This certainly explains John’s earlier conflict—that heaviness in his eyes that said he wanted to ask something but couldn’t bring himself to do so.

“Anything else Santino tell you?”

You wish you didn’t sound so morose, so joyless.

John’s lips part and he exhales quietly.

He knows full well what he’s about to start.

What two sad people you both have become.

Wary of each other and the dense mass of unspoken things between you.  

“Why would you do it?”

You scoff, turning away from him as you shake your head.

“Really John?” you wonder in disbelief as you turn your attention back to him. John is still peering at you, waiting for a reply. “Because I loved you. Because the alternative was you potentially dying and no matter how much you hurt me, I could never live with myself if that happened.”

His eyes lower, silent, and you can’t help but wonder, “Did you think that my feelings for you were a passing fancy? Is that it?”

His gaze flickers upwards, his dark eyes sparking at the carefully hidden hurt in your words.

“No. I knew that what we had was real,” he rebukes softly and steps closer. You look up at him and hate security that his presence always brings. “Thank you. For giving me that time with her.”

The sincerity in his voice hurts.

Helen. The beautiful woman you can still recall in your memories. Who stood and fit beside John so well. His other half. The woman who he chose.

That’s what it came down to, in the end, a choice.

You turn away from him, tugging off your pea coat and dropping it over the arm of a plush chair as you lower yourself onto it. Leaning back into the comfort of the expensive material, you tap your fingers against the armrest, staring up at the man who still stands beside the table.

“Tell me about her,” you request calmly, your fingers tapping, tapping, tapping—  “Tell me everything. From start to finish.”

John blinks, his surprise clear before he masks it, turning to face you fully as you both stare at each other.

The tension in the room grows.

“Are you sure you want to do this now—”

You almost bare your teeth at him.

“Yes, now. You wanted this chance, and I deserve to know everything,” you remind him through gritted teeth, and press your palm against the armrest when his attention moves towards your restless fingers. “Because I am so sick of people presuming that they know what’s best for me or how I feel.”

You won’t be in this mess if people just stopped assuming.  

If everyone just stopped and listened.

John pushes away from the table, walking towards the other vacant chair in the room with measured steps. He sits himself down, and every shift of his muscles is heavy, weary.

“Do you remember the Dublin job?”

“Yes, what about it?”

Dublin was the last time you worked together. The very last of your happiness before your birthday, before Tokyo, before everything that followed after.

A bar, thick smoke, rowdy singing and you leaning into his side—into his warmth. In a shadowed corner of that bar his hand had rested against your lower back, his fingers delicate against your warm skin.

He had smiled at your every joke, and you had fallen more and more in love with every twitch of his mouth. With him.

There—hidden away from the world—you had both been free to be happy.

However briefly.  

“After we came back, Tarasov asked to see me,” John’s low voice drags you out of the memory you haven’t visited for years, and you glance at him. “He told me that he knew about us. He told me that he is willing to give me one last chance to make it right. Either I stop whatever is going on between us or…”

“Or?”

“Or he kills you,” he divulges and his tone grows strained. “I knew he meant it. He said that he couldn’t have my loyalties split. Either I put a stop to it myself or he will have me kill you. I—I pushed you back because I couldn’t let that happen.”

You swallow weakly, moving your eyes away as he speaks.

It hurts to recall this, but you let him talk. This is perhaps the most open he has ever been with you so you listen.

“Better to hurt you than—I couldn’t lose you,” he whispers faintly, folding his fingers. His golden wedding ring catches your eye in the dim light of the room. He still wears it. Maybe he always will. You know you would. “You meant too much. I wanted—I suppose it doesn’t matter what I wanted now but...I did it to keep you safe. The only way I knew how.”

You nod your head vaguely, and lace your own fingers in your lap. The skin beneath your knuckles strains but you force the rest of your body to remain motionless.

“And Helen?”

There is no resentment in your voice, just curiosity.

“After I rejected your feelings, you drifted away just as I expected,” John resumes after a lengthy pause. “I knew you would need space so I was prepared to wait. Helen…I ran into her by accident. She invited me for lunch. I don’t even know why I accepted. I suppose I hoped that it would take my mind off you. Help to make it…easier.”

Easier. You wonder which part of this was the easy one.

“I never intended for anything to happen between us. Not ever. But Helen she was—she was kind and gentle and so open.”

Oh, that one stings.

From all the things he’s said, this hurts the most.

Kind. Gentle. Open.

All the things you are not.

Because you had to kill and strangle those parts of yourself to survive.

Because you always wanted to be those things but couldn’t.

Helen must have been such an easy choice, and you can’t even blame him for it.

Who could ever want you? Without any catches, without judgement or reservations.

Who would when the world is full of wonderful, bright people like Helen?

John continues when you fail to respond. “I convinced myself that this would be for the better. That even if we tried, Tarasov would have killed you. That in the long run, we would both be happier. But maybe—I never wanted this life, (Name). But I wanted to do this differently. Properly. Then Tokyo happened and…”

He pauses, inhaling deeply, seemingly unable to continue on.

His head dips down and you watch his profile. Your hand lifts and you press your fingers to your lips, trying to smother the hurt that quakes your bones.  

“There was not one moment during those days when I didn’t wish you needed me as much as I needed you, John. Not one,” you voice tightly and press your lips together when they tremble. John looks up at you, his expression crushed, his eyebrows tightly knit. “You should have told me. But you made the decision on your own. What if I wanted to try anyway? Wanted to fight for what we had?”

“He would have killed you—”

Something creaks, and then snaps.

“And you should have told me!”

It explodes right out of you, vicious and quick.

You practically jump to your feet, unable to sit still. But you don’t go anywhere, you simply stand there, staring at him wide-eyed.

John watches you for a beat before bowing his head. Something hot churns in the pit of your stomach at his continuous silence.

“I know,” he utters. “I know it was selfish of me but I thought I was protecting you.”

Protecting you.

He did. You know that. But in so many ways by protecting you from one demon, he left you alone to face an entire hoard of them. So many even more dangerous than Tarasov ever was.

The next question is so soft, so unguarded, you almost hate yourself for asking it.

“Did you ever, even for a moment, actually love me?”  

John’s head snaps up to you so quickly, you’re surprised you don’t hear his bones snapping. “You know I did. You matter more to me than—”

His voice cracks and he rises to his feet with a frustrated sigh. The way he fidgets with his ring catches your attention before his fingers slip out of sight.

“Tell me about Tokyo,” you insist before he can say anything else in regards to your pathetic question. “Santino said that you broke a deal between you. What kind of deal?”

For a moment, you think that John will press further. But perhaps he realises how fragile this situation is. How easily it can all fall apart and he still has things that need saying because he indulges you.

“Winston called me one day. Said that he hasn’t heard from you in days,” he starts, uneasy, like the memory is painful for him. You can’t help but wonder how bad it will get if he looks so apprehensive already. “That something might be wrong. I went to Viggo and he confirmed that you have gone off the grid. A mission gone wrong. He wasn’t sure if you were alive or dead. I asked for permission to find you but he denied me. He said the potential power conflict wasn’t worth it if you were stupid enough to get caught. Winston couldn’t get involved so I had only one other option left. Santino demanded a Marker and—”

“And?” you whisper, your voice hoarse, faint.

John’s shoulders curve downwards. His voice now is raspy, both pained and hushed. A lump in your throat grows larger as he comes to a stop in front of you. Back where you started only minutes ago.  

“And he suspected that Yakuza might retaliate just like Viggo did. So a deal was struck,” he reveals, tracking your reactions carefully. “If you’re still alive, he gives me the resources to get you out and I pass you to him. He would place you under Camorra’s protection until things settled. In terms of power, his family is one of the very few that could withstand any potential conflict. But when I found you—”

You were broken and cracked and destroyed beyond repair.

John continues and the pain in his voice feels like a stab right into your beating heart, twisting deep. “You were hurt so badly I—I couldn’t. I killed them all and had no intention of leaving you again,” he exhales heavily and meets your stare before adding, “So yeah, I broke the deal with Santino because I didn’t trust him. Because I worried that he might use your vulnerability against you. To manipulate you.”

Back then, you won’t have put it past Santino to do exactly that.

The sly, conniving man that he is.  

But he reacted to Tokyo in a way you didn’t expect.

A part of you knows that neither did he.  

“And you didn’t think once to tell me about any of this?” you pose quietly because talking is so difficult now. “To tell me about Helen sooner instead of hiding secrets? Instead of lying.”

You’re so tired.

So very tired.

You can’t help but wonder if you’ll ever find peace at this rate. Or if you’ll always be stuck in this cycle. Over and over again. Without end.

John reaches out and for a moment his fingers hover over your cheek. You’re grateful that he doesn’t touch you, though something in his expression tells you that he wants to. “You were hurt. I was afraid that if I told you—”

His fingers drop away.

“I wanted to do this right. Wait till you recover fully. Sit you down and explain everything,” he says softly, and his soft dark eyes watch you sadly. “I knew what this sort of news will do to you. I saw how much you struggled. It was never about keeping it from you. So when you found my phone, I knew you would hate me. I figured it would be easier for you to forget me if you did. Easier to let go, so I left.”

You look away, your eyes starting to burn no matter how hard you try to blink the sensation away.

“Left because I knew that you will recover and succeed in this world,” he states, and even if you can no longer see his expression, you feel his attention focus on you. “Because you’re the strongest person I have ever met. And I hoped that one day, maybe, we would meet again and I could explain it to you. That we could rebuild.”

Rebuild.

As if it could ever be that simple.

You want to. You want to believe in the idea of having him back in your life but—

But you don’t trust him.

And that’s the problem. You can’t trust him anymore.

That gaping hole inside your chest aches and your expression crumbles as you turn away from him. Pressing the heel of your palm against your eyes, you digest his words silently.

It’s quiet for so long that it doesn’t surprise you when John’s unsure voice finally reaches you again. “Say something, (Name).”

It’s a plea.

A gentle plea that rips and shreds whatever little composure you still have left. Whatever little self-control and discipline you have managed to gather over the years.

���What do you want me to say, John? That you hurt me? That it hurt when you left? Because I assure you did a lot fucking more than just hurt.��

You spin around to face him, your hand dropping away from your face and he inhales at the venom in your voice, at the way your voice weakens and cracks.

“You destroyed my heart,” you choke out harshly, and now that the words are coming out, that he’s in front of you, you can’t stop. It comes out as five years of fear, and anger, and hurt that’s been repressed for too long. “You tore my trust, my hopes and dreams, to shreds. You made me lose my way completely. Because of you, I had to fake a smile and a laugh for years. Because of you, I can’t let anyone else in. Because I’m fucking terrified that they will leave me too. That I will never be good enough for them to just stay. Because you never stayed.”

He tries to touch your shoulder but you jerk back roughly. You’re practically gasping for breath and his figure blurs.

Tears.

You can’t recall the last time—

“You taught me the lesson of never letting anyone close again, so I’m never hurt the way you hurt me,” you gasp loudly, and the words stutter inside your chest briefly. “I lived so long just—just hoping to forget you and everything that’s ever happened between us. Because of you, I’m empty, and I blame others for the fact that I can’t trust them but it’s me. I’m the problem. You took it from me. That hope. My—my ability to love and trust and dream. Why did you take it, John?”

The tears finally spill, hot and wet, as they trail down your cheeks and your hands press against your face, trying desperately to wipe them away, hide them from him.

“Why? Why did you have to leave me when I n-needed you so much?” you sob, your body shaking and everything crumbles and caves inside your chest. It’s like a glass that’s been filling for years finally overflowing. No matter how hard you try to turn off the tap, ebb the flow, it won’t stop. “Why didn’t you just stay? I loved you so much.”

His arms wrap around you. You try to shove him away, but he’s stronger or perhaps you truly are that weak.

Another sob rattles free from your chest, violent and raw, tearing from deep inside your throat. Your arms feel clumsy as you try to push against him but his grip only constricts, holding you closer.

“I’m sorry, (Name),” he breathes against your neck, his voice raspy with anguish. “You don’t have to forgive me, but I need you to know that I never—I never meant to do this to you. I’m so sorry.”

You stop fighting.

You let him hold you.

You’re so very, very tired now.

For a thousand things said, there is a thousand more unspoken.

Yesterday had been a big step.

A step in clearing the air between you and you know that it’s done you both good, even if the timing of it had not been ideal.

Emotions had to be pushed aside quickly to make room for preparations.

Still, John held onto you for a long time, and a part of you can’t help but wonder if it was as much about comforting you as it was about comforting himself.

The question burns at the tip of your tongue but now is hardly the best time to ask it.

The catacombs are as dark and cold as you expected them to be. The air is dense and dusty, almost heavy with lack of fresh oxygen this deep underground. Together you cut through the tunnels, both of you clad in dark suits that will hopefully keep bullets at bay.

Because you doubt there is any other way this can go.

The thought of what you’re walking into right now only exhaust you more, drains you more. The invisible edge beneath your feet crumbles just a little bit more.

Below, gaping darkness awaits.

You’ve been lost in that darkness once before.

You don’t want to go back.

Trying to push your dangerous thoughts away, you focus on counting your steps, the shadows dancing a menacing tango across the shallows of these tunnels.    

“What is it?”

Your head twists towards John and even though his features are mostly hidden by darkness, you can hear his concern.

You’re distracted, restless, and it shows.

Every edge of your usually careful calm is frazzled.

“It’s nothing,” you lie smoothly because it’s so very easy to do so now. “It’s just…when you left. I stayed with Camorra for almost a year. Worked for them in exchange for their protection. Gianna and Santino have told me stories about the Catacombs. They said the tunnels were haunted by all their dead ancestors. It’s a bit surreal actually being down here.”

He digests your words, and you feel his intention to delve further into the topic but you don’t have the will to talk about the D’Antonio siblings right now. Not when—

The edge cracks just a little bit further.

“Come on,” you say before he can speak. “We should hurry.”

It only takes you another few minutes of silent walking to reach the party.

It’s loud and bright and extravagant.

Befitting Camorra though it clearly lacks the traditional edge these affairs usually have.

Camorra is all about soirees and parties very few are invited to.

Maybe Gianna is truly trying to bridge the gap between the two worlds.

Maybe inviting you was truly about waving a flag and calling for a truce.  Perhaps, now that Giovanni is dead, her desire to see Santino is less about insulting him, belittling him for not getting the seat, and about doing their own rebuilding instead.

It’s a nice thought.

But you know Gianna.

Even if she does want those things, there must be some benefit to her. Of which there are many when it comes to the possibility of a renewed friendship between you three. Except once she had that friendship. Once, you thought that she and Santino can be brother and sister again. That with time you can help them trust each other again.

You stand beside John as you track the woman and her loyal guard across the immaculate lawn while music blares loudly.

Cassian.

You’ve been trying very hard not to think about what this will mean to him.

It makes you feel like a traitor just thinking about his reaction.

John looks towards you but you don’t meet his stare. Instead, you simply dip your head in agreement.

This is it.

No more running.

Everything has a price.

You are here because John is here. John is here because Santino called in his Marker. Santino created the Marker as a punishment towards the man who wronged you.

On and on it tangles—this endless web of pain and choices and consequences between you.

Following them is easy.    

You are quiet as the shadows that hide you, watching Gianna fix her makeup in the bathroom mirror.

The space is vast and tastefully decorated with dark wood and golden accents everywhere you look. Muted lights illuminate the space and a large running pool of water sits in the middle of the room that you know runs hot water regardless of the time of day.

Right now, you’re grateful for the delicate trickle of the bathwater that drowns out your unsteady breaths.

Gianna shifts, straightening, every bit the deadly, brilliant woman you remember her as and halts.

For behind her stands the Reaper, his face full of regret and sadness.  

“John,” she voices, her surprise clear and her eyes snag on the dark corner where you still linger, unable to move. “V.”

You hate the slow understanding already filling her elegant features at your presence.

“Hello, Gianna.”

You want to move but can’t, it doesn’t matter though. Gianna, as always, makes the first move.

“There was a time not so long ago in which I considered us friends,” she states frankly, turning around and her glittering gown sparkles like stars, her fur overcoat only adding to her stunning but deadly appearance.

You’ve always admired her. Envied her in many ways, though she always laughed softly at such admissions.

John moves closer, his steps heavy with dread but the grip on his gun doesn’t loosen.  

“I still do.”

Gianna’s lips twist, the look in her brilliant blue eyes glacial. “Yet here you both are,” she says, unimpressed. “Death’s very emissary and the Serpent in the garden.”

Her eyes shift to you, still standing in the shadows of the lavish bathroom suite and your throat closes up at her scrutiny.

She stares at you as if challenging you to step back, to hide from her.

But you won’t. You are here because you respect her more than that, regardless of what may have transpired between you years ago.

You step into the light and Gianna’s cold expression eases a touch. Her chin tilts and she acknowledges you in her own proud way. Not that you would expect anything else from her.    

“I know why you are here, V,” she says knowingly even though the scathing twist of her mouth doesn’t drop. “But the question is what brought you back, John?”

“A Marker.”

That gives her a pause. “Held by?”

“Your brother.”

Gianna’s coolly composed expression fractures for a moment. In it, you see her dawning understanding, all the remaining pieces dropping silently into place inside her clever mind. Her eyes drag from John to you again, and you already know what she will ask next. “Did you know?”

Your quiet breath is more of a wheeze. “No. I did not,” you mutter tightly. “Not till recently.”

She stares at you for a beat, no doubt weighing the honesty of your words before her attention swings back towards the man in front of her.

“Tell me, John,” she begins, her gaze thoughtful, her thoughts racing. “This Marker, is it how you got out?”

John shakes his head, and you speak before he can. “It was for me. For Tokyo.”

Gianna blinks once, her lips parting in understanding.

“Tokyo. All this, and yet you still left,” she goads, a touch smug. “For an outsider, if I’m not mistaken. Tell me, what was her name? The woman who is responsible for all this pain.”

John seems almost reluctant to part with it. “Helen.”

“Helen,” Gianna repeats mockingly, pitching her voice into an almost dreamlike tilt as she moves closer towards the Boogeyman. “This Helen…was she worth the price you now seek to pay? Was she worth all the pain you have caused?”

You’re not sure you’re breathing as you watch John hesitate before nodding his head once.

Gianna’s eyes slide towards you knowingly and you meet her stare, holding it for a few moments.  

“Now, let me tell you what happens when I die,” she speaks calmly, seemingly completely unaffected by what she now knows is the end. Her end. “Santino will claim my seat at the table. He will take New York, and you two will be the ones who have gifted it to him. Though I suppose it is what you always wanted, isn’t it, piccola vipera?”

Your heart clenches at the old nickname she always used to call you.

You take a step towards them, and then another, every step as shaky as the last.

“I never wanted this to happen, Gianna,” you whisper weakly, trying to keep your expression calm. “I’m sorry.”

She almost glides towards you and you’re not surprised when she leans close, her fingers ghosting over your cheek. Just like her brother, she touches you freely because they seem to both believe in the intimacy of the most simple kind. Sometimes full of desire, sometimes of affection, sometimes of simple compassion and friendship.  

“I gave you that invitation because I had hoped we can be friends again,” she says and you hear the accusation there, no matter how finely laced it is into her delicate words. “I had hoped but I was foolish. I should have done things differently, I see that now. Fought for your loyalty before my little brother managed to steal it. Tried to take you away from him before you started to care for him,” she whispers, her words growing colder as her fingers brush over your bandaged ear, and she adds a tart, “Hmm. No matter.”

Her expression stutters, any warmth in her eyes fading as she pulls back abruptly, pushing past John as she approaches the sinks. She stares at herself in the mirror before ripping her fur coat off her body and dropping it on the floor. Her hands rest over her waist, and you’re not sure if she’s simply angry, debating what to do, or if she is trying to hold herself together.

She turns towards the running bath, taking a few steps towards it before she reaches behind herself to unzip her sparkling dress.

John tracks her every move with predator’s intensity.

You stand a step behind him and watch silently as the scene before you unfolds.

The dress slips down, pooling at her feet, leaving the woman before you completely nude. Her hand slides inside her luscious dark hair, and she tugs loose the brooch holding her curls in place. She traces over the intricate design of the brooch as she steps into the bath, the water inside sloshing around her feet.

“What would you Helen think about this, John?” she wonders bitingly, coldly, looking up at the man. “What would your Helen think about you? Hm?”

She places the honed edge of the brooch against her wrist and drags it down.

“Gianna—” you gasp out, stumbling towards her.

Her eyes snap to you and you halt, watching in horror as she does the same to her other wrist.

Red rains down, falling into the water below like a river of rubies.

“Why?” John asks, confused, as he comes to stand beside you.

She turns towards you, folding her arms as her body becomes a canvas of scarlet, and gives John a look that is every bit her brother and father. That D’Antonio pride mocks him openly, wickedly, and her lack of fear only makes this harder.

“Because I lived my life my way, and I will die my way.”

She trudges through the water, her knees shaking and you hurry towards her, your arms locking around her as she stumbles, sliding down and deeper into the warm depths.

“I’m sorry.”

