#i’m simply a girl who likes my men with moustache

[somethinginthewayiam]

The girl behind the bar (Part 2)

pairing: Jake Hangman Seresin x plus-size reader

warnings: class A banter

words: 3.5k

Summary: You're getting better at your job rather quickly. You already had some regulars, a group of naval aviators in particular. Sadly, Hangman was one of them. Today, you meet a new member of the group...

a/n: Thank you all so much for the likes and comments. I hope you like this one just as much.

Link to my masterlist

Your shifts at the bar got better by the day. Just like you had promised Penny, you learned quickly and improved every day. You already made out some of the regulars who were mostly Navy, young and old, retired, active and newbies, including some naval aviators that were stationed at North Island and the Hard Deck was their afterwork hangout.

You knew most of the naval aviators by their call signs, some even by their regular names. They liked you and you liked them. You seemed to find your footing in San Diego and it felt like it could become your home for at least a little while with every day that passed.

It was another busy evening at the Hard Deck. You still didn’t have the speed that Penny had in serving drinks but she also had three years more experience under her belt, at least here at the Hard Deck.

“Here you go”, you put two tall glasses of beer in front of two older gentlemen that definitely were part of the regulars; retired Navy. “Who’s driving tonight?”, you asked them. “Bert over here”, Carl said and pointed at his friend next to him. His actual name was Ernie but his call-sign was Bert as in Bert and Ernie. Carl’s call-sign was Ping-Pong.

You always thought that everything relating to military had to be super serious and tough, but as it turned out with every naval aviator you met, the names got funnier.

“Alright Bert, you know what that means. One more beer and I’m cutting you off”, you explained like they didn’t know the drill. “Women. Always nagging”, Bert shook his head but with a playful smile on his lips. You knew he was joking and you liked the exchange. “I just don’t wanna lose my favorite customer”, you told him and patted his hand that rested on the bar top. “You make an old man very happy”, he said and put his hand over yours. “Bert! You’re making me blush”, you told him and put your other hand over his. Ping-Pong put his hand on top of yours and now there was a tower of hands. “I felt excluded”, he simply said when you looked over at him and made the three of you laugh.

“Bradshaw!”, you heard Phoenix, a female naval aviator you had come to know through your work at the bar, exclaim over the crowd from the pool table as you turned away from the men to serve other customers. You looked at her first and then followed her eyes to a young man, probably the same age as she was, wearing a Hawaiian shirt as he walked past the bar counter, weaving his way through the crowd towards Phoenix. You just saw his profile and noticed that he was sporting a moustache.

Your attention got pulled away from him by other customers wanting to be served. You looked over at the group by the pool table from time to time. The Hawaiian shirt was an interesting contrast to the khaki uniforms he was surrounded by. You noticed how Hangman and the new guy seemingly went at it with intense stares and tense body language. Maybe they had a past or Hangman was just getting to him. That man could be unnerving.

You delivered a few drink orders to tables and got a new box of beer bottles out of storage when the new guy suddenly appeared at the counter. “Just a moment”, you told him as you put away the last few beers into the cooler. “Sure, take your time”, he said with no hint of sarcasm or impatience. You liked him already.

“Alright, what can I get ya?”, you asked and pushed a strand of your hair that had come loose from the big hair clip behind your ear. It was the first time you got a good look at his face and it was a pretty one. He really pulled off the mustache which wasn’t an easy task. The sunglasses he had on when coming in were now dangling at the neckline of his white shirt.

“A beer, please”, he placed his order. You grabbed a bottle out of the cooler and opened it. “Here you go. That makes 8,50”, you placed the beer in front of him with a smile. He returned the smile as he put a 10-dollar bill on the counter. “Thanks. The rest is for you, sweetheart”, he said and winked at you. He had a charming coolness about him. “Thank you”, you said as you took the money. He didn’t leave immediately but instead was looking at you with the same smile from before. “I’m Bradley”, he mentioned and extended his hand. “Y/N”, you told him and grabbed his hand for a surprisingly nice handshake.

“How do you know Phoenix?”, you asked him as you put the money in the register. “We met at the naval academy a few years ago”, he told you and leaned against the counter, taking a sip of his beer. “So, you’re a pilot, too?”, you inquired but weren’t really surprised as he nodded his head. “Yes, ma’am”, he said. “What’s your call-sign?”, you continued with your questionnaire. “Rooster”, he answered and looked at you like he was a bit surprised that you knew what a call-sign was. “I just remember the call-signs better than the actual names. I don’t know why”, you explained with a chuckle and shrugged your shoulders.