Your voice is a wrecked whisper and her fingers sink into your dark suit sleeves.  

“Do you still hate me, piccola vipera?” she wonders faintly, her icy eyes finding your own as you hold her up, slanting over the bath.

John’s footsteps drawing nearer are distant as you focus on the woman in your arms.  

“No,” you breathe with a pained smile. “I never did. I was disappointed. Hurt. Our friendship was real to me.”

A brief smile appears on Gianna’s face, her finger smoothing over the velvet material absentmindedly.  

“I will not apologise for what I did,” she tells you bluntly and you almost laugh though you want to sob more. Just as expected. “I thought it was best for me and my goals. I know you understand,” she remarks before tilting her chin in your direction so she can see you clearly. “I always knew that you would side with my brother.”

But you only shake your head in reply; a sad, feeble motion. “That isn’t it. I was against this,” you tell her because she needs to know, needs to understand why things ended up as they did. Because she deserves better than to die not knowing revenge has been served. “But Santino didn’t call the Marker in just for the seat. Chicago, Gianna. Chicago all those years ago. That was us. Someone knows. The Black Dragon has marked us for death and sent the Lovers after us.”

An indistinct exhales slips free and her eyes spark with understanding, with ruthless sort of satisfaction.  

“I always suspected,” she murmurs with a sliver of a smirk gracing her features. “It was about revenge.”

John lowers himself on Gianna’s other side but you can feel his eyes drilling into you.

“Swear to me,” the woman demands abruptly, her nails sinking into your arm.

“What?”

She’s always been strong. Perhaps not physically but in sheer will. So it doesn’t surprise you when she finds enough strength in her body to tug you to her, her lips pressing against your ear.

“Swear to me that you will not let my family name die. Swear to me that my line will continue after I’m gone.”

Her harsh, hushed words wrap around something inside your heart, yanking with a strength that makes you flinch. You pull back, staring at her wild expression.

She looks so pale, but her eyes rage.

“I will—”

Gianna’s lips twist into a snarl—a break in composure you have never seen from her.

“No. I am the blood of old Camorra. You will swear it,” she hisses with a laboured breath, her fingers trembling around your arms. “On your life, on your honour, on your name. I will not have any less than that.”

Your eyes close, squeezing tightly, before you open them again, giving her a serious look.

“I swear it,” you exhale, forcing the tremble in your voice to steady. “The word of old Camorra. From me to you. I swear it.”

You are not Camorra. You are in no real position to give to her this oath, and coming from you it means close to nothing but—

But Gianna knows that you would never swear something like this unless you meant it with your entire being. Because she knows that you respect their values. For her, for her family, there is no higher vow.

Her grip on you loosens, her stormy features easing, as if that promise has given her reassurance she needed to find peace.

For a few breaths, it’s quiet. The pool of crimson keeps growing.

John, who’s been silent the entire exchange, reaches out, gently folding his fingers around Gianna’s other hand. He squeezes her fingers between his own and a brief, cool smile flashes across the woman’s face.

“Good. It seems like Papi was right,” she notes, her words growing milder, tenuous. “He was right.”

You’re not sure you can speak, but John does.  

“Right about what?”

Gianna’s lashes flutter a few times before she opens her eyes, slanting her head weakly in your direction.

“After Santino failed to bargain with my father…he went to Tarasov anyway. To demand your freedom like I told you,” she divulges with a cutting little smile. In power till the very end. “And I remember my father looked at me when he found out and laughed. He laughed, and he said, ‘He is more like me than I realised. He would let this whole world burn to ash, as long as she’s the one standing beside him in the flames.’ That tipped the balance and won me the seat. Because we do not know how to love by halves and father knew that. Our love burns brighter than the sun, and I warned you what will happen if you earn his.”

Did Santino really disobey Giovanni and went to Tarasov despite his father’s refusal? Did it cost him the seat—

A shudder rolls through Gianna’s body and she slumps slightly, making you tighten your grip on her. Your fingers find her hand, gripping them desperately between your own. Her hand is already growing stiff and cool and your stomach coils.

You hold her close, ignoring the way your sleeves sink into the bloody water as a result. She grows weaker with every exhale and your eyes burn when you bury your nose against her hair. Her favourite Chanel perfume tickles your nose and you choke on your breath.

“I’m sorry, Gianna, I’m sorry.”

Her fingers squeeze around yours, just barely, her thumb tracing a small circle against your skin. “Will you weep for me, hm?” she murmurs slyly, her voice barely audible. “Lovely, silly girl. Remember your…vow.”

And then she’s gone.

You cling onto her, your nose buried in her silky hair as you breathe heavily through gritted teeth.

“(Name).”

John’s voice is kind, patient, but you hear the reminder there. You’re here to do a job. You can’t linger for longer than necessary.

But it’s hard to let go.

Even if she’s gone now.

John’s fingers settle on your shoulder, squeezing slightly.

Your feet keep slipping from that crumbling edge. The darkness below hums your name. A mix of voices that blend together.

You will always make the same mistakes. You will always lose.

Stiff and reluctant, you let go, allowing John to tug you back.

Tears sting your eyes but you don’t let them fall this time.

Gianna would be disappointed in you if you cried.

Inhaling, you stand to your feet, turning away from the still body as you wait for John to finish this.

A trickle of water—

Bang.

Your eyes snap shut, your expression twisting.

It’s serene, the silence that follows.    

“We should go,” you inform him without turning around. “Someone is bound to come looking soon.”

You start walking away but John’s fingers latch onto your sopping wet arm, halting you. You jerk away from his touch, biting out a warning, “Don’t.”

You don’t want to talk right now.

You don’t want anything right now.

John doesn’t try to touch you again, and you know that this is hard for him, too.

The deafening rhythm of music washes over you both the moment you exit the bathroom and you lead the way, your shoulders stiff and expression wavering.

“Let me go first,” you say, glancing at him fleetingly over your shoulder before hiding your expression again. “Make sure the path is clear, I’ll meet you by the entrance to the catacombs. Don’t linger.”

Before John can say anything to contradict your statement, you stride into the hefty crowd of intoxicated guests. Most are tipsy. Others have that familiar glazed look in their eyes that tells you alcohol wasn’t their choice of poison this evening.

The music pounds with the beats of your heart and your shoulder knocks against someone. You ignore the contact, pushing past the moving bodies blindly.

It’s so hard to breathe. You’re out in the open air but you feel sick.

Changing your direction, you head east—

And twist your body immediately, hiding your face in the swarm of bodies.

Shit.

Of course.

You shouldn’t be surprised to see them here. After the ceremony, they would have officially served Gianna.

The other half of Camorra’s Elite Guard stands ahead of you at the edge of the crowd.

Julian and Dario linger on the outskirts, chatting between themselves though their eyes lift on occasion, scanning for any threats.

Julian is shorter from the two, his frame more athletic. His dark hair is neatly styled back for the occasion, and his equally dark moustache twitches whenever he speaks. His hands are folded in front of him and even from this distance, you can see the gleaming Camorra rings and dark tattoos on his hands.

Dario, by comparison, is a mountain of strength and muscle. The length of his long hair is pulled back into a messy bun, a few strands brushing against his cheeks whenever his head turns from side to side every few minutes. His broad frame towers over most guests here as he stands with his hands in his pockets, and you slant your body downwards, using the numbers and the darkness for cover.

Unlike the rest of the security detail, they don’t stick out.

In fact, they could be guests simply having a good time but you know better.

These men are as dangerous as they are unremarkable at first glance.

Or they would be if they weren’t some of the deadliest you have ever met.

Step, at least, is nowhere to be seen. A small blessing. The youngest member of the guard seems to have a bizarre sixth sense when it comes to locating you just about anywhere.

They can’t see you.

This is not a confrontation you can afford right now.  

Shoving the people out of the way, you trek back when multiple gunshots pierce the air deafeningly.    

Shit.

People scream, scattering, and you push harder against the mob as you try to force your way towards the epicentre.

By the time the crowd spits you back out, you notice the back of Cassian’s powerful body disappear in the direction of the bathroom and your stomach sinks.

Oh no.

Guards dash east, chasing after someone, happy to ignore you in the chaos. For a second, you debate your choices before you peel after the guards.

Tracking John’s progress is easy.

You follow the trail of bodies he leaves behind.

It’s when you reach the catacombs that you suspect something is very wrong.

John is not here to greet you. Gripping your pistol in one hand and a sharpened blade in another, you cut across the darkened tunnels.

Gunfire explodes in the darkness ahead and you freeze, your eyes narrowing.

Moving quicker, it doesn’t take you long to stumble upon the first body. You use your foot to nudge the body over, levelling your pistol on it just in case.

You recognise that gear.

Camorra’s men.

Specifically those under Ares’ command.  

“Fuck.”

This time, you run. Cutting through the tighter, side tunnels, you try to get ahead to cut off any potential attackers.

You’re grateful that yesterday instead of going to your room to be miserable and pathetic, you pulled yourself together enough to study the layout plans.

Pushing through a small opening, you round the corner—

A barrel of a gun appears in your face, and you throw your arm in front of you too, your own pistol ready. It takes a split second for the face in front of you to register.

You tackle him to the side, a bullet sailing past his head as you both fall to the dirty ground with a painful thud.

John is calm as always though, steady, and reloads his weapon smoothly. That cold calculation behind this calm used to chill you once upon a time. But not anymore.

His head rises slightly over the crumbling pillar and your fingers sink into his shoulder, dragging him back down with a furious scowl.  

“Get down!” you snap, searching your pockets for the familiar coolness of your vials. “Go, now. I’ll handle this. Get to the Continental. Go, John!”

His eyes snap to you and the glimmer of anger you see there tells you that he understands what you’re doing.

That you know it’s Ares’ and her men attacking.

I’m your insurance policy.

You are.

But you will not let John slaughter the very men you know, either. Who might have helped you in the past, who you might have joked and talked with. Who you might know by name and face and life struggles.

You will certainly never let him lay a hand on Ares.

You’re his insurance but you are also a buffer. Between both sides.

John hesitates for a long moment and you know he considers refusing you in that instance, but perhaps whatever he sees on your face motivates him to nod his head and pass a spare pistol to you. You only shake your head, giving it back to him.

Few shots hit the pillar hiding you, and dense dust rains down onto your head and you frown in annoyance.

You roll the canister between your hands and gesture for him to go.

He hesitates again but ultimately listens, the entire exchange lasting no more than 30 seconds.

You wait till John rounds the corner before throwing two canisters over the side of the pillar, a stray bullet skimming over your arm but your suit holds, nothing but a faint tickle of pain following.

The vapour explodes with a hiss, the paralyser spreading through the cramped tunnels quickly.

Confusion follows, a few mentions of your name sounding before the paralyser robs them of their speech. You hear some fall back, an order clearly issued and you raise your gun, standing to your feet as you appear from behind the pillar.

You count at least six on the ground but they will be fine soon enough.

And there, on the other side of the tunnel, you just make out the familiar lithe frame of Ares. You can’t see her face with the darkness and the vapour but you know she is having the same issue. She raises her hand sharply—

An order to cease fire and retreat. But even though you cannot see her face, you can feel her hard stare digging into you.

She didn’t know you would be here. You didn’t tell anyone.

Not even Santino. Who no doubt still believes that you are safe behind the New York Continental walls, simply stewing in your anger.

The vapour crawls across the tunnel and Ares disappears from your line of sight, the rest of the men that are still unaffected following after her.

She knows how your paralysers work, she will come and collect the remaining immobile bodies later.

At least they’re alive.

Which they won’t be if you had allowed John to deal with them.

John.

Pivoting on your feet, you dash in the direction he disappeared in, racing after him.

He should be well on his way to the Continental now, if not there already.

You take longer than anticipated to get back. Your body is still recovering from the fight with Lucien despite your instance that you were fine. That deadly speed you’re so used to wielding as one of your most detrimental weapons has been dimmed.

You wonder how much of it is physical and how much of it is mental.

Racing up the stairs, you push past the doorman who opens the door for you and rush inside, looking around, trying to locate John.

As if that thought summons the Boogeyman, a crash sounds from the left, glass breaking as two figures crash into the foyer. They slide across the gleaming marble, struggling to get their hands around each other and you dash towards the two familiar men.

Cassian has an upper hand as he wrangles for control, trying to get a grip on the weapon between him and John.

John struggles for breath, his expression tight, focused, and you drag your gun up, pressing it against the side of Cassian’s head.

The man stills and relief shines in John’s eyes when he spots you from the corner of his eye, even if he clearly knows better than to look away from Cassian.  

“Don’t even think about it,” you warn harshly.

Cassian angles his head slowly, taking a peek at you, his expression furious. “Would you shoot me, little sister?”

You press the barrel deeper into his dark skin.

“Don’t make me.”

The tension between you is suffocating as the man glares at you.

“Gentlemen!” Julius’ loud voice cuts through the lobby and you ignore the security that surrounds the three of you. “Lady. Need I remind you that there will be no business conducted on the Continental grounds?”

The older man sounds more than a little displeased.

Your jaw clenches but you lower your arm, stepping back.

Cassian does the same, releasing his grip on John as he rises, still staring at you.

John is the last to stand but moves to your side at once, placing himself between you and Cassian. Normally, the gesture might have come off as protective but you don’t linger on it.

“No, signore,” Cassian says, his expression rigid, and the deep rumble of his voice bringing back months worth of memories.

Julius’ turns his attention towards you and John.

“No, sir.”

Your eyes lower and you simply shake your head.

Julius sighs, whether in relief or in chagrin, it’s difficult to say. “Bene. Now, may I suggest a visit to the bar, so you can calm yourselves?”  

His tone leaves no room for arguments.

Gin. Bourbon. Water.

They arrive in that order.

You sit slumped beside John as your drinks come. He sat down in the middle seat without a word, blocking Cassian from your sight. A part of you is grateful.

The look the other man gave you earlier—

The ugly realisation, the rage, the hurt—

“I had a Marker.”

Cassian doesn’t hesitate. “Whose?”

John lowers his glass, staring at the bar counter.

“Her brother’s.”

It’s so hard to breathe.

You feel like slumping down and not getting up again.

The air lightens somewhat with John’s confession though.  

“I see. You had no choice,” Cassian concludes, his voice husky and your shoulders coil when you feel him lean down to look at you over John’s body. “Doesn’t explain why you are here, helping him.”

John’s expression grows colder at the accusatory tone but he doesn’t get involved. He knows better than that.

Exhaling lightly, you give him the truth. “The Marker was made because of me,” your words sound mangled, scratchy, but Cassian looks unmoved by your struggle. You understand. You do. The agony of his loss is still too fresh. “For Tokyo. I didn’t know about it, and I was against this. I didn’t want this, Cassian.”

The other man scoffs; a cold, pitiless sound, his anger sparking anew.

“Didn’t you?” he demands, his tone stony. “Even after what happened with Gianna?”

You turn to face him, your grip on the glass between your hands weakening.

“She was my friend.”

A muscle in Cassian’s jaw flutters and he swallows, his stare finally leaving you.

“Why did he do it? Her seat?”

John is the one who responds. “Yeah.”

Cassian lifts the drink in his hand closer to his face, taking a small sip.

“He’ll get it now.”  

“Yeah.”

You don’t say anything.

Santino finally has the one thing he’s always desired above all else.

He is Camorra now. Once his coronation happens, he will take the second seat at the High Table, and very few will have the power to challenge him then. He’s carved himself into the perfect position of ultimate power.

Swear to me that you will not let my family name die. Swear to me that my line will continue after I’m gone.

A shiver crawls down your neck at the unbidden memory.

You have sworn to Gianna.

On your life.

Santino is all that’s left of the D’Antonio name now.

“So you’re free,” Cassian voices after a lull of uneasy silence, his words measured. “Both of you.”

John hesitates, staring at his drink before he turns towards the man beside him.

“Am I?”

Cassian’s reply is as flat as his expression. “No. Not at all,” he remarks easily. “You killed my ward. Someone I was close to and you stood by and watched.”

The accusation hurts when his dark eyes jump to you and your lips press together.  

“You know I couldn’t interfere—”

The man lowers his glass to the wooden surface, the gesture too harsh to be casual. “But you could have stopped him,” he says point-blank, and you know he means Santino this time. Cassian has always believed that you hold sway over the heir. That you give him “good sense” as he once told you. “Did you even try?”

Does he really think so little of you?

Does he really believe that you could be so cruel?

“Yes,” you force out, your throat burning. “Yes, I did.”

John turns to face Cassian fully, hiding you from the man’s sight and it gives you precious few seconds to compose yourself.

Cassian makes a small noise at the back of his throat at that.

“An eye for an eye, John. You know how it goes.”

But no matter how hard you try to focus on the rest of their exchange, it feels like your head is being forced underwater again, the sounds around you blurring into a muffled, dull mess.

Don’t be sad, my vicious viper. I’ll be seeing you again very soon.

You gasp under your breath, your water almost spilling over your fingers at the sound of Tarasov’s voice in your ear.

It’s just your mind, you remind yourself firmly, it’s not real.

Tarasov is dead.

Kishi is dead.

They’re all dead.

And you are not.

Even if most days—lately—you feel like a walking, breathing graveyard full of ghosts.  

“—consider it a professional courtesy.”

Cassian is standing, and he’s striding away—

You almost fall out of your chair in the haste to run after him. But a figure catches your eye first, and you halt in your step, staring.

Ares regards you with an impassive expression, her hands rising to sign, but you only glare at her.

There is nothing to say.

You know how Santino does business.

No loose ends.

Ignoring her, you hurry after the man who just disappeared through the doorway instead.  

“Cassian, wait!”

He doesn’t so much as slow down.  

“I have nothing to say to you.”

His emotionless declaration is like a slap to the face but you march after him anyway, quickening your pace as desperation pulls on your tongue.  

“Please.”

This time, he stops.

He whirls to face you, open fury twisting in his expression and you hate the fact that you are partially responsible for the pain he now carries.  

“You knew,” he says, his words bitter as he looms over you. “You knew what she was to me. What she meant. All this because Santino wants power.”

You’re shaking your head before he even finishes speaking.  

“We’re being hunted,” you tell him hurriedly, your words rolling off your tongue because he needs to know. “Chicago. Almost four years ago. That was us. We were responsible and someone out there knows. He did it to keep us alive. I’m sorry.”

Realisation. Just like with Gianna. He, too, is connecting the dots inside his head. Unlike Gianna though, there is no understanding, no softening of his features.

“Revenge, then,” he states flatly, his voice a rumble. “Others suspected but never had proof. But you.”

He takes a step closer and stares down at you.

For the first time since reuniting with him, you see your old friend back. Your stern sparring partner. Your teacher.  

“You, I considered as good as my own kin. A warrior spirit like my own,” he reveals, his words worse than angry, worse than hurtful. Cassian gazes down at you and looks disappointed. “I taught you, cared for you, protected you. And this is how you repay me, little sister? By taking someone I love away?”

The edge you are balancing on on crumbles further, your feet slipping and your expression falls apart.

“I never meant for this to happen, Cas. I—”

He doesn’t let you finish.

“I believe you,” he says mildly, his expression deceptively calm. “And it’s because of that belief and what you once meant to me that I will let you leave this city alive.”

You only peer at him, stung.

He reaches out, touching the side of your face and bends closer, pressing your foreheads together.

An old, familiar gesture of respect, of kinship, of care between two people.

“But if we ever meet again,” he whispers softly, his words razor sharp. “I will kill you myself. Goodbye, little sister.”

He leaves you standing alone in the hallway.

Something inside your chest—the warmth, the happiness, the hope, you have painstakingly built up over the years—cracks, cracks, cracks.

The journey back to your room is a blur.

Your fingers trail against the walls as you stumble along, steadying yourself, anchoring yourself.

The door closes with a click, and you gasp for breath, the back of your head hitting the door as you slide down onto the floor.

Your hands press over your face and you breathe.

In and out. Uno, due, tre.

You’re dead to the world.

I’m not. I’m not. I’m free.

“I’m free,” you whisper, your words muffled by your hands. Fragile. “I’m free.”

Because the Administration has confirmed it.

The High Table has marked you down as an independent member of the Organization now. Viggo Tarasov is dead and so is his heir. By the table’s own rules, you are now free of your debt.

And yet, the leash around your throat has never felt tighter or more suffocating.

Your phone rings inside your pocket and you drag your palms down your face, blinking. Everything feels fuzzy and unfocused and—

Santi.

Your grip on the phone constricts, your hand quaking as you hold it close.

Gathering yourself, you croak out a strained, “Hello, Santino.”

For a beat, it’s still, but then you hear him exhale. “Are you hurt, bella?”

You can tell that this isn’t how he expected this conversation to start. Your voice, undoubtedly, gave you away.

“I’m fine,” you reply, though you doubt you sound convincing. “Why are you calling?”

It’s not a kind question. But—

You want to rewind to a few weeks earlier. To when things were simpler between you. When despite how he often got onto your nerves, you always found yourself looking forward to your next encounter. Even if you never admitted it to yourself back then.

“You went with him.”

It’s a statement; guarded and low.

Ares must have informed him.

Of course, she did.

“Why would you go?” he adds after you don’t respond.

Pulling your knees to your chest, you press your forehead against your legs.

Your sleeves are still soggy.

You want to be angry.

You want to shout and rage at him.

But a part of you just wishes he were here instead. That he hadn’t created this situation and was here to help you now that you need him.

After all these years only Winston can read you as well as he can.

“Because you made this my business,” you remind him, and know you sound unhappy. “Because that Marker never should have existed, Santino. You have no one but yourself to blame for this. Congratulations by the way.”

It’s silent for a while after that. You listen to his muted breaths and count with them. You’ve done this before, a thousand times, listening to each other breathe. Safe in the knowledge that neither has to say anything for things to be comfortable.

“Does it make me so awful, hm?” he ponders gently, thoughtfully. “Wanting to live. Wanting you to live. Power is a dangerous thing. You have to be willing to lose everything in order to take it.”

That last part—

This time, you do feel anger, your momentary tranquillity fleeing.

“Well done,” you hiss lowly, pressing the phone harder against your ear till you can feel the skin begin to turn hot. “I’m sure Giovanni would be very proud.”

“Do you think I wanted this?” he shoots back hotly in reply.

A sob burns at the back of your throat but you don’t let him hear it.

You’re not sure if you’re more furious or just devastated.

“I held her as she died,” is your impossibly sad murmur. “I held her, Santino.”

You know the naked pain in your voice hits him hard. The way the line goes utterly silent is telling enough.

“I always knew you would be against this, cara mia. I knew.”

His retreat. The way he was bracing himself for the inevitable in the days after your failed ambush.

“She deserved better,” you breathe, choked, and bury your face further into your lap. “Better than to have a bullet put in her head by her former friend.”

“I couldn’t lose you—”

“I’m not yours to lose, Santino,” you bite out, enraged. “My life…it’s not worth this. You’re destroying everything and you don’t even realise it.”

Neither of you says anything for a long, long time.

Something about this silence makes you sit up, makes you almost uneasy with nerves.

Still, Santino says nothing.

And nothing.

And—

“I was a fool. A fool to think that you could ever love me,” he admits and chuckles, his words warped, distant. “You’re right, (Name). You’re not mine. It was foolish of me to expect you to care. To ever place that expectation on you in the first place. I believed that if I just waited long enough…”

Your heartbeat kicks up a notch as you listen, biting your lower lip repeatedly.

“Hm. I’m not him. I will never be him,” he muses but it no longer sounds bitter or sullen. He sounds hollow. Like your conversation in Chicago, like when he came to you at the Continental after finding out he’s been made a Spare. Gianna’s words ring at the back of your mind— “Oh, (Name). I only ever wanted you to choose me as I chose you, bella. You are the only one I…”

Another pause.

“With this, I can finally give you the freedom you always dreamt of. It was worth any price for me,” he confesses before adding a knowing, desolate, “Even your hatred.”

He’s always expected the worst from this situation. He’s had time to prepare himself for this outcome.  

“You can have it all now. You are free,” he intones lightly, forcefully so. “So hate me, abhor me, curse me but know that I did it because I wanted you to live happily.”

He breathes out; something like a chuckle, pained as it is haunted. “Even if that life no longer involves me. Addio, mia amata.”

You’re not sure how long you listen to the dead signal echoing in your ear.

“—and now what’s hers is mine. Pray, I don’t ask for more.”

He’s in a foul mood and biting, swift Italian falls from his lips moments later as he watches Mr Akoni’s assistant walk away with a pinched expression.

Order.

Power.

Camorra.

The power is in his hands now.

And yet he feels—

“You have been busy,” a familiar man voices by the way of greeting as he approaches the spot where Santino sits. Two guards are behind him and Santino tilts his head in consideration.

Winston.

He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised to see him. The manager is comfortable in his power, in the control he has over New York, and in the past, Santino has been happy to let the older man indulge.

For you.

Because you care for the sharp-witted old fool. Because you respect him and if it wasn’t for the fact that Santino knows the man is at least fond of you, too, he would be far less inclined to have this conversation right now.

For you, he tries.

Your soft, sorrowful voice scrapes inside his chest. I held her as she died. I held her, Santino.

He loved Gianna. She was his sister. But the devastation he might have felt at the news of her death…it doesn’t come.

A lifetime of scorn, betrayal, and mistrust lies between them.

Still, he wishes—

He doesn’t regret it. But he does wish there had been another way.

It’s true that he’s always intended to take the seat for himself. But he had no intention of it coming to such an extreme.  

Everything has a price though, and he has paid his.

Even if the steepest price is yet to be paid.

“It’s a start,” he notes calmly, trying for a smile as Winston comes to a stop in front of him. The club is a buzz of activity, cleaners and attendants mixing with his own guard. “My sister has grown derelict in her duties.”

He stands to his feet then, ignoring the borderline vexed look Winston tries to hide.

Truth be told, Santino has never cared much for what the man thinks of him. Now that he has set his sights on all of New York, he can’t help but think that their fundamental differences will become more apparent than ever.

“There was some...dust to blow away,” he adds lightly with a dismissive hum, stepping past the man with a wave of his hand.

He’s trying but right now he’s not in the mood to try that hard.

He will make it right. With time, he will make it right.

You desperate fool, she doesn’t love you. She will never love you, a voice that sounds too much like his father hisses at him, and he strangles it the moment it comes.

He knows that now.

He...knows.

You still love him. Helped him. Forgiven him.

It will always be John Wick.

Always.

And yet.

And yet, it’s kinder to pretend that you love him as well. That you could.

Maybe he’s truly never stood a chance. Maybe he fooled himself into thinking that what he’s felt for so long wasn’t so one-sided after all. That in these last few weeks something hasn’t fundamentally changed between you yet again. That finally—finally—what he feels is being returned. No matter how small in capacity.

He thought he meant it when he said that he would be fine with you hating him.

But he doesn’t want you to.

He hopes you won’t.

He’s so used to taking, demanding, claiming that the concept of letting go is completely foreign to him.

It’s a lot harder than he ever could have anticipated.  

So although he doesn’t particularly care as to why Winston is here, he starts leading the man into a more private spot to give them privacy to talk regardless.

He strolls down the stairs slowly, knowing that Winston will follow as his hands slip into his pockets. Whatever the issue is, he would prefer it to be dealt with quickly.

“You can’t change everything at once,” the older man states from behind him. “There is a such thing as rules.”

Santino almost laughs, then.

Rules.

There are a great many things Santino wants to tell the man he can do with his rules. What have rules ever done for him other than gag him and make him miserable? Rules have taken his mother, rules have taken his father’s love, rules have taken the loving sister he remembers in hazy childhood memories, rules have kept you leashed to Tarasov for years; broken-hearted and alone.

He fucking loathes rules. If he could he would set the whole rule book up in smoke and delight in the destruction of it all.

He hums, soft and mocking, and glances towards the man once before looking away. “Rules are meant to be broken, Winston,” he tells him dispassionately.

“Not to those who live by them.”

He knows Winston means you to an extent. Though a part of Santino can’t help but wonder how the old man would take the news of how spectacularly you shredded the rule book in Chicago yourself.  

But more importantly, Winston means him.

Darling Johnathan.

For a brief second, Santino sees red.  

The hard-boiling feeling in the pit of his stomach spikes and the taste in his mouth sours.

The assassin’s refusal to honour the Marker, his unfounded rage at the gallery when they both knew that Santino had every right to his actions.

John Wick might be a man of honour and conviction and rules, but he broke one of the most important ones with startling ease. Broke it even after Santino told him that it could help to keep you safe.

“We are not in your hotel anymore,” he states flatly, glancing towards the manager, and there is an obvious hint of ice buried deep in his words. “Do not speak to me like a child. I set the rules now. If I need room service or a martini, I’ll let you know.”

Winston leans back slightly at those words, a hint of surprise there but it disappears quickly, and the following understanding only makes Santino angrier.

He doesn’t have the capacity for civility right now.

He turns away from the older man, continuing his trek down the stairs.

“You have a problem with tradition.”

It’s not a question and Santino just barely holds back a scoff.

“Tradition,” he bites out softly. “Is the enemy of progress.”

But he will reforge Camorra into something better, stronger.

He will wield the power he now has to create something that will survive long after he’s gone.

“And here’s me thinking it’s the opposite,” Winston notes quietly but Santino ignores him.

He leads them into a private VIP lounge, sitting himself down on the sofa at once. The seat is plush and comfortable as he stretches his arms and folds his legs. He tries to relax his taut muscles, projecting an air of indifference because he abhors how knowing Winston looks whenever he glances his way.

The man in question strolls towards the giant Shiva statue, gazing at it thoughtfully.

One of Winston’s guards stalks forward, placing a familiar leather-bound book on the table before respectfully stepping back.

Santino stares.

“What’s this?” he questions coolly.

“He completed the task,” Winston says, his voice bland as he turns to face him again. “The Marker is over. Mark it.”

Ah, yes.

Sometimes it’s easy to forget that Winston considers John his friend as well, though Santino is aware that the relation has…cooled somewhat after John’s retirement. After what the infamous assassin did to you.

“If Mr Wick isn’t dead already,” he replies, his words clipped, but feels little joy at the thought. “He soon will be.”

Winston takes a step down the stairs, then another, and his expression is oddly familiar. That exasperation is one Santino has seen directed his way many times before even though this is far more refined. Professional.

“Will you mark it, sir?” Winston asks with a slight, mocking bow and a gesture of his arm.

Santino briefly considers taking the damn ledger and throwing it into the fountain just to see those pretty pages become thick and soggy with water. Decades of immaculately kept records disintegrating in a blink of an eye.

But he wants this done quickly, wants Winston out of his hair even more.

He has two psychopaths to hunt down, and a city to bend to his will.

He stretches out, grabbing the Marker and opens the device, staring at the bloody imprint there.

So easy.

It all could have been so easy if John had just honoured the damn oath.

Santino may not be one for rules but what weighty reason did John have to refuse? None.

One job and then Santino would have never approached him after that. Would have preferred to never see him again, in fact.

Now though.

Now it’s as simple as repaying for the hurt he caused and the disrespect.

You’re destroying everything and you don’t even realise it.

Santino licks his lower lip and presses his thumb against the tiny metal needle, feeling the sharp sting. He hesitates for a second, letting the ruby liquid gather before he presses his finger into the Marker and then the ledger a moment later.

Marker completed.

“Whatever did V make of your little stunt?” Winston wonders suddenly, moving closer. His question is airy but the older man seems already amused by the possibilities. “I don’t imagine she was much impressed by your actions.”

Santino stills, and that slight hesitation costs him because Winston notes it at once and makes a sound at the back of his throat. Disbelieving, almost derisive.

“My, my,” he begins mildly and Santino lifts his head to look at him. His own expression is strained and Winston’s amusement mounts. “You have no idea what’s coming, do you? Do you think she will let you do this? They may have had their issues in the past but don’t underestimate just how much she still cares for Johnathan.”

Santino’s mouth twists but it’s not a smile. “I am not,” he professes icily, and Winston’s eyes narrow at that, considering him. “But I have everyone in New York looking for him. I doubt we will see him again. So even if she hates me. It is done now. The Lovers will be dead soon enough as well and then…”

And then you are free.

Truly free.

Even if you never see him again. Even if you will spend the rest of your days hating him—

It will be worth it.

He has to convince himself he will be able to live with that. With letting you go. With you hating him.  

Perhaps it’s for the better.      

“Do you now?” Winston muses with a raised eyebrow. “You stabbed the devil in the back and forced him into the life he has just left. Incinerated the priest’s temple. Burned it to the ground. Now that he’s free of the Marker, what do you think he’ll do?”

Santino doesn’t reply but the fury he feels churns in his stomach. As if John Wick needs someone else to stand in defence of him. Poor, old Johnathan.

“He had a glimpse of the other side, and he embraced it,” Winston continues smoothly. “But you signor D’Antonio took it away from him.”

“He was already back.”

Winston releases a short breath. “Oh, he came back for love, not for you.”

Love?

What right does John Wick have to destroy in the name of his so-called love?

If that’s what love is, then he should set this world on fire for you.  

“He owed me. I had every right,” he hisses lowly, rising from his seat abruptly and feels the rage like liquid fire scorching through his veins. “Or have you forgotten what he has done? How he has dragged her into his messes over and over again? Have you forgotten what his actions have wrought, hm? ‘If she continues on like this, she will die.’ Those were your words when you called me before the Chicago job. If it weren’t for what we did, she would be gone and it would have been his fault.”

“And what about (Name)?”

Santino exhales sharply at the quiet question, confused.

“What?”

Winston’s eyebrows arch and he stares at Santino for a few seconds. But there, carefully hidden behind that calm facade lays a question and a warning laced with piercing sort of ice.

“Should I be expecting a contract in her name as well?” Winston questions lightly with a slight curl of his lips. “You know full well that once she learns about this, she might turn against you. Grow to resent you for it. She will certainly not just stand by and let it happen. And if she turns away, betrays you, what then? Will you put a price on her head as well? If you can’t have her, no one can, is that it?”

Every word is merciless as it is piercing. Ruthlessly straightforward. Yet every single syllable rips at something inside him expertly, almost like finely measured knives sinking deep.

He’s been so focused on all the best case scenarios he has never taken a moment to consider the worst case ones.

Vengeance.

When John dies…

I think that if we met first, it would have been very easy to fall in love with you.

He wishes more than anything that had been the case.

He wishes he was back in that awful, smelly diner with you and half-melted, too sweet ice cream between you. He wishes he had said more than I believe it is because you adore me, no?

He wishes he could pause that moment and stay in it forever because your lack of denial, the slight grin on your face, the soft crinkling around your eyes—all those details have created one of the happiest moments in his life.

Second only to his last birthday.

No father, no titles, no Tarasov, no John.

Just you, his home, and no expectations.

“I would never harm her,” he says and doesn’t recognise the thick timber of his own voice. “Never.”

The memory of you being dragged unconscious from the rubble of those destroyed tunnels, bloodied and still, haunts every single one of his nightmares now. Haunts his every thought, too.

I’m not yours to lose, Santino.

He knows that too.

Winston is silent for a long moment, his judging stare drilling into him with such intensity it almost reminds him of his father.

The older man makes a small sound at the back of his throat as if weighting Santino’s words before reaching down and slamming the ledger closed, taking it into his arms.

“I’ll admit Mr D’Antonio,” he begins conversationally, glancing up and meeting his stare as he straightens. “When I first learned of your interest in V, I warned her against you. Repeatedly. I saw nothing more than another powerful, conceited man who believes that the world is his playground. Your track record tells a rather colourful tale of use and disregard, and she doesn’t need more pain in her life. I believed for a long time that your care has been nothing more than a well-crafted manipulation. A game. That you are in it for the long con. But now, I confess, you have even me wondering.”

Santino swallows, shifting under the man’s shrewd stare.

“For your sake,” he goes on coldly, tucking the leather book under his arm. “I hope that whatever you do have with her is genuine. Because right now she might be your only hope. If you have any to begin with,” he intones with an aloof expression and salutes him. “Adios, Santino.”

The man turns to go, and Santino remains standing in the same spot for a long time after he’s gone. 

Hope is a foreign emotion to him.

He has grown up ruthlessly wringing it out of his heart.

Lessons about what it is to be Camorra, what it is to be an heir to an empire of bloodshed and death, were taught to him early. Ingrained into him when he should have been free to be a child. The very first came when he was still just a boy.

His mother’s screams—

“Why the long face?”

Santino blinks slowly, coming back to the present, and his head turns.

The smirking figure approaching him is at the bottom of the list of people he would like to see right now. Or ever.

“What are you doing here?” he demands harshly, not in the mood for pleasantries. “You haven’t been summoned.”

Hector’s smirk stretches, the familiar bright blue of his eyes practically glowing in the candlelight as the man takes another long drag of his cigarette. He moves past the spot where Santino has been sitting since Winston’s earlier departure, and throws the remains of the cigarette into the fountain before turning to face him again.

“Summoned?” the man echoes, amused. “That’s cute. I’m here on orders.”

“Whose?”

Hector strolls closer, undoing his jacket button before he drops on the seat opposite to him, stretching till his legs come to rest on the table separating them.

Santino doesn’t bite though. The disrespect scrapes against his already worn temper but he leashes it. He will not give Hector the satisfaction.

“Your sister’s and the council’s,” the man responds and blinks innocently, his amusement barely contained. “Oh. My condolences by the way. Or whatever.”

Santino sits up unhurriedly, a mass of simmering rage. “Use that tone one more time and I’ll strip you of your title.”

Hector might have been his father’s beloved little pet, his right hand, but he has Ares. He could never imagine trusting anyone but her to be on his side. Even with the brunette’s displeasure with the unfolding situation.

Hector, despite his many talents, is not necessary to him personally.

“Oh dear, someone’s in a bad mood,” Hector drawls lazily, his lips stretching in delight. “But leave the threat making to V, yeah? The wildcat at least sounds convincing. Though the fact you didn’t know I’m in town is telling. Had a little spat, did you? Not a lovers’ spat because, well, you’re not really lovers, are you?”

Santino keeps his expression steely, unmoved, but Hector digs deeper, not that he expected the leader of the Elite’s to do any less.

“Wow, how long has it been now?” he muses loudly, even though they both know exactly how long it’s been. “Six years, was it? No wonder you’re such an uptight little bastard. Biggest blue balls of the century.”

Santino’s mouth curves into something unfriendly, biting. “That’s the second time,” he notes mildly. “There won’t be a third. Don’t forget who you answer to now, hm?”

“Not you. Not yet.”

Not yet indeed. But soon.

“What were your orders?” Santino questions instead.

The man before him fiddles with the lighter between his large fingers, his Camorra rings clicking dully against the metal. “To make sure you don’t do anything stupid but…my bad, I guess, huh?”

The council no doubt.

He faced quite the uproar after the news of his vow to you reached the family.

Gianna’s reaction had been simpler, more surprising.

I’ve been expecting it, little brother.  

“You have new orders now.”

The strong curve of Hector’s eyebrows quirks.  

“Do tell.”

Santino wastes no time. “The Lovers. I want you to bring me their heads.”

Remove those deranged puppets from the game.

As for the Dragon. Oh, he has plans for them. Once he takes his seat, he’s going to tear the Dragon to pieces. He will find out who knows about Chicago and bury them all. One by one.

“What’s wrong with her?” Hector speaks up suddenly, still focusing on his lighter. When Santino doesn’t reply, the man lifts his gaze back to him and sighs, irritated. “Fine, let me rephrase: your pretty viper is better than those two French shitheads with loose marbles knocking around their heads. So what’s the issue? Why didn’t she just turn them into drooling goo?”

Because these last few weeks have been hitting you hard. Because he’s been trying to help you but that damned wall keeps him at bay.

Because there is a separation between you now.  

“There were…complications,” he phrases cautiously, his voice thin, guarded. “Things are, ah, difficult for her right now.”

Hector stares at him, considering his words before he snorts and sits up too, dragging his feet down from the table. He rolls the lighter between his fingers as he peers at Santino for a charged moment.

“Difficult, huh?” he repeats, his gravelly voice twisting his words into something meaner. “Well fuck me. You would think her life being threatened would inspire her to stop her pity party.”

Oh, Santino can take insults just fine.

He’s been hearing them directed his way all his life.

But you—

“Careful,” he warns, his tone icy, as something volatile churns in his stomach. “You speak about her like that again, and I’ll do more than strip your title.”

Hector falls quiet at that. For some time, the two of them simply gaze at each other, sizing the other up.  

“Tell me, Santi,” the man before him begins breezily, curious. “When exactly did you realise that you loved her? Hm? I mean, do you really think this story is going to have a happy ending? Your father adored your mother. Sun rose and set with her but their story still ended in blood and death.”

He’s had enough.

Santino rises to his feet, his hands slipping into his pockets as he stares down at the man before him with a stony expression.

“You have your orders. And you will obey.”

Hector’s head tilts to the side and he rises to his feet too, stretching to his full height.

He’s taller, and stronger, and could likely kill him with his bare hands, too.

But Santino finds that he doesn’t care.

Right now, with everything going on, he feels like he could crush this world in his bare fist and delight in the savagery of it all.

“Why?” the other man asks, his voice bored.

Santino smiles.

That calm that he’s seen you use so many times—the mask, the construct of control—he grasps onto it now.

He lets it guide him, cooling the volcano of raging fury inside of him.

“Because I am Camorra now,” he states calmly, pleasantly, still smiling and something flickers across Hector’s expression. Surprise, perhaps. “Because I do not care if you like me or respect me as your new boss. You will obey because you are sworn to do so, yes? Because if you think even for a second that I will tolerate your disobedience, then you are wrong. You may believe yourself to be above command, Hector, but I am the command now and I say that you aren’t. È chiaro, hm?”

Hector straightens, his wide shoulders rotating back.

Then the Devil of Camorra bares his teeth at him.

“You do like to hear yourself talk, don’t you?” he says idly, his smile disappearing in a blink, leaving something more barren and brutal behind. “Well if you insist. Boss.”