“Rooster!”, Phoenix called him over to play a game of pool. “Thanks for the beer, sweetheart”, he said. “Thanks for the tip”, you said in return before Rooster pushed himself off the counter and walked over to his friends.

When you looked over, about two seats down from where you stood, you found Hangman looking at you.

"Why does he get to call you sweetheart without you getting all snappy on him?", Hangman asked after he witnessed Rooster calling you by, what he thought was, your hated nickname and instead of getting mad at him you just shot Rooster a wide smile.

"Because despite how our first meeting went, he patiently waited for his drink, said thank you AND tipped me", you explained to the aviator while you walked towards him.

After your first encounter, you had a few more run-ins of the same kind. Always douchey on his part and you always countered in a sarcastic, witty way, or so you’d liked to think.

"I tipped you on the next round", he countered. "I tipped myself on your next round", you told him, hinting at the douchebag tax you charged him.

"But with my money. And I paid your fantasy tax", he doubled down. "Tax isn't something you can avoid, fantasy or not. That's not how the IRS works", you lectured him in a playful seriousness.

"Good god, you're killing me, sweetheart", he rolled his eyes at you. "If only, Bagman, if only. And don't call me sweetheart", you told him off, intentionally using Phoenix' version of his call sign that you knew he hated.

“Are you just here to complain or do you want something from me?”, you asked him and wiped down the counter in front of him. “A beer, doll”, he placed his order. “A definite no to doll”, you immediately told him and wagged your finger in front of his face. “I’m just working my way through the nicknames until you like something or you give in. I don’t mind either way”, he shrugged his shoulder. “Rooster called me ma’am. I can work with that”, you told him and placed a fresh bottle of beer before him.

“I’m not calling you ma’am. I’d rather follow my original plan”, he countered. “You know what might be a crazy idea? Calling someone by their birthname”, you told him and rested your hands on the counter. He stared you down with his piercing green eyes and you felt a little twist in your stomach.

“Nah, that’s not fun”, he simply stated and shot you a wide smile, showing off his pearly whites before he got up and walked back to the others.

You shook your head over his cockiness which could get on your nerves sometimes and it really did, but the banter between the two of you was actually quite fun. The way he presented himself would have you think he was not very popular but actually the opposite was the case.

The way his teammates talked to and about him let you know that he had their respect but he also demanded it. He had no problem voicing that he was always top of the class, one of the best if not the best. He exuded BDE when entering a room, talked up a girl or got up against Rooster for what seemed like pretty much anything.

You didn’t know another way to describe it but he was a pretty boy with a HUGE ego and needed to be put in his place from time to time and you’d happily be the one to do it.

It was later in the evening when the jukebox suddenly stopped playing. You didn’t notice at first because of the wall of voices in the well-filled bar, only when you heard someone tickling the ivories of the piano that was standing right next to the bar circle.

You were making your rounds, collecting empty glasses and beer bottles as you heard someone starting to sing. When you looked up, you found Rooster sitting at the piano and his friends Phoenix, Payback, Fanboy and Bob were standing around him, joining in on his singing. You had just stopped at a table close to them, filling up the last space on your already full trey and smiled at the joy they had singing together. When Phoenix spotted you as you walked past them, she pulled you into the round. You only had about time to quickly put your tray down on the bar top, careful not to drop anything.

"Do you know 'Great balls of fire'?", she screamed in your ear over the music and loud singing around you. "Yes, but...", you tried to answer but she just shoved you next to the piano into Roosters vision. The current song had just ended and Phoenix tapped Roosters shoulder. "Play ‘Great balls of fire’, she’ll sing with you", she shouted at his ear over the loud noise in the bar. "No, guys, I have to work and I don't really wanna sing", you told them and wanted to get back to your trey of empty glasses.

Instead of listening to you, Rooster just started playing and Phoenix and Fanboy blocked your way out of the little circle that had formed around Rooster and you.

“You shake my nerves and you rattle my brain”, Rooster started singing the first line and then looked at you. You just looked at him with big eyes. People from the crowd started looking at you, too, as they expected you to sing as you stood right next to the piano. Rooster just played the part again and again.