The man brushes off invisible dust off the sleeve of his jacket and with another deride little smile turns to go.

You have no idea what’s coming, do you?

Right now she might be your only hope. If you have any to begin with.

“Hector.”

The man pauses with an exaggerated sigh of impatience, turning to look at him over his shoulder.

Santino meets his expectant stare.

“One more thing.”

“Are you okay?”

“No, John. I’m very far from okay.”

There isn’t enough strength in you to pretend that you are.

Yesterday was a nightmare that you want to wipe from your mind. So much so, that the usual joy you feel at being back in New York doesn’t come. Not even a whisper of it.

You’ve barely spoken more than few words to John on the flight back, and despite his silent worry, he’s been giving you room to sort through your thoughts.

You’re not sure what rests on your mind more heavily.

Gianna, Cassian or Santino.

It feels like a mix of all of them.

I swear.

But if we ever meet again, I will kill you myself.

I was a fool, a fool to think that you could ever love me.

Your head is pounding and no thought seems to linger for longer than an inconsequential second at the time.

This morning you asked after Cassian but Julius has told you that the man has departed already. Ares, too, was absent.

“If you need a place to stay—”

Your phone pings, cutting John’s words off and you frown. You’ve just switched it on minutes prior before pushing it deep into your pocket to give it time to turn on and catch the signal properly.

You pull it out, opening the message, a slight frown contorts your features when you spot the number on your screen.

Then, horror locks every single muscle in your body, making you stagger to a stop with a horrified exhale.

-

OPEN CONTRACT: JOHN WICK

7 MILLION USD

BY: SANTINO D’ANTONIO

-

“No. No, no, no,” you mutter, your mouth dry, and a roar in your head. “What did you do, Santino? What did you do? Why—”

John steps close, his hand coming to rest on your trembling one.

His wedding ring fills your vision and you flinch away from his touch.

“What’s wrong?”

You can’t look at him, clenching your phone tighter in your fist as you breathe harshly.

“Santino opened a contract. For your head.”

He’s quiet for several moments.

“How much?”

His voice is gruff and when you meet his stare that familiar grimness on his face chills you.

No—

No—you can’t—

You force your tongue to move. “I need to talk with him.”

“(Name),” John addresses you flatly, his dark eyes firm.

But you’re not listening because you know—

You know—

He will—

Why Santino? Why?

I can finally give you the freedom you always dreamt of. It was worth any price for me, even your hatred.

“Get somewhere safe,” your words are a croak, frayed and hurried. “Lay low. I can—I can get him to take it back.”

John reaches for you again, his fingers settling against your forearm as he peers at you. He almost looks regretful.

“You can’t. You know you can’t,” he tells you but you only shake your head. “He didn’t listen before and he won’t listen now. There is only one way to get him to take it back now.”

You wrench yourself away from him, stepping back.

“No. He will. He will listen to me,” you whisper, a touch frantic, trying to force yourself to believe it. “He has to—he—he will listen to me. Just give me time. Please, John. I need to talk with him. Go. I’ll find you when it’s done. Go!”

You stumble backwards with every step and ignore John calling for you as you turn in the opposite direction, heading towards the penthouse instead.

Your phone feels slippery between your fingers as you try to dial Santino’s number, half-jogging through the streets.

The line rings, rings, ring—

“Shit!”

Dread flows through your veins as you hurry to text Ares number instead.

Your shoulder knocks against someone and you move to push past them—

Heat erupts around you, the shock wave of the thunderous explosion ripping you right off your feet.

Your body flies to the side, and the impact of your body hitting the nearby car rattling through every bone in your body.

White burns behind your eyes—

Then everything goes dark.  

Humming drags you back from the depths of inky darkness.

You suppress a groan, your body growing taut when you realise that you can’t move your hands or legs.

They’re bound.

A shallow, barely controlled breath escapes you at the vicious stab of a too familiar memory.

You’ve been in this type of situation before. None of those times ended well.

The feeling of disorientation persists but you try to drag it away slowly; little by little, to get a better grasp of what your situation currently is.

Inside your head you count obsessively like a mantra, trying to keep yourself steady, grounded.

The humming continues; a gentle, melodic sound that would be soothing under different circumstances.

The bones in your neck creak when you slant your head upwards, blinking your eyes open. The left side of your temple is pounding from the impact with the car and you suppress an agonised groan.

The humming ceases at your shifting.

“And the sleeping beauty awakens.”

Gritting your teeth, you slant your head forward, and glare.

“Hello, Lucien.”

. . .

an: I love me a good “everything goes to shit” chapter :D

leave it to john to say more in this one chapter than he likely did in this entire fic combined lmao. but the J/V scene has been long in the making (and one of the biggest reasons for the block with this chapter because I knew it had to live up to the expectation so I hope it did ahhhhh). I also hope it didn’t seem too OOC for him to speak this much but he certainly is a man who speaks only when necessary and I still tried to carry his blunt manner across. Keep his story to facts only. 

as for santi, well, I dragged john’s character flaws through the mud and it’s only fair I do the same with him, too. santino’s actions are certainly justified but it doesn’t make them right. 

and finally v. oh man, this has been building up for a while now but this is the chapter where you can really see the cracks starting to appear. she is in the worst possible position right now because she is directly in the middle of the conflict and has an emotional investment in all sides. she is quite literally being torn apart. please give her a hug. damn :/

wow, if you are still reading. thank you. thank you. thank you. these chapters are, as always, as much for me as they are for you. love you all lots and thank you for your support <33 

[downwiththeficness]

A Need So Great-Chapter 8

Summary: Eva Moore is assigned to work the last year of her contract with the DEA in Colombia. She just wants to get to the end of her tenure, but she keeps getting drawn further into a string of murders in the city. It isn’t long before she’s forced to face the ghosts of her past.

Word Count: ~7,100

Warnings: Drugs, smut

A/N: For the purposes of this story, Carrillo isn’t married--or, if you like, divorced. A/B/O dynamics are prevalent, and they come with their own warning. The overall rating for this story is Explicit, although not every chapter will contain adult themes.

Taglist: @dirtynerdy98 @1zashreena1 @heresathreebee @deliciouslyclassytrash @maybege @kid-from-new-zealand

Okay, so I know that this isn’t exactly how a contact high works, but I wanted the funny moment. Suspend your disbelief a little further than it already is for me.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8.5, 9, 10, 10.5, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21

“No,” she said, jabbing a finger at Javier, “I’m not doing this.”

“C’mon,” he replied, gesturing with both hands, “It’ll be a half hour, max.”

She sneered, occupying her hands with packing her bag instead of punching him like she wanted to. He was smiling in that way he did when he knew that he would get his way.  A self satisfied smirk that made her want to throw something at him.

“A half hour of your time. You’ll walk in, look around, walk out.”

Eva glared at him, “I have plans.”

And, she did. Though his evenings were often spent working into the night, Eva had been out with him several times over the last few weeks. She was looking forward to yet another night checking herself for talking too much and watching him smile wide enough that she could see his dimples.

“Push ‘em back.”

She scoffed, “I’m not pushing back plans to work in the field, which you remember that I’m not supposed to be doing.”

He waved her off, “It’ll be fine.  You’re walking into a bar, looking around, and walking out.”

“I’m not walking into any bar!”

“Well, that’s a shame.”

Eva spun around, letting out a breath as Horacio slowed to a stop, his jacket over one arm.

“Hey,” she said, her voice a hitch pitched wheeze. “I’m just gonna...finish packing up.”

He eyed the others in the room, “What’s going on?”

Steve, who had been silent for nearly the whole argument, pushed from his position against his desk, “We got a lead on a back end shipment of drugs—low level, nothing serious. And, we thought since Eva is so good at sniffing these things out, she could maybe stop by the bar and see if she could pin point where they were stashing them.”

“So basically,” Eva added, sarcasm in her voice, “They want me to do their job for them.”

Javier ran a hand over his face, “That’s not what we’re asking you to do.”

Eva glared at him a second time, one hand on her hip.

“You are good at it,” Horacio offered.

She turned her glare on him, “You’re on their side?”

He held up a hand defensively, “I’m not on sides, just stating facts.”

Steve rolled his eyes, “Okay, listen. Eva, you just go in, look around, leave. You don’t even have to order a drink. Half an hour, tops.”

Her mouth thinned as she looked at all three men, who were apparently agreeing with one another. Although they’d had plenty of arguments, it was the first time they were all on the same side and it was...disconcerting.

Horacio slipped his arms into his jacket, “Half an hour. And, she gets the day off tomorrow.  Javi, you’ll cover for her. Tell them you sent files to her apartment or something.”

Okay, maybe he was a little on her side.

Javier nodded, “Done.”

“Good, what’s the address?”

Eva blinked, wondering what the fuck had just happened. She watched as Horacio listened to the address, grabbed her purse, and guided her out of the office.  It took her until they were on the road for her brain to finally catch up.

“Did you just negotiate a paid day off for me?”

He glanced over at her and smiled, “You need it. They’re working you too hard.”

“You’re one to talk about working too hard.”

This was true.  Even when he was supposed to be relaxed, his mind would still wander away to work periodically. She could by the way his eyes went just a little cold. There was nothing to be done about it. This was the toll the work took on a person, no matter how strong.

“Point taken,” he retorted, pulling into a parking lot.

The bar looked like any other, populated by locals, busy. She squinted at it, wondering how they got shipments in and out.

“Listen,” she said, reaching out to touch his forearm, “I’m sorry I snapped at you earlier. I was frustrated that I keep getting pulled into these things, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

He picked up her hand and kissed the back of it, “You’re fine. And, you should be frustrated because you’re right. You’re doing their leg work.”

Eva turned her gaze back to the bar, “I don’t actually mind doing a little reconnaissance, but I’m supposed to be spending time with someone I like, not warding off advances from drunk assholes while I try to figure out where the drugs are coming in at.”

Horacio’s grip on her hand tightened a fraction, “I think I can help with that.”

She looked at him, intrigued, “Yeah?”

He hummed in assent, turning her hand over and pressing his mouth the inside of her wrist. Eva felt her breath stutter as he kissed it gently, his eyes finding hers and holding. He rolled his tongue over the sensitive skin, tasting. Her breath stopped entirely. He gave her wrist another little kiss, then reached for her other hand. He was marking her and she was letting him. It surprised her how little that bothered her in that moment. She was even excited about the thought of carrying his scent with her into that bar. There wouldn’t be a single man in there, alpha or otherwise, who wouldn’t know she was with someone, despite the fact that she was clearly unmated.  

Eva shivered, her mouth parting on a soft moan. Unable to stand it a moment longer, she leaned over and kissed him. The position was a little awkward, the console digging into her hip, but well worth the discomfort.  She started to pull back and he stopped her.

Against her mouth, he said, “Half an hour.  After that, I’m coming in after you.”

Shaking her head, she teased, “Won’t that be a little suspicious, me coming in, looking around, and leaving with the police. You’re like a minor celebrity here, you know.”

He lifted a brow, “I’ll make it look like an arrest.”

At this she laughed, leaning back into the seat, “You just want to see if I can still get out of the cuffs.  Admit it.”

Releasing her, he regarded her with a curious gaze, “I admit that I really want to know how you learned to do it.”

Eva opened the door, saying over her shoulder, “I’ll never tell.”

She caught him saying ‘we’ll see about that’ as she shut the door and headed for the entrance. The place was pretty standard, as far as bars went.  There was a band playing, so she could count on almost everyone being at least a little distracted by the music.  At least, distracted enough not to notice that she wasn’t drinking and wasn’t dancing.  She made a circuit around the room, trying to think of how she would have hidden an illegal shipment back in the day.

It certainly wouldn’t have been at a bar. Josh had been against establishments like this, thought they were places for degenerates. Fifteen years later and she could finally roll her eyes at the hypocrisy of his entire personality. It felt like a big middle finger to even the memory of him to be frequenting bars—it was one of the first things she did when she was released.

But, where would she hide something she didn’t want to be found in a place like this.  Not behind the bar. Bartenders couldn’t always be trusted, too much turnover, too easy to buy. Not in the store room, too much traffic. Eva made another lap, pretending to be looking at the art on the walls. There had to be an office.

She went to the back and had to dodge one of the staff by stepping into the bathroom. So she had time to think, she went into one of the stalls and sat. The place looked clean, at least from the outside.  She couldn’t even find an entrance that would support a trailer backing up to it to move the goods. Although, it would be smart to access from underground...

Standing, she gave the toilet an unnecessary flush and left the bathroom, moving further down the hall. The office door was open a crack, and she took a moment to check to see if anyone was watching before she touched the door to open it further. Empty. Empty and boring.

With a huff, Eva stood next to the emergency exit and leaned against the wall, staring at a picture of a dog. Just an ordinary dog standing at attention. It looked...bland. Like it had been purchased at a big box store and hung without ceremony. Which, made her think it was odd.  The rest of the art in the place was from local artists, price tags written in neat handwriting beside each one.

The dog was looking at something out of the frame. Eva followed the direction of its snout to...a window. It was covered in a frosty film to obscure the outside. She stood on tip toes to see if she could see where it was pointing, both hands leaning into the sill—which moved.

Did everyone have a thing about hidden doors in this country?

Looking over her shoulder, Eva stepped inside.  She was not alone. The room was small, basically a cupboard, but it led to another room where a pair of men were talking. Talking and toking. The smell of weed was pungent enough that her nose wrinkled. Although Eva had been pretty well inured to pot while she was with Josh, she hadn’t had a moment that she didn’t feel watched by her superiors since she’d signed the contract. Any opportunity she had to partake was overshadowed by the possibility of a drug test. Every breath she took made her want to cough. She held it in before taking deep breaths in an attempt to keep her cover.

She couldn’t understand a word they were saying, but Eva was able to duck down enough that she could see inside the room they were talking in. They were sitting in lawn chairs, passing a blunt between them, the smoke billowing out towards her due to the fans that were running lazily nearby.

Eva squinted, they were...thawing ice.  Gigantic ice cubes sat on a table, little kiddie pools sitting below them to catch the runoff. She stared at them and almost laughed. They’d frozen the weed into ice cubes in an attempt to mask the smell. That was definitely new. She sat for a few minutes, trying to see if she could spot a company name that they were shipping under. She got nothing.

Knowing that she was on borrowed time, Eva backed up and peered out into the hallway to make sure the coast was clear before she stepped out of the little cupboard and closed the door behind her. She exited the bar in the least suspicious way she could manage, finally giving in to the urge to cough as she made it outside.

Across the parking lot, she could see that Carrillo was watching for her. With quick steps, she headed for him, climbing up into the truck.

“You see anything interesting?” he asked as she pulled the seat belt over her torso.

Eva nodded, “Let’s maybe get a few blocks from here before I start explaining.”

He turned the engine over, “Javier and Steve are not too far away.”

“Good,” she said, wondering why her eyes were so damn dry. “They can write up the report.”

Eva rubbed carefully at her eyes, trying not to disturb her mascara. She just felt...dry. Her eyes, her throat.

“You okay?”

She blinked, “Yeah, I’m okay. Allergies.”

He was right, Javier and Steve weren’t far away, a matter of a few blocks and one four way stop. They were sitting at an outdoor cafe, drinking beer. Eva took the one that was offered to her, drinking deep.  It was a moment before she realized that they were waiting for her to talk.

“Oh, right,” she said, setting the bottle down. “I mean, pretty simple operation. They’ve got a false door behind the window in the back by the picture of the dog.  They’re putting the product in ice to conceal the smell, although I don’t know that it would fool a trained dog. Back room is where they melt it down, probably where they weigh it, too.”

Javier stared at her, “That’s it.”

She frowned, “I’m sorry, has it escaped your notice that I’ve now found two caches of illegal substances? I know you were looking for coke and not pot, but ‘That’s it?’ Seriously?”

Even Eva could admit to herself that she was snapping at him, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care. This would have been a perfect night for a date. A little balmy, warm enough that she didn’t need a jacket.  She could have gone to that bar to dance with Horacio, but no, she went to sneak around. The whole thing annoyed her.

Javier rolled his eyes, “Thank you.”

“That was really sincere. I appreciate the sincerity,” her tone was biting.

He frowned, “What is with you today?”

Eva breathed deep and dropped her head into her hands. Horacio’s scent was still there, a warm, sweet thing that mellowed her ire. She inhaled it in an attempt to distract herself.

“Nothing,” she said, eventually, “Just, forget about it.”

And, that seemed to satisfy him, if no one else at the table.  Steve was eyeing her with that curious expression he used when he wanted to ask a question, but wouldn’t. Beside her, Horacio laid a hand on her hip with just the slightest pressure. She leaned into it, grateful for the support.

“We could raid it tonight,” Javier said as he lit a cigarette.

Dear God, Eva thought with ire, I might as well go home now. Any hope she might have had of picking up their date was gone. At least she’d get to sleep with his scent wrapped around her, if not his body. He’d make sure she got home, kiss her goodnight, and then go off to raid a bar. She’d be a little lonely, but that stupid hope for a better tomorrow would be there. It would have been sad, except this same situation had happened once before, over and over when she’d been married—different players, same game—and Eva found that karma was certainly one hell of a bitch.

It said something for her state of mind that she didn’t realize she was laughing until her stomach started hurting. She drew in a breath, dropping her hands to the table.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she breathed, “I’ve just had the worst case of déjà vu.”

Steve ran a hand through his hair, “You want to share with the class?”

Eva shook her head, “Nope.”

It was then that Eva knew something wasn’t right. She usually wasn’t this argumentative—stubborn, yes, but not outright argumentative. She had better manners than that—oh, fuck. Eva closed her eyes and tried not to freak out. It was just a tiny contact high. She could manage it—in front of a high ranking police officer and two DEA agents. This was doable. She kept her head down, just in case.

“You want to make the call?” Javier said when she didn’t elaborate.

Horacio shrugged, “I’m off tonight. It’ll be there tomorrow.”

Eva could tell by the way Javier’s eyes narrowed that this was an unusual response. Hell, she was even surprised by it. Her sense of karma evaporated as quickly as it came and she had to keep herself from staring open mouthed at him. Javier threw back the rest of his beer and stood, walking away without saying anything.

Steve rolled his eyes, “We’ll call you in the morning to work it out. Thanks, Eva.”

“No problem,” Eva called out, waving as she watched him walk off. Then, “I think you pissed him off.”

Horacio shrugged, “I’m not wrong. It will be there tomorrow.”

“I didn’t say you were wrong,” Eva replied, “But I am surprised by it.”

He helped her to stand, leading her back to the truck, “Which part?”

“Hmm?” She was distracted by the feeling of his hand guiding her to where he’d parked.

“Which part are you surprised by?”

She leaned against the side of the truck, looking him over, “You’re a get up and go kind of guy. You don’t put things off until tomorrow.”

He quirked an eyebrow, “You’re right, I don’t.” Then, he added, “In the interest of not putting things off, do you want to tell me what that was back there?”

Eva could feel the blush heat her cheeks, and she couldn’t keep her mouth from smiling stupidly. She looked down, trying to cover it.

“No,” he said, stepping forward and grasping her chin. “Don’t start doing that. Is it an inside thought?”

She giggled, “No. Its not an inside thought.”

“Then, what?” He caught her eye, saying her name in a slow, cajoling tone, “Tell me.”

Huffing, Eva bit down on the inside of her cheek, “They had a lot of pot in there. I mean, a metric fuck ton.”

She tried to go on, but found the explanation that formed in her mind to be too stupid, even internally. How was she supposed to verbalize it without it sounding equally stupid?

His pulled back a bit, analyzing her expression with half a smile, “I haven’t seen you this flustered since that meeting in the conference room. Its cute.”

“Oh, don’t call me cute,” Eva bit out, but she couldn’t maintain the facade of anger, devolving into little giggles as he looked at her in wonder. “I’m sorry, I really am.”

She inhaled, letting her head fall to his chest, her hands running down his arms to thread her fingers through his.

“Promise you won’t laugh.”

“I promise.”

“In the bar, while I was scoping out the back, I had to sit there for a few minutes. And… there was a lot of smoke.”

She hated the way her voice pitched upwards at the end of the sentence, as if it were a question. She hated even more that she couldn’t look at him when she said it.

It started with a blown out breath and then he was holding his breath for several beats.  Even with her forehead resting against him, she knew that he was working to hold off a laugh.

“I knew it,” she cried out, looking up at him, “I knew you would laugh. I have a contact high and you’re laughing at me.”

“I’m not laughing,” he said as he definitely laughed.

“You are,” Eva shot back, crossing her arms.

He cupped her cheek, “Don’t pout.”

She tilted her face up when he drew her in for a kiss, arms wrapping around his middle to keep him close. He kissed her softly, and she could feel him trying not to smile into it. Feeling not a little vengeful, she nipped at him, soothing it just a little with a swipe of her tongue.

“Its late,” he said between kisses, “Let me take you home.”

Eva was grateful that she was leaned up against the truck, her balance a little off, which was par for the course whenever they kissed.  It was like as soon as their lips touched, she got a sudden rush of wild vertigo that made her dizzy in the best way. She hoped that feeling never faded. A stupid, unrelenting hope.

As they drove through the streets, she watched the buildings pass by, the wheels of her mind working.

“I can hear you thinking over there,” he said at a stoplight, looking over at her.

Eva ducked her head and blushed, “Yes, I’m thinking.”

“What about?”

The light turned green, but his eyes stayed on her and his foot remained on the brake.  She glanced behind them. The road was empty.

“Um,” she began, “I was thinking that sooner or later we should probably acknowledge the obvious.”

He turned a little, resting his forearm on the console, “What is that?”

“That I am an omega and that you are an alpha. That just about any time I spend with you drives me absolutely crazy.”

He observed her with a curious look in his eye, “Is this good or bad?”

She smiled, “Good, very good. At least I think so.”

He regarded her curiously, “Then, why would we need to acknowledge it.”

Eva leveled a sardonic look at him, “You marked me today, Horacio. You knew what you were doing when you did it.”

“I did.”

It relieved her that he wasn’t going to evade the conversation. She’d never done this before, and his straightforward attitude made her push forward despite the unsteadiness in her voice.

“I was brought up to believe that...meant something.”

She felt herself holding her breath a little. Eva had been out of society on and off since age fourteen, she hadn’t bothered to really learn the ins and outs of these kinds of relationships. She hadn’t thought she would need it.

The light turned yellow, then red.

“Is this the weed talking?”

Eva barked out a laugh, one hand coming up to cover her mouth, “No, no. It just got me thinking, that’s all.”

She’d given him an out, and part of her hoped that he would take it.  Another part of her hoped that he’d at least give her some idea of what this was.

“Eva, do you remember what I said when we met at the church? That I couldn’t breathe when I first met you?”

Nodding, Eva kept quiet, barely managing to quash the feeling bubbling up inside her. She needed a clear head for this, needed to make sure she didn’t allow herself to get carried away.

He licked his lips, his eyes searching her face, “Do you know what I also felt? When you were telling us about your husband? I felt rage. Sitting in front of me is the most delicious omega I’ve ever met and someone thought they could lay hands on her.” His hand flexed on the wheel, his scent sharpening. “And when you said you’d killed him for it, I thought to myself, ‘she doesn’t need protection’.”

The light turned green and he let off the brake, the car picking up acceleration.

“But, I wanted to give it to you, anyways.”

Eva searched for words, finding nothing.  She settled on, “Really?”

He nodded, reaching over to take her hand, “Then, you saved my ass in the bar fight.”

“I think that was more of a gunfight,” she commented, feeling warm all over.

“It was both,” he asserted, giving her hand a little squeeze, “You still kept me from getting shot.”

Eva scoffed, “I also threw a Molotov cocktail and set the place on fire.”

Horacio laughed, releasing her hand to pull into her neighborhood.  He took it back almost immediately, “That was inventive.”

She shrugged, “I wouldn’t have done it if I thought the table would hold.”

He rolled a shoulder, “That table was not going to hold. It was basically plywood.”

“You’re right,” she agreed as her apartment building came into view, “It was shit.”

He parked, got out, and circled to open the door for her. She tried not to smile too wide when he held her hand up to her door. She reached into her purse and pulled out her key, opening the lock.

“Do you,” she started, fortifying her courage, “Want to come in?”

He tilted her chin up, looking at her for a few seconds. Eva’s eyes narrowed in confusion before she scoffed, pulling her chin away.

“I’m fine. I was the smallest bit high for, like, fifteen minutes. I’ve got full control over my faculties.” A moment later, she amended, “Well, as much control as I ever do around you.”

When he didn’t answer, she touched his chest, “Listen, if you don’t want to, I understand.”

His hand came up and gripped her wrist, “I’ve told you before that you shouldn’t mistake restraint for a lack of want.”

“Okay,” she breathed, “So, are you going to follow through on that want?”

Horacio pushed her back into the apartment, closing the door behind him. She went willingly, dropped her bag to the side. She sighed into a welcome kiss, draping her arms over his shoulders.

Pulling away, he held up a finger, “One thing: I need you to let me lead. I’ll make sure you feel good, but let me set the pace.”

Lips parted, Eva felt a kind of fervent gratitude that quickly morphed into affection, “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”

He watched her for a second before he leaned down and kissed her again, their tongues tangling together. Eva felt her body go lax, most of her weight leaning into him. She let him lead her backwards, his hands pulling her close. The steps were small and slow, interspersed with deep, lazy kisses.

As they moved down the hall, he pulled her blouse up and out of her skirt, slipping his hands underneath. Eva groaned as he cupped her breasts over her bra, kneading the flesh. He was taking his time with her, his touches patient, thorough. It was driving her crazy.

Maneuvering her into the bedroom, Horacio finally pulled her blouse over her head, tossing it aside. He gripped her hips, eyeing her skirt.

“You’ve worn this skirt before,” he said raggedly, “I’ve had dreams about this skirt.”

Hands moving quickly, he pulled the zipper down and pushed the fabric to the floor. Eva, in an attempt to quell the little bit of nervousness that she was feeling, tugged at the polo he had tucked into his pants. She struggled to get it up and over his shoulders, too preoccupied with the way he was palming her ass. Taking pity on her, he reached behind him and pulled it up and over his head.

Oh, that is not fair, she thought, her mouth suddenly dry. The man dressed like a middle aged dad, halfway to a mid-life crisis—all khakis and variations of a polo shirt—and it was hiding such a strong, sensuous body.  Eva knew he was powerful, had felt the firm press of muscle when he held her, but dear God, he was gorgeous all over.

Helping her down to the bed, he knelt in front of the mattress, kissing up her stomach as his fingers unsnapped her bra. It went the way of her other clothing, followed by her panties.

“Lean back,” he said in a voice not much louder than a whisper.

She slowly let her weight fall to the bed as he parted her thighs. There wasn’t much light in the room, just what was filtered in from the open door to the hall and the streetlights from the window. But, in it, she could see him staring at her, tongue rolling over his bottom lip. More than a little self conscious, she tried to close her legs, eyes diverted.

Fingers tightening on her knees, his eyes flicked up to her, “No.”

A simple directive. An order from an alpha that Eva had no hope of disobeying.  Her hips opened and her legs fell to the side. If she wasn’t anticipating his next move so much, she might have had it in her to figure out a way to wipe the smirk off his face.

It faded soon enough. The first touch of his mouth on her shocked Eva so much that she jerked, her hips pulling back. Making a sound of displeasure, he grabbed her hips and pulled her to the end of the bed, hooking her legs over his shoulders. His hands pressed onto her stomach, holding her still as he laid his tongue flat against her, licking from bottom to top in one long stripe. Eva tried to calm her breathing, her fingers digging into the comforter below her. The heat of his mouth coupled with the confidence in every movement made for a heady combination.

Moaning lowly, he sucked each of her lips in turn, moving back and forth, tongue dipping inside before starting again. Over and over in slow, meticulous succession, until Eva was rolling her hips up, trying to get more friction. His thumb moved to circle her clit, rubbing around it, avoiding the tightest bundle of nerves.

She whined, carding her hand into his curls, trying to wordlessly urge him to give her more. He seemed to hear her—in the next second, he was pushing two fingers into her in one slow, careful thrust. Her breath caught in her throat, releasing on a high pitched moan when he shifted up and gave a firm suck to her clit. And then another. And another. Her eyes closed, losing all control over her body. Her heels dug into his back as she used as much leverage as she could to get closer.

Nose pushing into her pubic bone, Horacio added a third finger, the stretch burning despite how obscenely wet she was. Eva’s eyes rolled back, the orgasm clenching down on him hard. She cried out, a hoarse sound that he echoed as he buried his face deeper between her thighs, tongue rolling over her folds eagerly.

He eased her legs down, lightly massaging her thighs before he rose to lean over her.  Eva was still catching her breath when he kissed up the column of her throat and over to her scent gland, sucking gently on it. She gave a reedy moan, body curling up and around him.

He shushed her, easing her back down onto the bed. More kisses, a gentle massage against her folds that had her already simmering arousal making a slow ascent upwards once more. Needy and wanting more, Eva grabbed the back of his neck, arching her body into his. It was then that she realized he was still wearing the goddamned khakis. She pulled away, pushing her fingers beneath his belt buckle, pulling the leather through the bar and managing to get the it loose before he grabbed both of her hands.

“I told you that you needed to let me lead, Eva,” he grumbled, looking down at her with censure.

She bit her lip, fingers curling into little fists as she waited for...she didn’t know what. Would he stop?

Making a soft tsking sound, he pushed her hair from her face, “I’m going to get you ready, okay?”

Eva laughed softly, “I just came, Horacio. I think I’m ready.”

Shaking his head, he pulled one of her hands down, flattening her palm against the fly of his pants. She let him hold her there, curving her fingers over the shape of him. Her smile faded just a little as the mapped him. Although she might say that he was average in length, in width—well, fuck. Her body clenched as she thought about how tightly he would fill her up, how he might not even fit.

In a rush of determination, Eva slipped the button of his fly loose and pushed her hand down between his pants and underwear. He hissed as she gave him a slow, firm stroke. Her original assessment was correct, he would fill her absolutely to the brim. The thought intimidated her as much as it excited her.

Leaning down next to her ear, he asked, “Do you understand why I need to lead this?” His grip tightened ever so slightly, “I need to make sure you’re ready.”

He pushed her hand away, resting his weight on one arm so that he could open her back up to his touch.  Carefully, Horacio slipped two, then three, fingers inside her, spreading them to stretch her folds open. She groaned at the feeling, eyes closing. The gentle exploration quickly grew in intensity, his thumb giving a firm stroke to her clit with every thrust. Eva writhed in the sheets, unable to stay still. The feeling built upon itself, spiraling up and out of her. It was harder than the first, deeper in a way that had her gritting her teeth.

Sweat had pooled over her chest and hips, her heart hammering in her throat. She felt too wound up and boneless at the same time. His fingers slipped from her sopping folds as he shifted to the side. He placed little kisses over her skin, eyes looking over her body with something akin to pride.

“Good?”

She nodded, not quite able to speak, lips dry. As she gained some feeling back into her body, Eva rolled a little and hooked the fingers of one hand into his pants, tugging at them. He took her meaning and slipped them off leaving him in boxer briefs that were damp with precum. She kissed his chest, tracing the pad of her thumb over the crown of him. He only let her touch him for a short time, the muscles of his body tight with restraint. When she wriggled her hand inside to get at skin, he stopped her.

Holding both wrists down beside her head, Horacio rolled atop her, settling his hips between her thighs. Eva wrapped her legs around his waist, letting him sink as deep as possible to the cradle of her hips, a welcome weight.

He kissed her briefly, “Condom?”

Eva nodded, pointing to the nightstand. He was all perfunctory movements as he opened the drawer, pulled out the condom, shoved off the last of his clothing, and rolled it on. She was glad for it as it gave her an excellent view of him fully naked for the first time.

Wanting to touch him, she sat up and brushed her hands over his strong thighs, filing away the image of sitting atop them for later. He cupped the back of her neck, kissing her as he urged her to lay back, his body covering her.

“Slow,” he said between kisses, “We go slow.”

Eva was absolutely on board for that, still feeling a little timidity about the size of him. She hadn’t been with anyone since coming to her new assignment, so she knew she’d need a little time to adjust. Drawing her bottom lip between her teeth, Eva forced her body to relax.

“Slow,” he reiterated as he lined himself up.

The first push made her rethink her choices that night, and she couldn’t keep from closing her eyes against the burn. Fuck, but she wanted it. She tucked her chin into the curve of his neck, breathing long, slow breaths.

Groaning, Horacio adjusted his weight and pushed a little deeper. Just when Eva thought she couldn’t stretch any further, there was more of him easing inside. Though she tried to stop it, a little sound escaped her throat.

He stopped, lifting just a bit to check her expression, and she could see him working to make a decision, strain behind his eyes. Then, he pulled out and rolled over to his back.

“C’mere.”

Though she was still a little shaky, Eva crawled over him, straddling his hips. He helped her tilt up and then back down again. Using her hands on his chest for balance, she tried to let gravity ease her down. Despite how wet she was, she could only take a few inches before she had to stop and focus on her breathing.

“I don’t think I can,” she admitted after a few shallow thrusts.

He rose and wrapped his arms around her, “You can, you can.”

When she faltered, he buried his nose in her hair, cradling most of her weight and taking the motion from her. Up and down. Nice and easy. Just a little more every time. With every stroke, the burn eased just a little, until she was giving him tiny rolls of her hips, until tingles of sensation overcame the stretch of her body. Needing to, she kissed him, sighing into his mouth when she sank down so smoothly that the little gains that they had been making suddenly became one generous thrust.

Eva gasped, hips swiveling.

His eyes widened as he looked down at where they were joined, “Good?”

She nodded, “I’m good. So good.”

Another rise and fall, and she was gripping the back of his neck, widening her stance to take him all the way to the base where she ground down hard. He hissed, arms tightening so that there was not an inch of space between them. It stunted her movements, and Eva found herself wanting desperately to keep the steady rise of pleasure.

Small, but growing whimpers sounded from her lips, her body’s movements liquid and burning. She wanted more, and she wanted it now. Horacio’s hold on her kept the pace maddeningly slow, but so goddamn steady that it anchored her to him.

“I’m so full,” she bit out, her head dropping to his shoulder in near defeat, “You fill me up.”

Below her, he let out a harsh breath, followed by a sharp inhale and long, agonized groan. His hips pushed up hard, just once grinding into her before beginning that steady pace again, if only a little faster. She was glad he had some control because her mouth had started up and there was no hope that she was going to be able to stop it at this point.

“Fuck, you feel so good inside me,” she said on an exhale, her voice cracking.

He kissed her hard, bracing one hand against the mattress, to get more leverage, hips arching off the bed. The release of his hold gave Eva all she needed to begin meeting him in the middle. With a low whine, she angled her hips and drove down on him, her jaw loosening when he hit every spot inside her that made her squirm.

His forehead pressed against her, nose pressed into her cheek, Horacio swallowed audibly, saying, “Mmph—fuck, slow. Eva, slow.”

The words seemed forced out of him, his voice hoarse. Eva kept going, pulling away to get a good look at his face. His brows were drawn together, mouth open and wet, sweat on his temples.  He looked...fucking wrecked. She could see in that moment how hard he was trying not to come, and it made a shot of determination zing through her. He could have made that directive an order, could have asserted himself as the alpha, but he hadn’t. This gave her an opening that she was all too eager to take.

Kissing him, she pushed at his shoulders, following him down and slowing the drive of her hips.  She gave him sweet, lazy kisses until the tension in his body lessened enough that she felt confident he believed that she was listening to him. Then, she sat up, and called on the last remaining vestiges of her energy.

She started with slow undulations that ended with that little grind that he favored. But, Eva was not a patient woman, and she was soon riding him as she had been before. His hands flew to her hips, but he didn’t stop her. Just the opposite. He pulled her down to meet him, head thrown back to expose the strong column of his neck—a staccato ‘ah, ah, ah’ sounding each time their hips met.

Impossibly, he hardened further, until his grasp tightened to bruising and she felt him pulse inside her. He groaned in the back of his throat, eyes shut. Eva smiled down at him, thinking that he was gorgeous even when he was coming, especially when he was coming.

After a few more shallow thrusts, she eased off him and to the side, watching him catch his breath as hers returned to normal. Reaching down, he slipped off the condom, tying it off and leaning over the bed to toss it in a waste basket she kept nearby.

Eva didn’t touch him when he laid back down, though she wanted to. She wanted to lay her head on his chest and hear his heartbeat, curl up next to him while they dozed. A much stronger part of her kept her hands to herself, not knowing what he wanted.

Horacio leaned his weight on an elbow reached out to tucked her sweaty hair from her face. Charmed by the gesture, she turned and kissed his palm, holding it to her briefly before letting go. He shuffled closer, gathering her to his body, the backs of his fingers tracing one long line down the length of her.

On the upstroke, he slid them between her legs, brushing against her, “Are you hurt? Sore?”

She mentally reached out to her body, feeling for injury, “No, but I’ll probably be a little sore in the morning.”

After a few moments of silence, Horacio helped her stand and took her to the bathroom where he turned on the hot water. They showered a little awkwardly, the space too small for both of them. His hands never really left her, though, lingering over her body in a way that spiked a surprising return of her arousal. He laid kisses all over as he dried her off, haphazardly running the towel over his hair and body before tossing it aside.

When he laid her back down in the bed, he kept her near. Naked, warm, and clean, they laid together, talking about nothing at all. And, all the while, he would lean down and press a kiss here, a lick there, just skirting the edge of what she might consider seduction. And yet, her body began to respond as if he’d just started touching her. The fog of her exhaustion gave her a temporary reprieve, lifting just enough that she felt her thighs clench together—or, they would have, if he hadn’t kept his hand right where it was.

Pushing her to her back, Horacio shifted his arm beneath her neck, the other laying across her body, fingers running up and down her slit, circling at the top.

“You took me so well, Eva. I knew you could,” he murmured in her ear. “Made me come before I was ready.”

He alternated between focusing on her clit and rubbing sensuously over her opening. The touch was light, but focused enough that soon enough her hips were tilting up, searching for more stimulation.

“Are you going to come for me again?” He asked, heat lacing every word, “I think you’ve got another in you.”

Unbelievably, it appeared that she did, in fact, have another in her. Though he hadn’t penetrated her, Eva felt the orgasm build and pulse through her. Thighs jerking, she gasped against his mouth as he worked her through it.

With a low hum, Horacio slowed his touch, kissing down her jaw to her neck where he nuzzled against her. Though she’d been granted a short respite, Eva felt the need for sleep come crashing in. Eyes drooping, she shifted to her side and curled into his body.  She fell asleep to the feeling of him lazily tracing the contours of her shoulders and back.

[the-cat-at-the-theatre-door]

Gus and Skimbleshanks for the character ask!

All of them?? Oh, gee, okay um...

I'll tell you what - I'll answer all of them for Gus for now, and then perhaps answer them all for Skimble in the future (depending on interest level).

Alright, let’s see...

Gus

Already answered 6, 7, 8, 9, and 10 here!

1. Something this character is truly proud of

Gus is extremely proud of his accomplishments throughout his life, and extremely proud of how he worked up from nothing to get where he is - and he will humbly boast about these accomplishments until the cows come home, ask anyone in his proximity.

But, if I may take a moment to be as sappy as a possibly can, what Gus is *most* proud of is his legacy - aka, his children and his grandchildren. Though he never thought he’d be the nurturing type, and he still really isn’t, there is not a soul alive that has come into contact with Gus the Theatre Cat that does not know of his son and daughter, and later, his group of grandkittens. That’s why he’s always lamenting at the young ones that they “think they’re smart” when they do the bare minimum when he *knows* that they’re able to accomplish more than that.

2.Who they want to please the most.

Gus is, quite literally, a crowd pleaser. He’s a showman, so of course he is. He wants to please his audience, his director, his fellow castmates...all at once. He is also very proud when he manages to please his fellow cats or people in his family - for making a name for himself, for getting somewhere, for reaching such prominence as just a *cat* for crying out loud. He’s made it, and that makes him feel happier than anything else considering where he started.

When kittens tell him that they want to be like him someday, he positively beams.

3. Who depends on them.

His children depended on him for the longest time, but he kinda blew it with that one for a good chunk of their lives - and by the time he had started to come around, they were already independent, and it’s one of his biggest regrets that he didn’t come around sooner.

Nowadays, no one really depends on Gus for physical things or favours, but there are many members of the tribe that depend on him to listen and to talk to them. Gus has a way of spinning situations simply so that they make sense, an eccentric conversation style that is both pleasant and distracting, and is able to read the room *extremely* easily. It’s a little spooky how easily Gus can pick up on a situation, with very little conversation, and how smoothly he can transition conversation/interaction style if necessary. Gus can be rather blunt and honest to a fault, but you’d be hard-pressed to find better life advice than from him.

(If we go with my Gus and Bella are siblings, theory, she used to depend on him a lot when they were young, since their parents also weren’t around much - what goes around and all that - to protect her and watch her)

4. What they would do if they had one month to live

Well...I mean...what is he doing now?

Sorry. A younger Gus would have said he would press on with whatever he was doing at the time. He’d want to be back in the pub with his friends, late into the night. He’d love to get a final dramatic monologue in, a final curtain call; die doing what he loves instead of caught up in a bed.

Now, well, Gus is well aware - somewhere in the back of his mind - that he’s not going to live a long time. He knows the end is nearing. All he really wants is quiet - after a life lived out loud, if he could just collect himself enough to sort everything out one thing at a time, and quietly work through each day he would be grateful. Bored to death, perhaps, but grateful.

He’d like to maybe see Bella again, before he goes.

5. A cherished personal belonging.

The blanket Gus began to wear around his shoulders used to be where his wife and children slept and where his grandchildren currently play, and it has a whole cacophony of different scents attached to it. He hates being parted with it. When things get overwhelming for him, he buries himself in it, curling himself under a literal blanket of familiarity - even if he isn’t quite sure *why* it’s familiar.

11. This character’s favorite piece or pieces of clothing.

He has a pair of gloves that his wife also made for him that Jelly has patched over the years because they’ve worn thin. She ended up having to cut the fingers off and hem them when they became more hole than glove.

He also has a scarf given to him by one of the theatre patrons from an earlier show of his - a little girl with her mother who was only truly fascinated with the cat on stage, and didn’t understand why they didn’t give him a costume as well. She was helping by giving him hers.

12. How they sleep.

He snores and mutters in his sleep, to the point where he seems to have entire conversations with himself. He’s also rather fitful. The kittens are wary of sleeping anywhere near him, since he has been known to jerk awake suddenly and kick out in alarm (and doesn’t he feel guilty the few times that *has* caught a few of them in the ribs or the legs)

13. What kind of parent they would be.

Well he *is* one, and the answer to that question would be not a *great* one, but not a *bad* one either. Gus is a fun parent, a loving parent, a proud parent, but he isn’t the best parental figure. He isn’t so great with discipline, nor is he great for showing up to anything on time.

I’d say Gus’ strength as a parent came from his unfailing willingness to go along with whatever scenario his children would cook up - from pirates to knights and princesses to aliens - Gus was always willing to jump into the game should they invite him to play with them. And you know he threw his entire self into it, too.

14. How they did in school

Gus would have a been a “graduated from Juilliard” kinda guy, if the timeline matched up - or if he could have afforded it.

As it stands, he didn’t really finish school. Not necessarily out of any inability to do so, but a complete and total lack of interest. He held odd jobs mostly, to support his family, which led him to quietly quitting school. He figured anything he wanted to learn would be just as good coming from direct experience or working under a mentor than a formal education - and it got him where he is today, so all in all not bad.

15. What cologne or perfume they would use

There is a very specific one that my grandfather uses that smells exactly like something Gus would wear - it’s that standard older gentleman scent - kind of like...Aqua Velva but softer - that is slightly on the pricy side, but not ridiculously so. He doesn’t bathe in it, but he uses it religiously.

He *used* to dip into a Chanel perfume that one of his actress friends gave to him after one of their shows wrapped, that he *kinda* thought just smelled a lot like lightly spicy rubbing alcohol but felt it polite to at least...use it - when that finally ran out and he curiously checked on its price...he never even looked at it again.

(”Ridiculous...I may as well douse myself in a bottle of gin it’ll give off the same effect!”)

16. Their sexuality

Gus is bisexual and biromantic, with a preference for Queens, but he’s had several trysts with Toms as well. He was quite the paramour in his younger days.

17. What they’d sing at karaoke

Gus finds karaoke to be absolutely *dreadful* in that he legitimately does not see the fun in it OR its purpose.  And that’s coming from a cat whose whole job it is to perform.

So count him out of that. He’ll monologue on the spot for you, though, if he is so inclined.

18. Special talents they have

Gus used to be extremely good at remembering people’s names - even after just one introduction or overhearing it once (Jelly gets that from him).

He's very good at patter songs and tongue twisters. He also used to delight his kits by speeding through the alphabet backwards.

He can clock a person's personality within literally seconds of knowing them - and he's usually right.

He plays piano and was the one who taught Jelly to play. He can’t so much anymore with his shaking hands.

19. When they feel safest

Gus feels safest in the light when he's able to see everything. He never got stage fright, per say, but would get waves of nerves when he was directly in a spotlight - with the rest of the stage dark around him...like he was being swallowed. He would get nervous to move out of it - the lighting techs needed to be *very* on the ball if the director called for a total blackout (he only really trusted two of them).

20. Household chore they hate the most

Cooking. 100%. Can't stand it. Does not know how the oven works. Cannot adjust to picky palettes well. Definitely a take out dad.

21. Their fondest childhood memory

(Sibling AU) When Gus and Grizabella were children, they put on “Cinderella” (which Bella insisted would be changed to “Cinderbella” because of course. Gus goes along with it because *whatever fine his mother told him that he was the big brother and had to be nice to her*) as one of their very first collaborative plays together - they were around 8 and 6 respectively. They had already put on dozens of little skits and read-throughs and imaginary games, and they loved doing it.

Bella *refused* to be anyone other than Cinderella and Gus refused to play the prince (because it meant he had to *kiss his sister yuck*), so instead it was really “Staring Grizabella as Cinderella and Asparagus as *literally every other part except for Prince Charming*.- they spent hours trying to figure out how the quick changes would work, and making script changes, and hanging sheets behind them for curtains, and Bella glued together a tiny little suit for her teddy bear who would play the prince instead.

All in all, it went about as well as they could have expected - a bit of a disaster. They put it on for their father, who watched with tired eyes and a patient smile, and applauded enthusiastically at the end - and they both decided right then and there that that was what they would do for the rest of their lives.

He considers that his first stage credit.

22. How they spend their money.

Honestly, Gus’ money spending habits are very strange. He will buy himself a new car *once* and then run the thing into the ground until it physically can’t run anymore, won't buy new clothes until you can see through the old ones, will *always* weasel his way out of paying for alcohol at a bar (he has *many* tricks up his sleeve for this one), and he will refuse to spend his money on other frivolous things, but you bet your dollar that he is literally always shelling out money to his grandchildren just because - saying it would be their little secret, and one time bought a bird house because it "spoke to him" but never bothered to hang it up or actually use it.

23. What kind of alcohol they drink

Well, he used to be a “whatever I am given I will drink and I will probably drink *too much*” kind of guy, but since cutting back he’ll moreso partake in brandy or gin, but only in very small doses.

24. What they wish they could change about themselves

There are several things that Gus wishes he could change from the past, but the one thing he wishes he could truly change about himself in the present is how much of a burden he feels he’s become to the others (he's not but he feels that way). Gus is a proud cat, he will admit that. And with that pride comes mourning of his own independence.

Sometimes, when Jelly is helping him do things - like button up his coat or helping him to eat - he just looks at her forlornly and murmurs “My poor dear. You shouldn’t have to do any of this.”

He also wishes that there wasn’t a period of time that his familial relationships were so strained because of him putting his career first, but he can’t really change that so much as try his best to make up for it.

25. What other people wish they could change about them

Gus has the tendency to be a little...let’s say *long-winded*. And a little hypercritical. He holds himself to a high - near-impossible - standard, so he also has a bad habit of holding others to that same standard.

[letterstoleia]

Important Lessons Learned from Gabby and Brian

As an author and advocate for survivors of domestic violence, I’ve learned a lot about the predictable patterns of unhealthy relationships. After years of personal experiences, research, and outreach, I’ve learned to recognize the tell-tale signs of abuse. I am not a licensed therapist, social worker, police officer, or minister. So please understand I shared my thoughts as 3 a.m. musings. When a few people asked me to make the post public, I agreed, reluctantly. I had no idea this message would resonate with so many people. I've worked back through the original post to explain a bit better how I'm feeling. I realize not everyone will agree with me, and I respect all opinions and views. All I ask is that we engage in respectful discourse on all sides. Thank you all.

In recent days, the tragic events involving Gabby Petito and Brian Laundrie have given us a lot to learn. This case is still under investigation, and I can only make assumptions based on the textbook patterns of abuse I’ve witnessed too many times to count. I also recognize that multiple families are grieving, and I have tremendous empathy for everyone involved. However, many survivors will resonate with at least some of the following insights, and I’m hoping we can use this tragedy to shift the way we as a culture approach the complicated issue of domestic abuse.

Let’s examine 30 important lessons this couple teaches us:

1. Followers on social media saw a smiling, happy couple, full of love and wanderlust, setting out for a cross-country adventure while documenting all the joys of young life. In many cases, targets become very good at smiling through the pain.

2. When the public was shown body camera footage captured by Moab City Police officer Daniel Robbins, (who pulled Laundrie and Petito over after the 911 call on August 12), some viewers assumed Petito was suffering from mental illness and Laundrie, while nervous, was the steadier of the two.

3. Other viewers assumed both partners were equally at fault—the old “it takes two” myth that doesn’t really apply to most abusive situations.

4. Some people even assumed Petito was the abuser and Laundrie was the victim.

5. These three assumptions probably crossed everyone’s mind as a possibility (they did mine). Healthy minded people tend to give others the benefit of the doubt, especially when someone is being accused of a negative act. Also, we can all understand that mental illness is a difficult situation and can tax even the kindest most gentle of souls (and the people who love them). Unfortunately, in many cases, this thought pattern leads us to assume the victim is mentally ill or that the victim is to blame for an altercation.

6. “Victim blaming” can happen even in the worst cases of abuse because we don’t see the longitudinal story unfolding. What we don’t see is that the target has managed to keep things together until she reached her threshold, at which time we may see her crying, yelling, or breaking down emotionally. By exhibiting those behaviors, many might assume the target is “crazy,” and it’s natural for us to feel as if the more stable person is more trustworthy.

7. If we listen carefully to Laundrie’s conversation with the officers, he even laughs and says, “She’s crazy.” (17.09) Then he dismisses it as a joke. Of course, he’s already put this claim in the officers’ minds (and by the nonchalant way he says it, many might assume it’s not the first time he’s said these words.)

8. So while viewers (and officers) start wondering if perhaps the target is “crazy,” the abuser plays the part of the poor, patient partner who has to deal with this irrational person. In the video, Laundrie mentions Petito’s anxiety and her OCD, painting her as an unstable partner. (Please note: I’m not at all justifying any physical violence against either party. No one should intentionally harm any other person. Period.)

9. A typical abuser would be skilled at convincing people that he’s innocent, while in fact he’s been acting very differently behind closed doors, pushing his target to this point intentionally and feeding on her emotional break. Many abusers LOVE to see evidence that they’ve hurt their target. They LOVE to see their target in pain. For this reason, “breaking” the target is usually the goal from the start. In cases of abuse, it may take an abuser hours, weeks, months, or even years to break the target, but he won’t stop until he gets that reaction, and then he’ll point the finger and say, “See? She’s crazy. I’m just trying to keep her calm.” And then he’ll do it again. And again. And again.

10. As a result, some people will buy into that false narrative. Even the target can be brainwashed to doubt her own truth. Which may be one reason we see Petito making many excuses for Laundrie’s behavior and taking the blame for everything.

11. In contrast, we see Laundrie blaming Petito, insisting he never hit her and saying he was just trying to keep her calm. He’s charming. He comes across as the loving and loyal partner. He’s joking around with the officers and even gives one a fist bump in the end. All the while, his fiancée is at risk of being charged with domestic assault and possibly spending the night in jail.

12. Later, we’ll hear the 911 recording that (it seems) the responding officers were not fully informed of at the time: “I’d like to report a domestic dispute.” The 49 second audio recording continues as the caller says, “The gentleman was slapping the girl.” When the dispatcher asks him to confirm that the man was slapping the girl, the caller responds, “Yes, and then we stopped, they ran up and down the sidewalk, he proceeded to hit her, hopped in the car, and they drove off.”

13. But long before the 911 call was made public, many survivors could already see through the spin playing out on the video footage. They easily recognized the “red flags” because these cycles become the norm for victims of long-standing abuse. Many targets eventually become conditioned to believe everything the abuser does is her fault. Covering for the abuser, accepting all the blame, trying harder to make the abuser happy—this warped reality becomes the only truth a target knows.

14. Also, it seems clear that Petito doesn’t want her fiancé to be in any trouble. She’d rather pay the price and protect the man she loves. And because she probably believes he only acted this way because of her mood/behaviors/anxiety/OCD/job, she doesn’t want him to be blamed. This is also the norm in abusive relationships.

15. Many experienced and well-trained officers see right through this typical pattern. Others buy the cover-up story. And, sadly, because some officers are also abusers, some side with the abuser even when they know exactly what’s going on. Throughout the video, we get the sense that Officer Robbins senses there’s more to the story.

16. I credit the police in Petito’s situation, especially Officer Robbins. The four responding officers (two of whom were park rangers) remained calm, they separated the couple, they interviewed them individually, they split them up for the night, they consulted the domestic violence shelter … many would say they did everything right considering the information they had at the time.

17. I imagine the officers involved may be suffering from tremendous guilt and wondering if they could have prevented Petito’s death, but I want to give credit to the officers in this case. While it’s easy to look back and say maybe they should have handled things differently, knowing what we now know, I was impressed with how well they treated both Laundrie and Petito (and, sadly, I was thinking how rare it is to see that level of respect and professionalism in most cases of domestic violence, particularly in the South where I’ve been most involved with survivors’ stories.)

18. After Petito was reported missing, many people expressed shock in response to the Laundrie family’s refusal to cooperate early in the investigation. Petito reportedly lived with the Laundrie family for more than a year. Anyone can see that this family will do anything to protect their son, even at the cost of an innocent young woman who was a real part of their family and soon to be their daughter-in-law. While most of us can certainly understand parents wanting to protect their son, most would agree they crossed a moral line when his fiancée went missing.

19. But perhaps it goes deeper than that. Perhaps what we’re seeing is a system of enablers who not only allowed their son to abuse Petito (which may have been a factor in her reported anxiety) but also a system of gaslighters who may have always been shifting the truth to keep Petito confused and make her believe she was the problem.

20. It’s not a far stretch to assume Petito was caught in a system of abuse. And once a target is caught in that psychological web, it’s extremely difficult to see a way out. Reality becomes flipped.

21. It’s also worth noting that Petito and Laundrie had been involved in various levels of a relationship since their teens. This is also commonly observed in dysfunctional partnerships.

22. These immature relationships work beautifully when both partners grow together and mature emotionally. But when one wants to keep the other down, naïve, and under his control … and the other is growing, learning, and maturing … it doesn’t work.

23. We hear Petito tell the officer that Laundrie didn’t think she could succeed with her travel blog (3.25). It seems clear that he didn’t believe in her and that he was trying to make her doubt herself.

24. Throughout the conversation, he implies that he locked her out of the van because she wouldn’t calm down. But when we listen to the full video, it seems he was upset because they’d spent too much time at the coffee shop with her working on her website when he wanted to go hiking. This suggests that because she wasn’t in the van when he was ready to leave, he lost his temper.

25. In the moments that followed, the altercation became physical. Reportedly, Laundrie squeezed Petito’s face with his hand, cut her down verbally, and criticized her.

26. Some would argue that this escalating abuse typically persists until the target reacts emotionally and/or physically. If this case follows the norm, Laundrie may have been trying to break her spirit, intentionally.

27. Why? Again, if this case follows the typical situation, it would likely be because Petito’s focus wasn’t 100% on Laundrie. She had found this new job she enjoyed. She was succeeding at it, and it was allowing her to connect with other people. (Remember, she’d already left her job as a nutritionist to travel around the country with Laundrie.)

28. In a healthy relationship, the new job might be considered a positive opportunity for Petito. Especially considering Laundrie admits they have very little money (not even enough to afford a hotel room to prevent his fiancée from going to jail). But in an unhealthy relationship, the abuser wants the target all to himself. And when that doesn’t happen, he can become increasingly violent.

29. Petito now had this one little piece of her life that Laundrie couldn’t control, so if we’re looking at textbook patterns, perhaps her blog angered him. Perhaps he didn’t like all the attention she was getting on social media. Perhaps he punished her for it. And then a cycle developed. Even though she was doing nothing wrong by building a new career.

30. The next thing we know, we have a missing person, a recovered body, a young man on the run, and several families destroyed. Too much grief to measure. And the truth is, it will happen again tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day, until we learn to recognize and respond to abusive situations in healthier ways.

The overall takeaway?

When we see someone at her emotional end during a domestic dispute, we shouldn’t assume she’s crazy. We shouldn’t buy into the false narrative given by the abuser. We shouldn’t believe the cover-up story by the target who has been conditioned to carry all the blame and shame. And we shouldn’t assume they’re going to be okay.

Instead, we should all learn the difference between healthy and unhealthy relationships. We should learn to recognize the warning signs of abuse. We should engage in respectful, fact-based conversations about trauma bonds, abusive cycles, and emotional intelligence. We should be familiar with terms like gaslighting, hovering, love bombing, enabling, triangulating, and projecting. We should stop blaming targets and help them reclaim their truth. And we should stop repeating the age-old myths that keep targets trapped in these dangerous and all-too-often deadly cycles.

Finally, while I’ve used the most common scenario of male-on-female violence in this article, we should recognize that abuse crosses all barriers and can impact anyone regardless of gender, sexuality, ethnicity, nationality, religious affiliation, age, or socio-economic level. And we should stop assuming these situations will get better in time. Personally, I haven’t heard of one abusive relationship that became healthier. Not one. Not with therapy. Not with church. Not with prayer or forgiveness or complete surrender. When an abuser is determined to destroy his target, he will not stop until that target is erased from this world or stripped from her life. And in many cases, he’ll walk away without any consequences, often taking the target’s finances, home, vehicle, reputation, or even her children with him.

Please don’t let the next statistic be you or someone you love. For support, contact the Domestic Violence Hotline. From a safe phone, call 1-800-799-SAFE (7233) or text “START” to 88788.

[ahatintimestorybook]

Contractual Obligated Ghost Friend

So for a while I've been working on my own modern AU after being into Winter's Twin AU and Doodle's Coffee Shop AU. I finally came up with one called Contractual Obligated Ghost AU (originally I called it Ghostly Contract AU, but I didn't like it) where Snatcher, Vanessa and Moonjumper are separated from their human and ghost forms and action, chaos happens.

This is the first story I plan to release and more smaller stories to accompany it. I hope you like this AU because I plan on writing more for it.

The sun was setting down in the small town of Subcon and a 17-year old boy was walking home after a long day of school and his part time job. Now this young man could go home and relax, watch TV, play a video game or take a nap, but sadly this wasn’t the time for that. Finals were coming in a few weeks and to Lucas Princeston that isn’t the case. To him studying for finals come quick and he needed to study so he can pass and graduate.

When Lucas came home he saw his parents weren’t home yet, good he can get some rest without snapping at them. He went to his room grabbed his books and started to study for his science final exam. Despite this, he was tired he wanted to call it a night early but he needed to study. At least for half an hour.

Half an hour passed, and Lucas was asleep on his desk. As he slept his door opened by itself and closed by itself waking the young teen up. “W-who’s there?” Lucas asked. He looked around the room and saw no one there. Lucas sighed thinking he was just dreaming and decided to back to studying. As he studied a few books fell off the shelf, which caught his attention.

Lucas was scared and looked around the room wondering what was going on and who was messing with him. “Alright! Whoever you are! Enough!” He shouted. The room was silent and things started to calm down. Lucas sighed and went over to pick up his books and put them back on the shelf.

As Lucas was putting books away he didn’t notice a purple noodle like ghost was sneaking right behind him with a wide yellow smile on his face. “WHY HELLO THERE!” Lucas screamed and bumped into his book shelf causing more books to fall. The ghost laughed seeing the look on Lucas’s face. “YOU FOOL! YOU SHOULD OF SEEN YOUR FACE!”

“W-who are you?” Lucas asked.

“ME?” The ghost asked. “I’m THE ALL POWERFUL GHOST, THE SNATCHER!” He announced. “AND STARTING TODAY TILL YOU DIE, WE’RE PARTNERS!”

Lucas blinked taken aback of what the ghost just said. “Wait what?” He asked. A ghost wanted to be partners with, him? “W-why do you need me to be your partner?” He asked again. “And don’t use that loud voice. It hurts my ears.” Lucas wasn’t wrong as his ears did started to hurt.

The Snatcher cleared his throat and spoke. “Sorry young man. Didn’t know my voice disturbed you.” He replied. Though it wasn’t loud the echo affect still spoke in his voice.

“Well it did.” Lucas replied. “By the way I’m-” The Snatcher cut off Lucas.

“I know. I know. Lucas Princeston. Age 17, a senior at Subcon High, wants be a lawyer,” The Snatcher paused to comment, “like me. And his birthday is June-”

Now it was Lucas’s turn to cut the ghost off. “W-wait how do you know all this about me?” He asked.

“Well.” The Snatcher started. “I’ve been in need of an errand boy or girl for a few months now since the last one died on me and well the big man of death himself choose you to be my new partner!” He explained.

Lucas tried to wrap his head around all this. He wondered if he studied too hard and it was just a dream and he’ll wake up on his desk and being greeted by his parents with a nice dinner before going to bed and sleeping in till 10 in the morning or later.

“This is just a dream. Your not real.” Lucas stated pointing at the ghost. “I’m still asleep.”

The Snatcher smirked. “Well if your dreaming. Let me know if you feel THIS!” The Snatcher grabbed one of the books and hit Lucas in the head knocking him out. The Snatcher chuckled hoping that when Lucas wakes up he wasn’t dreaming at all.

When Lucas woke up his head still throbbing in pain from the book to his head. He looked around and saw it was already nighttime. He turned to the clock and saw it was 11:30 PM. “Now do you believe me?” The Snatcher asked. Lucas looked around trying to find the ghost and saw The Snatcher in his bed reading one of Lucas’s books.

Lucas slowly got up holding his head and faced the ghost. “Okay. Maybe not dreaming.” He commented.

“Told ya!” The Snatcher sang.

Lucas sighed knowing this ghost won’t leave him alone till he accepted the partnership, but he needed to know what he was getting into before jumping into something shady and paying the price. “So what is this partnership?” He asked.

The Snatcher closed the book and smiled. “Well I’m glad you asked Lu!” He beamed. “You see I, a ghost is paired with a human and were together till you die.” He started. “And as were partnered we need to steal souls.”

“Whoa. Whoa! Wait. Souls?” Lucas asked.

The Snatcher nodded. “That’s right kid! We’ll be stealing souls together! Souls from bad people by the way. Innocents stay alive.” He reminded the young boy.

Lucas shook his head. “No way! I’m not going to murder, criminals for your satisfaction! Deal off!” He shouted.

“Yeah…” The Snatcher’s voice trailed off. “Deal can’t be off. Since I’m paid with you thanks to the big man of death himself. “So unless you die, or like my 66th partner takes a trip down death early. We’re together like glue!”

Lucas growled. “Well tell Grim Reaper to find yourself a new partner, because I ain’t doing it!” He shouted.

The Snatcher smirked knowing he had to do this the hard way now. “Alright. Alright. I’ll find a new partner.” He sighed. The Snatcher snapped his fingers and showed a long piece of paper to Lucas. “Just sign here and I’ll give it too the boss himself.” He explained. Lucas looked at the paper and read it carefully hopefully not to see any loopholes in the contract.

Lucas quickly signed it and handed it to The Snatcher. The ghost smirked and soon laughed as Lucas’s room had been engulfed in a purple area. “HAHAHAHA...FOOOOOL!” He shouted.

“W-what?” Lucas asked looking around.

“YOU blew it! YOU totally screwed yourself!” The Snatcher shouted. “That wasn’t a contract to get you out of it. I made you sign the agreement that keeps us bound forever!” As he said forever, his voice went into a deep growl.

Lucas glared for being tricked by this ghost. “Y-you. You tricked me!” Lucas shouted. Soon Lucas felt a pain in his chest and soon a blue mist came out of it and went on The Snatcher’s hand. “W-what’s going on?” He asked feeling week.

Soon The Snatcher snapped his fingers and put Lucas’s soul inside a purple oval gem. He then handed the gem over to Lucas who caught it. “Part of your soul and my soul are now kept in this gem. This keeps us bonded no matter what.” The Snatcher explained.

The ghost snapped his fingers and soon everything went back to normal.

Lucas’s eyes widen staring at the gem. Part of his soul is in there mixed with the ghost’s soul from the past. Lucas glared at the gem and ran to his window to throw it away, but it was caught by the ghost. “Don’t think about throwing it kid. I’m able to sense where you threw it.” The Snatcher warned.

Lucas glared and put the gem on his desk realizing it would be a waste of time hiding it or throwing it away. He sat back at his desk and decided to study the remainder of the night. The Snatcher smiled and floated close to his new partner. Lucas narrowed his eyes and turned to his new “partner.”

“This doesn’t make us friends.” Lucas warned.

The Snatcher smirked and just watched Lucas study for his test. A few hours later Lucas fell asleep on his desk his books and everything still open. The Snatcher was chilling on his bed reading a book watching his partner rest. Soon he heard a ruckus going on outside and went too look out the window.

Outside he saw two thugs breaking into a house right across the street. The Snatcher chuckled and looked at the gem on Lucas’s desk. He picked up Lucas’s hand and had him hold the gem. “Now time to have some fun.” The Snatcher chuckled before going inside the gem.

The two robbers finally entered the house and went to grab everything from the house. “Yo check this out dude.” The robber exclaimed. His partner turned to the mastermind of the crime and saw perfectly wrapped gifts for a birthday. The robbers looked at each other and nodded in sync ready to grab the gifts.

“Ahem.” A voice replied. The robbers turned and pointed their guns at a shadowy figure with glowing yellow eyes. “Someone’s a little greedy.” It was the voice of the Snatcher in Lucas’s body. The ghost then released flames from his hand, and soon leaped at the robbers as the latter screamed.

Lucas opened his eyes and saw he was in his bed. He rubbed his head wondering what happened last night. As he did he felt something wet and looked at his hand. Lucas’s eyes widen at what he saw in his hand.

Blood

Lucas ran towards his mirror and saw he had some blood splatter on his face. Quickly, he dashed to the bathroom and wiped it off before anyone noticed him. He wondered what happened and what caused him to have blood on his face. As he thought of what happened he could only think one particular ghost that might of done this.

“What did you do?” Lucas asked marching back into his room.

The Snatcher was reading on top of his desk sitting on his notes for school. “Well Gooood morning!” The Snatcher beamed. “Like what I did with your body?” He asked.

Lucas slammed his hands on the desk. “Enough with the jokes! Tell me what did you do to me?” He asked glaring at the ghost. The Snatcher pointed to the window. Lucas looked out the window and saw police cars surrounding a neighbor’s house. The young teen felt sick to his stomach as he ran outside to see what happened.

When Lucas got outside he saw police covering up the bodies of two victims. The teen gulped ready to throw up hoping he didn’t kill his neighbors. “E-excuse me sir?” Lucas asked a nearby police officer. “W-what happened?”

The officer sighed. “Apparently there was a robbery last night and the robbers were found dead.” He explained.

Lucas blinked. Robbers? Not his neighbors? Lucas looked and saw his neighbors were fine and not injured. Lucas nodded and stepped back away from the crime scene and sat outside watching neighbors and police wondering what was going on.

The Snatcher came by and smirked at the young teen. “Well like the work I’ve done?” He asked.

“You made me kill them?” Lucas asked whispering so no one would hear them.

“Well basically I killed them, but I needed to use your body.” The Snatcher explained.

“W-why?”

The Snatcher chuckled. “Remember the deal and part of your soul?” He asked. Lucas looked down and remembered the deal he made with the Snatcher. “You see,” The Snatcher revealed the gem. “This is a Poltergem. My soul when I was alive as well as part of your soul is in there. When needed I can go in this gem and control your body, kill people who do horrible things and then eat their souls.” He explained.

Lucas looked horrified at the ghost at what he just told him. “So basically are partnership is you using my body as a puppet!” He exclaimed.

“Exactly!” The Snatcher replied with a smile. “Though don’t worry I eat the souls myself. Your body doesn’t digest them.”

Lucas groaned putting his hands to his face. Just yesterday he was a normal teen living a stressful teen life. Now he’s obligated to a ghost who kills bad guys for a living and eats their souls. “What is my life!?”

“Just call it your Obligated Contract Life.” The Snatcher replied.

[skgway]

1832 Nov., Tues. 6

8 50/..

12 1/2

Fine morning – Fahrenheit 49º at 9 20/.. a.m. – Called up to Wilson the joiner come about the library passage up and down stairs in 1/2 hour – Till 9 giving orders – Then breakfast with my father – Waited for Marian to order about flannel for waistcoats and drawers. Determined to have all ready to be off in January –

Had Washington – To have all the bills next week for wearing, mystal at Southolme etc. etc. – Just saw my aunt for a few minutes – Very kind 2 1/2 pages Letter from Miss McL– [MacLean] (Coll house aros) to say the bay on laurel leaved willows were sent off to Glasgow yesterday week with orders to be forwarded here immediately –

Off at 11 1/4 with Marian to call at the vicarage – There in 20 minutes and sat 1/2 hour with Mrs. Musgrave – Then went with Marian to Walker’s shop to order flannel etc. for things for me in readiness for being off – Hoped I really should be on route in January – Then parted with Marian –

Went to Whitley’s. Bought Hooper’s medical dictionary 25 /. [shillings] published at 28 /. [shillings] and in 50 minutes at Lidgate (at 1 1/2).  Miss W– [Walker] very glad to see me, I having said I should not go till tomorrow – Sat 1/2 hour with her and home at 2 1/2 –

Met Mr. Samuel Waterhouse junior (ætatis 17) at her gate – Stood talking a few minutes while Mr. and Mrs. Lockwood left Miss Walker – Mr. S[amuel] W[aterhouse] just came to her door to ask how she did – She said she should have me to nurse [her] now and really seemed much better and in good spirits. 

Talked of the agreeable surprise of seeing [me] but yet seemed more inclined to talk of business than love. I appeared in more than good spirits. She would think them all put on. And perhaps believe me feeling more acutely than I really did. I kissed her, but in a common way, and she did not push herself to me as yesterday and was more guarded.

She will not give me much reason now either to hope or despair. Her self possession will probably be undisturbed enough. I left her with no pleasant feeling, saying to myself, ‘Damn her. It is an arrow and perhaps a lucky escape.’ I dont think her answer will be yes.  And the more easily reconciled I am the better. Shall I dislike her by and by? At least I shall be more at liberty without her –

Fred Wilson, the joiner, and his man in the library passage at 2 1/2 – 26 or 27 inches lower than my blue room closet but determined not to be beaten with it, and went on – Dusty job to get the studding down –

Had only just managed and given orders what was to be done when James Holt came at 4 5/.. and had him till 6 – Something must be wrong that Mr. Jeremiah Rawson will not let go into their works – Probably they are stealing my coal already – Holt says I should not take less than £200 per acre but if he was in their place he would not give £250 per acre –  

Said I had at 1st asked the price between the 2 leases (£205 and £230) = £217.[pounds] 10. [shillings]. 0 [pence] but had said I should be worse to deal with now – Proposed asking £220 per acre but Holt owned the coal was worth as much now as when sold to Oates and Green and worth quite as much or more to Rawsons than to them (∴ [therefore] I ought to have £230 per acre) –

Owned too that I ought to have more for the coal at the top of the land, for it would make that at the bottom of less value. He thought they had a hundred yards plumbing dip i.e. could get with the water head a hundred yards breadth on this side and alongside the present waterhead driven by Oates and Company – Should shew Mr. J[eremiah] R– [Rawson] the coal plan – Ask him what fields he wanted and might let him Hugh grave field and the coal ungot to the north west of it and to the north east down in a straight line under the cunnery plantation down to the road but not to let him come lower down – 

Owned afterwards it would be as well not to let him come lower than the Cunnery houses, for if he got down to the brook he could throw such a quantity of water upon us – If he did not come lower down than Cunnery houses or the present Wakefield road, I might leave or fence of coal or turn the water, and not be so much injured –

Holt would meet J[eremiah] R– [Rawson] on the ground and see what he wanted – No air pit necessary for the lower bed coal, and not to sell any upper bed but by a separate agreement – Upper bed costs 6 d [pence] a score (corves) more getting than lower bed, and not being able to get it all, obliged to leave posts, makes it not work so much by £50 an acre as lower bed –

If J[eremiah] R– [Rawson] would not let Holt go into his works, I might propose either of the 2 brothers Squire or Tom Lassey of Thornhill, the former steward to Mr. Ingham of Misfield – In making the agreement to have surface measure, and the power to send down people into the works whenever I liked, and to have a clause to prevent J[eremiah] R– [Rawson] damming or turning any water back into the old works after he had got the coal (Had I not better have a bond of indemnity against this?) otherwise he might drown me in water and prevent my getting the coal below where he had been getting and had turned the water –

It was right enough that I should make no allowance for gauls or jumbles or ruttle – Great difference between drawing out at the day and pulling up thro’ a shaft – At their (Holt’s) pit on Swales moor 150 yards deep pulling costs them 18 pence a score; and ropes cost them £15 or £16 a year – One collier may be reckoned to get 25 corves a day for five days in a week – If J[eremiah] R– [Rawson] gets £100 profit per acre it will be quite enough –

Then see according to the following what to ask an acre for the coal –

Making all sufficient allowances there will come out of one square yard 5 corves, which (as J[eremiah] R– [Rawson] sells at 7 d [pence] and 8 d [pence] a corve, average at 7 1/2 d [pence] a corve –

Expense of getting 20 corves (or one score) 4 /. [shillings] to the colliers –

Banksman 1 /. [shilling] a score – wear and tear say 6 d [pence] a score, certainly enough –

Lower bed 18 inches thick – Lightcliffe bed 25 inches thick – Billy stocks paid £260 an acre 5 or 6 years ago for what he bought – This that Hinscliffe is taking must be worth as much – He will have very little to sink – 14 or 16 yards and coals worth less as nearer the surface – But not for being dry – But there is a gaul that throws up the coal near Lidgate (breaks out in the road going up the hill) and there cannot be any coal on this side that gaul near more than a daywork or 2 to get in that field next below the Smith (Hinscliffe’s) –

Speaking of Godley, wished Holt not to let it go for nothing but said I had mentioned it to Mr. Samuel Freeman – Holt said I could employ no one better – He said it was North £80 a daywork but £ a daywork was the outside – ∴ [therefore] the 20 dayworks = £2000 

Carr has been arrested several times lately – Speaking of the cottages on Godley land, Holt knows that the 4 belonging to his uncle George Holdsworth would be sold – Cost £50 each building and £40 the ground – But might be had he thinks for £ 200 – Will inquire and let me know –

Speaking of his farm, some people might buy it at 3 1/2 percent Rent £66 per anum but it would not suit him to buy land at that price – He explained the manner of working coal pits – Asked him to give me an underground plan of a pit in working and asked him to let me know when I could go down with him into one of his pits. I must understand coal-getting before I have done with it – Holts pit at Binns bottom will be ready for working in 2 months from this and I can go in at the day –

Dinner at 6 3/4 – In 1/2 hour wrote and sent at 7 35/.. 3 pages to “Dr. Belcombe York” or rather 2 pages and 3 or 4 lines to him and the rest to his wife, to be torn off and given to her, thanks for her letter and to say yes! I thought black velvet properly garni au blonde (white) would be very becoming to her –

Told him wished I could give a better account of his patient, but she was not worse on his hands, which was marvellous considering the affliction she had had on account of the sudden death of her most particular friend, the news of which had arrived the day after our leaving York – No pills last Thursday – Begged to have them next Thursday – Ask how long they are to be gone on with without interruption – She thought at 1st, but not afterwards, they gave her much physicky pain in her bowels – These last had behaved very well considering the affliction she had been in –

In fact, she believed she could not have been so well now, had she not had his advice – He is ‘in très bonne odeur’ and his patient has faith enough in him – Mr. Day has been and, I suppose, would not let her believe in her own existence without the use of his ointment but ‘ce nous est égal’ – Ask him to write a letter I can shew. Not to spare a little anxiety and to ask whatever questions he knows will be proper. ‘Indeed not say I have the good of your reputation at heart’ –

John’s son Joseph Booth came over with Scott’s head groom to bring 2 perfect horses to Mr. Thomas Dyson of Willow field – Had him (Joseph B– [Booth]) in and spoke to him – He is grown, and improved – Perhaps I shall take him with me abroad – Then writing journal of today – Had John in – He is much pleased and satisfied with his son – Talked to him about his family – To send Charlotte for my aunt, to hear her read and see her sewing so as to be able to judge what she can do and be fit for –

Then my father and Marian just gone to bed. A few minutes with my aunt – Then came back to the drawing room – Read my letter from Vere dated Turin 24 October 3 pages and ends of small sheet (Frankfort paper) – Very nice chit chat amusing letter –

And read my letter from Lady Stuart (Richmond park) enclosing Vere’s 2 last to her – A kind 1/2 sheet full and a few lines on the envelope (franked by Lord Goderich) from Lady S– [Stuart]. These letters put me in spirits. I am better without Miss W[alker] – 

11 1/2 before I had read my letters and written so far of today –

5 corves at 7 1/2 d pence = 37 1/2 d [pence] = 3 1 1/2 per square yard

One score or 20 corves = 12/6 [shillings/pence] expense of getting which = 4 /. [shillings] to the colliers. 

∴ [therefore] 12/6 - 5/6 = 7 /. [shillings] clear gain per score = 1 /. [shilling] to the banksman or per 4 square yards = ./6 [shilling/pence] wear and tear (quite enough) –

At the forgoing rate, 5 corves or 1 square yard = clear gain of 1/9 [pound/shillings], 1 score (20 corves) or 4 square yards = clear gain of 7 /. [shillings] ∴ [therefore]

1 acre or 4840 square yards = at 1/9 [pound/shillings] per square yard or 7 /. [shillings] p[e]r 4 square yards = £423. [pounds] 10. [shillings] 0 [pence]

Now Holt said this calculation would do, and that £100 clear gain per acre was enough ∴ [therefore] if I have £250 per acre J[eremiah] R– [Rawson] has a profit of 423. [pounds] 10. [shillings]. 0 [pence] – 250 = £173. [pounds] 10. [shillings] 0 [pence]

Very fine day – Went up to my room at 11 50/.. at which hour Fahrenheit 49º

[sideways in margin] Sunday 23 December 1832 vide page 231, suppose Messieurs R– [Rawson] to sell at 7 1/2 per corve or 12/6 per score and allow half for expenses, then 48040/4 or 1210 x 6 shillings x 3 d [pence] = £363 + 15. [pounds] 2. [shillings] 6 [pence] = £378. [pounds] 2. [shillings]. 6 [pence], so that paying me £230. [pounds] 10. [shillings] 0 [pence] per acre then remains to Messieurs a profit per acre of £147. [pounds] 12. [shillings] 6 [pence]

[notebooknebula]

How to Build a Passive Rental Portfolio with Lane Kawaoka

https://www.jayconner.com/how-to-build-a-passive-rental-portfolio-with-lane-kawaoka/

Jay Conner (00:09): Well hello and welcome back to another exciting episode of Real Estate Investing with Jay Conner. I'm Jay Conner, your host and The Private Money Authority. And if this is your first time to the show, I want to give you a special welcome here on the show. We talk about everything related to real estate investing. We talk about all kinds of deals, we talk about single family houses, apartments, commercial land, sell storage and on and on and on. And if you've been following and listening in for a little while, you know I've had just some amazing guests and experts here on the show and today is no exception. But before I bring on my special guests today, I've got a free gift for everybody and that is if you are looking for more funding for your deals, regardless of what your mortgage broker or your hard money lender or such my site, I've got a free on demand online class that gives you the 5 steps that shows you exactly how I went from having no funding to over $2 million in funding in less than 90 days.

Jay Conner (01:12): So you can check it out and get right on over to www.JayConner.com/MoneyPodcast. So with that, I am so excited to have as my guest today, a good friend of mine also, we're in a mastermind group. His name is Lane Kawaoka and he currently owns 2,600 units as in apartments and et cetera across the United States. What you're going to love about listening to Lane today is that he is truly a virtual investor, meaning he lives in Hawaii, but all of his investments are in elsewhere in the United States. So we recently quit his day job as a professional engineer and he is now enjoying the wealth and the freedom that I know all of you all are looking for.

Jay Conner (02:11): So what Lane does is he partners with investors who want to build a portfolio but are too busy to mess with the tenants and the toilets and the termites, et cetera, by curating opportunities. And his company, which was called the HUI Deal Pipeline Club. Whereas investors have personal access to him and know that Lane is perfectly putting his money on the line too as well. Well, his pipeline club has acquired over $155 million of real estate and it's acquired by syndicating over $15 million of private equity just since 2016 so he's also another great connection as I am in this world of private money. So what Lane does is he reverse engineers the wealth building strategies that the rich use to the middle class via the 50 investing podcast, which you can check out. It's SimplePassiveCashflow.com and Lane's mission is to help hardworking professionals out of the rat race one free strategy call at a time. So with that, Lane welcome to the show!

Lane Kawaoka (03:15): Hey, thanks for having me, Jay. Aloha!

Jay Conner (03:17): Aloha. I love it. I love it. Like what's that thing you call when you put them around the neck and they welcome you to Hawaii, a lei. There you go. There you go. Yeah, well, as I said about Lane and I are in a high end mastermind group and we've gotten to know each other and in fact we were in the same focus group at our last mastermind meeting and I was just very, very intrigued with Lane and what he's got going on and it's therefore invited him here to the show. So whether you are a investor with capital or if you are a real estate investor and you're just sort of tired of going to the local REIA club, hanging around some broke people and you actually want to change what that looks like, you're definitely going to want to tune in today closely and learn how to connect with Lane. So Lane, give us your background story. How did you get, well, first of all, before you give us your background story, give us an overview of what you've got going on in this world of real estate investing. I mean, you've got over 2,600 units. What does that look like?

Lane Kawaoka (04:23): Yeah. So I'm kind of more evolved buy and hold investor instead of buying one of single family homes these days, I get sent apartment deals that get syndicated and I get to know the operators and sponsors and I do my due diligence, run the numbers, get the PNLs and rent rolls. Then I see if I want to invest and to bring along my investors with me.

Jay Conner (04:45): I got you. So you just said through syndication, just to make sure everybody understands what we're talking about. What do you mean when you say syndication?

Lane Kawaoka (04:56): Yeah, so a lot of these properties that, you know, say you're buying a hundred unit building, you know, you're going to need a couple of million dollars with down payment and you know, potentially funding from someone like yourself. But you know, you're going to get that private equity raise to get the big loan with the bank who controls 80% of it and you're going to pick up a $5 million property. Most people don't have $2 million lying around, nor is it very smart to you know, most of my investors, we go by this principle, we don't put any more than 5% of our net worth and to any one deal, [right?] So we diversify it over multitude of these types of syndications.

Jay Conner (05:38): So really what we're saying, when you say syndication, what we're talking about is using other people's money, private money, and having them invest into the deals with you. Right?

Lane Kawaoka (05:46): Right, right. So we create a couple of asset classes for general partners and limited partners, you know, limit partners, very little liability. They don't do anything other than bring your money in and check some monthly statements and hopefully we all get to the destination. Right?

Jay Conner (06:05): Exactly. Exactly. So you're living in Hawaii, none of your investments are there. All of your commercial properties are elsewhere in the United States. So how do you decide where you want to invest and where to go look for deals?

Lane Kawaoka (06:23): Yeah, I mean, my first criteria is cash flow. So the rent to value ratio is kind of what governs where I even start looking. So just like when I was buying single family homes, you know, I'm looking for a hundred thousand dollar house that rents for at least a thousand dollars a month. Because at that point I know I can pay all my expenses, all my mortgage expenses, and have a little bit buffer there to be able to cash flow because let's face it, I think over sessions coming up in the future and you know, even if the price goes down a little bit, I still want to be able to cash flow

Jay Conner (06:59): sure. That makes sense. So is there any particular area of the country or cities that you are focusing on or not focusing on?

Lane Kawaoka (07:09): Yeah, I mean most of the deals that I kind of look at are in the Southeast. More of the red States with very landlord friendly and a lot of blue color job force growth out there. A lot of manufacturing. Some of these places might be more tertiary market settlers. People hear less about, you know, like a Huntsville, Alabama, Birmingham, Alabama, Gulf port, Mississippi, Lake Charles, Louisiana. You know, those are typical markets that we like to target as emerging markets.

Jay Conner (07:43): I got ya. So let's say you know, you've determined a particular city or area or the Southeast that you want to focus on. So where do you go find the deals? I mean there's other websites that you use. Do you use direct mail campaigns? I mean, if somebody is starting out, where do they go to look?

Lane Kawaoka (08:01): Yeah, I mean if you're starting out, I mean, I hate to say this, but you don't have a shot. I mean, I think in single family homes, we can all agree, most deals, 80% of them are found off market in the commercial realm, over 50 units, 80% of deals are controlled by brokers. Unless you close a hundred or 200 units before, he ain't going to get a shot at closing. This next one, people are saying, well, what about the other 20% that are out there? It's like, yeah, you can direct market a sophisticated seller who owns an apartment, but unless that property is some huge issues and you know, I target properties that are 90% occupied or more, so I can get that qualified for them. Fannie Mae, Freddie Mac, non-recourse Monday, I won't really want to deal with those 20% problem property even though they're out there. So it's an unfair game.

Jay Conner (08:54): Yeah. So you

Jay Conner (08:56): say if you've never done one of these deals is going to be very hard for you to break in. So how does somebody start?

Lane Kawaoka (09:04): Well, I mean that's where most of our investors, they've done a bunch of single family homes. They fill up their net worth to be half a million dollars or more. They've gotten sophisticated in terms of they know the risks of real estate and they know how it works. But then they come into deals as a passive investor and they invest anywhere from $30,000 to $50,000 into a deal. And it's kind of buying your way into a big company. But it's, you know, you know the operators,

Jay Conner (09:36): right? So in other words, to really get started in this game, you need to be partnering up someone starting out. It needs to be like partnering up with someone like you that's already got the relationships that already knows the ropes that already knows how to do the workings of the deal. Right?

Lane Kawaoka (09:52): Right! And because we follow, we follow SPC protocol and there's a big thing about mass smart it being out there. So a lot of it, is you have to have a preexisting relationship with the sponsor you're going to work with. [Right] Most deals out there, 90 to 97% of deals are for non-acute investors, but you need to have a preexisting relationship.

Jay Conner (10:18): Exactly. I got you. So what's a realistic ride-over return that people can anticipate to get in these types of deals?

Lane Kawaoka (10:26): You know, from the get go, a lot of these properties with prudent leverage on it, your cash line, you know, high single digits, you know, maybe 8% that's usually, but these properties along of course cap rate compression has kind of taken over and it's hard to find these properties, which is why you've got to get about a thousand properties to find one that actually works. But the kind of deals that we kind of folk it's on or actually today, but there's some kind of value add opportunity. For example, putting about $4,000 into every unit with new paint, new flooring. And then it's just like on a pig. So they, we can raise those rents. 50 a hundred dollars if you get that bump in net operating income, which in commercial real estate, that's your operating income divided by your cap rate equals your, market place.

Jay Conner (11:22): Okay. So lane, you know, we hear people in your space and apartments talking about primary, you know, secondary, you know, other types of markets. So what's your comment and thought about, you know, should you invest in particular kinds of markets or not invest in particular kinds of markets?

Lane Kawaoka (11:42): Yeah, so I mean just to kind of define it for folks who don't know what primary, secondary, tertiary markets are. Primary markets are your top tier markets like Los Angeles, Hawaii, York, San Francisco, Seattle. You're not going to find the rent to value ratios out there to be able to cash flow. Now you know, I'm not going to knock anybody strategy in terms of investing, but my strategy is I want to cash flow on the property because my number one was not to lose money. You know, [that's a good rule.] You know that whole, you know, investing in those kinds of markets. Yeah. Everybody wants to live in a place like Seattle or San Francisco and generally the prices are going to be going up. But you know, we all seen what happened in the past and there's always going to be another recession where the prices kind of tank.

Lane Kawaoka (12:36): Again, I would rather skew my portfolio to more of, Hey, the property creates more rental income than it has an expenses and it can support itself. You regardless of what the market price is and when I can do that, I can sell at the right time whenever I want, at my price I want to be in. So to do that you need to go to a little bit off the beaten path to secondary markets like Birmingham, Atlanta, Indianapolis, Kansas City, Memphis, Little Rock or tertiary markets, which are about 50 a hundred thousand in population. Like you know, I guess El Paso is probably a larger Trisha market, but a Lake, Charles, Louisiana, Huntsville, Alabama would be good examples of tertiary markets.

Jay Conner (13:24): All right, I got you now. So that's the markets. So let's talk about for a moment the different kinds of properties or assets. So you know, in the commercial world you hear people talking about class A, assets class B, assets, class C assets. First of all, define for everybody what are these different types of classes of assets and what should you invest in?

Lane Kawaoka (13:48): Yeah, so the A-class or your brand new properties, these are the luxury assets that you know are usually brand new builds built anywhere from the last 20 years till now. The class B assets are kind of your 1980s 1990s vintage, a little bit older. And then the class C assets are like your 1950s to 1970s it doesn't go by age. There's no hard and fast rule, but you know, you talk to a broker, of course they're gonna bump up the rating on you for one grade, right? But you know, investors, you know, kinda know this lingo and they can kind of know what kind of class of building it is. But you know, just like how I said you don't invest in primary markets, you don't really want to be investing for class a luxury. We kind of target class B and C because that's where we can get a bargain. And we're not competing with unsophisticated investors just looking for a choppy asset. Right.

Jay Conner (14:45): That makes sense. Now you've mentioned a couple of times, you know there's another recession coming and of there always is. Nobody knows when for sure, but I know that you practice what you preach and you invest in what you would call recession proof assets. So other than say apartments or rentals, I have you got any other, of course nothing's guaranteed, but anything, any other what you would refer to as recession? Proof of assets?

Lane Kawaoka (15:15): Yeah, I mean another option are like mobile home parks. You know, I think when you talk about mobile home parks, people think about trailer homes, which that scares a lot of people off and that's a good sign. When people are scared on sophisticated, dumb money doesn't follow. So mobile home parks in a recession, if what you're thinking is people are going to the A class, people are going to move to the Bs, the Bs, they're going to move to the Cs and move into mobile home parks. It's an asset class that they aren't going to build any more of because of late on, no politician wants the responsible for permitting a mobile home park and also mobile home parks. Don't generate revenue for the city. So cities and counties don't want them, so they're, you know, most people in America believe it or not make under $30,000 and they need good housing like mobile home parks. That's one form. I'm, you know, I'm kind of getting into that a little bit. I know apartments the best, but I understand it's smart to invest in different asset classes. It's still sort of impacted by the economy. If you want to really go to the deep end and get totally non for later with the economy, I would say like settlement investing would be another good one. You know, investing off people's life insurances when they die, you get paid. Is that Saint out there? Nothing guaranteed more than death and taxes. Right?

Jay Conner (16:38): Right! Interesting. Interesting. Now I heard you mentioned this a few minutes ago, but I want to drill down on it. You referred to the rent to value ratio and that's you know, a common phrase in the broader commercial. So first of all, explain to everybody what do you mean by rent to value ratio and then what is your rule of thumb on what the ratio needs to be for the deal to make sense?

Lane Kawaoka (17:00): Yeah, so you know, just a quick example, some of the first properties when I was purchasing rental properties was a hundred thousand dollar house that rented for a thousand dollars a month. Threats evaluation. As you take the monthly rent divided by the purchase price, and that's the rent to value ratio, you're looking for something 1% or higher, 2% awesome. But it's sort of hard to find good areas. That's not a war zone, but you know, you're going to have to put it into the spreadsheet and go down. But line by line and every expense and income, but from a quick and dirty way of doing this, that the rent to value ratio above 1% is a good indicator that shows good cash flow, now I invest off cash flow. That may not be your, your listeners personal strategy. But when I'm investing off cash, I look for that 1% indicator. You know, like here in Hawaii, you know, this million dollar house rents for $3,000 a month. That's a 0.3%

Jay Conner (18:04): that works doesn't fit your formula, does it?

Lane Kawaoka (18:06): Yeah. Yeah. You know, it's the California will say no one all, you know, that doesn't work.

Jay Conner (18:12): Right. I got you. And you know I know this about you Lane, and that is, you know, it wasn't too long ago that you retired from your day job as an engineer, but you've been building this empire of real estate assets while doing a day job. How in the world do you do that? How do you find the time to do the, you know, actionable items that you gotta do in order to build this kind of investment company while you're working full time?

Lane Kawaoka (18:45): Yeah, I mean when I was just picking up single family homes my first five, seven years, you know, I use property management companies, you know, they're well worth, but 10% of your income that you bring in. Someone told me that you know, you don't do things unless you can scale it to seven acres and a single family homes are a great way to get started. Especially turnkey rentals. You know, like my first 20 podcasts were all about turnkey rentals, how I started. But as your network grows, you kind of drift into more syndications and private placements like all I have. And yes we use property managers, but there's also asset managers who are another layer of managers who kind of make sure we're doing the right thing with the asset and they are partners aligned with the passive investors. So everybody has skin in the game. And that's a key component that I don't invest without.

Jay Conner (19:40): Well that makes sense. That makes sense. Well, Lane, I know we put together a special URL for my listeners, which is www.jayconner.com/Lane, and tell our audience what is that URL address and why would they want to go there?

Lane Kawaoka (20:01): Yeah, so one thing that I've kind of, pretty much the only product I've made is, you know, your network is your net worth is what they say. And I work with high paid professionals who have money, most of which are accredited and you know, to get access to these deals, you've got to build up your network. Unfortunately, the worst place to go is these pre internet forums and the local real estate club because let's face it, they're just a bunch of broke people, you know, how do you prefer, you know they're not going out to be skiing scrapyard or whatnot. Use my podcast, which attracts passive investors and created this little mastermind.

Jay Conner (20:45): Excellent. So folks go to www.JayConner.com/Lane, and that will get you in contact with Lane and have a strategy session with them and have the opportunity to work together with him on commercial projects and invest if you like, and get connected and truly learn what passive income is about. So Lane, parting comments? Last piece of advice for our listeners and audience.

Lane Kawaoka (21:15): Yeah, I mean if people want to book a call, my email is lane@simplepassivecashflow. Just to make sure you tell me that Jay sent you because, and I think that's a big thing. That's why you and I joined these different masterminds, right? Jay like it's all about like it's a small world out there and you know, you never really want to work with some random person, so at least know they came from you. You know, I know that they're, you know, I can kind of follow the breadcrumbs, what kind of, what they're all about.

Jay Conner (21:45): You know, so our viewers have definitely heard me say this before, but I don't know who came up with the phrase that opposites attract. That's stupid. I mean, I want to hang around people that are like me, right? So yes, birds of the same feather do flock together. So anyway, Lane, I'm sure you'll be hearing from a good number of our, audience members Lane. Thank you so much, man, for taking the time to come here on the show and tell folks what you got going on.

Lane Kawaoka (22:12): Yeah, yeah, we'll catch up in a couple months there in San Diego. Good to see you again.

Jay Conner (22:17): You got it. Lane, thank you so much for coming on and I'll see you soon. Well there you have it folks. Thank you for joining in for another episode. I'm Jay Conner, The Private Money Authority, wishing you all the best and here's to taking your real estate investing business to the next level. We'll see you on the next show. Bye for now.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

IT'S CHARISMA, 372

Certainly it can be launched. That's what you're addicted to.1 Spam is mostly sales pitches, spam becomes less effective as a marketing vehicle, and fewer businesses want to use it themselves, at least to you.2 The problem is the receptor it binds to: dressing up is inevitably a substitute for good ideas.3 I'll start by telling you something you don't have to explain why. But you know the ideas are out there.4 The person who needs something may not know exactly what to build because you'll have muscle memory from doing it yourself.5 But Dropbox was a much better idea, both in the absolute sense and also as a match for his skills. For coming up with startup ideas on demand. So you have two choices about the shape of hole you start with. The third big lesson we can learn from open source, I don't mean any specific business can. Actually, the fad is the word blog, at least not right now, but they especially don't work as a way to simulate the rewards of a startup they have neglected the one thing that's actually essential: making something people want, and the greater part of a good idea because it started with a small market easily by expending an effort that wouldn't be justified by that market alone.

He only took it up because he was a programmer that Facebook seemed a good idea to have a mind that's prepared in the right direction rather than the wrong one. I've described is near zero. Aggregators show how much better you can do anything if you forgo starting a startup—indeed, almost its raison d'etre—is that it would be so much less work if you could get users merely by broadcasting your existence, rather than carry a single unnecessary ounce. Was there some kind of salesperson. Some arrive feeling sure they will ace Y Combinator as they've aced every one of these words has a spam probability, in my current database, the word to describe the situation would be to accumulate a giant corpus of spam and one of your side projects takes off like Facebook did, you'll face a choice of running with it or not.6 Stripe is one of the keys to retaining their monopoly.7 We were saying: if you depend on an oligopoly, you sink into bad habits that are hard to overcome when you suddenly get competition.

I do before x? Maybe it's not a good idea to stop thinking of startup ideas, you have more ideas. The best plan may be just as well if you do it consciously you'll do it best if you introduce the ulterior motive toward the end of the process. Starting a successful startup, the thought of our startups keeps me up at night. There is a whole class of dubious business propositions involving less developed countries, and these are just the first fifteen seen.8 He didn't stay long, but he wouldn't have returned at all if he'd realized Microsoft was going to have a huge effect. And they know the same about spam, including the headers.9 That's what was killing them. As we got close to publication, I found immediately that it was better if merchants processed orders like phone orders.

Well, math will give you more options to choose your life's work from.10 Fouls happen. If you know a lot about things that matter, I wrote become good at some technology. 84421706 same 0. 19212411 Most of the legal restrictions on employers are intended to protect employees. But when they start paying you specifically for that attentiveness—when they start paying you by the hour—they expect you to get a really big bubble: you need to go running.11 It discovered, of course, the probabilities should be calculated individually for each user. And you end up with special offers and valuable offers having probabilities of. 06080265 prices 0. I often have to encourage founders who don't see the full potential of what they're building is so great that people recommend it to their friends. I think, is to step onto an orthogonal vector.12 A startup just starting out can't expect to excavate that much volume.13

And yet have you ever seen a Google ad? 9889 and. Think about what you have to do is give them a share of it. Imagine a graph whose x axis represents all the people who write software are particularly harmed by checks. Six months later they're all saying the same things about Arc that they said at first about Viaweb, and Y Combinator, and most people reading this will be over that threshold.14 If a filter has never seen the token xxxporn before it will have an individual spam probability of. As day jobs go, it's pretty sweet.15

If the present range of productivity is 0 to 100, introducing a multiple of 10 increases the range from 0 to 1000. We assumed his logo would deter any actual customers, but it did not. Even colocating servers seemed too risky, considering how often things went wrong with them. You build something, make it available, and if you can make it happen. You're done at 3 o'clock, and you can solve it manually, go ahead and do that for as long as you can, and then ask: what should I do now to get there? When one looks over these trends, is there any overall theme?16 Good ones, anyway. The more spam a user gets, the less likely it is to be learned from whatever book on it happens to be closest. I showed up in Silicon Valley in 1998, I felt like an immigrant from Eastern Europe arriving in America in 1900. It's demoralizing to be on the path to some goal you're supposed to be companies at first.

Yes and no. The malaise you feel is the same. Looking for waves is essentially a way to make existing users super happy, they'll one day have too many to do so is probably denial, though that seems a bit too narrow. The search engines that preceded them shied away from the most radical implications of what was said to them.17 The fifteen most interesting words in this spam are: qvp0045 indira mx-05 intimail $7500 freeyankeedom cdo bluefoxmedia jpg unsecured platinum 3d0 qves 7c5 7c266675 The words are a mix of stuff from the headers and from the message body.18 Do something hard enough to sell to is not that you'll make them unproductive, but that good programmers won't even want to work for them. Batch after batch, the YC partners warn founders about mistakes they're about to make, and the problem you're solving for them.19

Notes

I realize I'm going to kill. Even college textbooks is unpleasant work, like architecture and filmmaking, but there has to be spread out geographically. Most explicitly benevolent projects don't hold themselves sufficiently accountable. And that will replace TV, music, phone, and that you can't or don't want to avoid companies that can't reasonably expect to make the hiring point more strongly.

Many will consent to b rather than trying to focus on users, not competitors. Do College English 28 1966-67, pp. Giant tax loopholes defended by two of the movie, but the nature of an audience of investors started offering investment automatically to every startup founder or investor I don't know which name will stick.

If you try to go behind the rapacious one. Put rice in rice cooker.

Something similar happens with suburbs. Perhaps the most important factor in the mid 20th century.

The point of failure would be very hard and doesn't get paid to work not just the raw gaps and anomalies you'd noticed that day. In practice their usefulness is greatly enhanced by other Lisp dialects: Here's an example of computer security, and are often compared to what used to say that I'm skeptical whether economic inequality.

Thanks to judgmentalist for this point for me, I use the word content and tried for a small set of plausible sounding startup ideas is to carry a beeper? If Congress passes the founder visa in a time. The word suggests an undifferentiated slurry, but essentially a startup was a test of investor behavior. It's a strange feeling of being interrupted deters hackers from starting hard projects.

Which is not so good. If you're doing something that doesn't seem an impossible hope.

Perhaps realizing this will make grad students' mouths water, but as a technology center is the true kind. Not in New York the center of gravity of the 1929 crash.

They shut down a few months later Google paid 1. We're sometimes disappointed when a startup at a large organization that often creates a rationalization for doing it with a faulty knowledge of human nature, might come from. That can be done at a time.

E-Mail. But we invest in a domain is for sale. University Bloomington 1868-1970. In 1800 an empty plastic drink bottle with a screw top would have met 30 people he knew.

Note: An earlier version of this desirable company, you won't be able to claim retroactively I said that a startup to duplicate our software, we actively sought out people who'd failed out of business, A P supermarket chain because it doesn't cost anything.

Ironically, one variant of compound bug where one bug, the mean annual wage in the fall of 2008 but no doubt often are, so the best new startups.

Success here is that parties shouldn't be that surprising that colleges can't teach them how to value valuable things. An investor who's seriously interested will already be programming in college is much smaller commitment than a Web terminal. Yahoo was their customer. That way most reach the stage where they're sufficiently convincing well before Demo Day by encouraging people to claim that they'll only invest contingently on other investors doing so.

I swapped them to act. I have about thirty friends whose opinions I care about.

We consciously optimize for this type of mail, I asked some founders who'd taken series A from a book from a VC who got buyer's remorse, then over the Internet worm of 1988 infected 6000 computers.

Mueller, Friedrich M. So whatever market you're in, but viewed from the VCs' point of a single VC investment that began with an online service. 2%. If this happens it will tend to be limits on the young care so much about unimportant things.

Some introductions to other knowledge. You should probably be multiple blacklists. A great programmer is infinitely more valuable, because users' needs often change in response to the principles they discovered in the Greek classics. Which helps explain why there are some good proposals too.

Ed. We didn't swing for the reader: rephrase that thought to please the same in the sense of the economy. Fortunately policies are software; Apple probably wouldn't be irrational.

I was insane—they could bring no assets with them. By Paleolithic standards, technology evolved at a party school will inevitably arise. In fact, if you did.

Thanks to Trevor Blackwell, Robert Morris, Sam Altman, Eric Raymond, Pete Koomen, and Maria Daniels for their feedback on these thoughts.