"I play it until you sing", he shouted over the music. You looked at him with a distraught look on your face. People started whistling as they got annoyed at the same tune being played over and over again. Phoenix held her bottle of beer in front of you and nudged you with her shoulder. You got a feeling that Rooster could be relentless when he wanted something. You groaned, grabbed the bottle of beer and took a big chug before you handed it back to Phoenix.

"Start again", you told Rooster with your finger moving in a circle in mid-air and cleared your throat. He sang the first line again and this time you picked up the second part of the verse right away. “Too much love drives a man insane.”

You didn't sound bad, quite the opposite, Rooster thought to himself. He sang the next line and you sang back the next. "Louder, Y/N", he yelled and when the chorus came around you sang at the top of your lungs like everybody else around you.

“I’ve changed my mind, this love is fine. Goodness gracious, GREAT BALLS OF FIRE!”, you shouted along with everybody else.

“Kiss me baby”, Rooster sang and tapped his cheek with his finger for a moment before continuing to play. You guessed you were swept up in the moment because you bent down and kissed his cheek.

“Ooh, feels good”, he sang and shook his shoulders like your kiss actually made him shiver. Instead of singing along, you let out a laugh that was swallowed by the music and dozens of voices singing along.

When Rooster started playing the instrumental part in the middle of the song, he was really going off. You had no idea he was that good. He looked so cool and totally in his element. And on top of that, he was a fighter pilot. No wonder the girls were throwing themselves at him and he had easy game wherever he went.

You had to admit you were totally amazed and hypnotized by him at that moment. And when the line “Kiss me baby” came again, he didn’t have to ask you to give him a kiss on his cheek again.

You bent down to place your lips on his clean-shaven cheek but at the last second, he spun his head around and pressed his lips directly onto yours. “Ooh, feels good”, he sang even louder and threw you a mischievous smile while he kept playing.

Your eyes got big and you felt your cheeks burning up. Rooster was a real player and not just of the piano.

When you finally broke out of your paralyzed state, you playfully slapped his shoulder and joined back in at “Got to tell this world that you’re mine, mine, mine, mine”.

You had to admit you had fun singing with them. When everybody was really going off to another round of the chorus, you saw your chance and sneaked off, grabbing the trey of glasses, and making a beeline around the bar, getting behind the counter.

"Sorry, Penny, they made me sing", you apologized when you came face to face with your boss, starting to put the glasses into the baskets for the dishwasher. "Who knew you had a pipe on you, Y/N?", Penny said and lightly bumped her hips into yours, not looking the least bit mad that you had just taken a singing break in the middle of your shift on a really busy night.

When the song finally ended, everybody cheered and clapped for Rooster. He jumped up on the piano bench and pointed towards the bar. "And give it up for Y/N", he yelled and you saw dozens of heads turning towards you which made your cheeks blush again immediately. Everybody cheered just as loud for you and it sent an excited tingle up your spine. You blew your maestro a kiss from behind the counter and got back to taking drink orders.

Fanboy, Payback and Phoenix sat at the bar, Bob and Rooster stood behind them, completing the circle. Jake and Coyote also sat at the bar, a bit to the side.

When you walked up, you heard the group talking about fake boobs. You placed a new round of beers in front of them and managed to make out who they were talking about. They were all not so subtly looking at a tall blonde at the back of the bar talking to a guy, her boobs suspiciously big and high up for her overall size.

“I don’t know man, I can’t say. Not without touching them”, Fanboy said and cocked his head to the side as he studied the view. “Yeah, as you would ever get the chance to do that”, Phoenix commented.

You wiped the counter and smiled to yourself. “They’re totally fake”, you commented and all their heads turned to you. “Really? How do you know?”, Payback asked. “When she laughs, and she laughs with her whole body, they don’t give at all”, you explained and all their heads turned back to the woman. And as luck would have it, just at that moment she let out a big laugh, holding on to that guy’s arm. She’s totally going home with him tonight, you thought to yourself.

Even after your little time behind the bar, you got really good at spotting stuff like that. And Penny was really good at sniffing out when a fight’s about to break out and defusing the situation.

“Oh yeah, you’re right”, Fanboy said as he made the discovery. “Why do you know so much about fake boobs?”, Rooster asked intrigued. “I worked as a receptionist for a beauty doc in New York”, you told them. “Did you see a lot of boobs?”, Fanboy kept asking. “Probably more than you”, you commented, you couldn’t help yourself. The group laughed and Rooster gave you a high five.

“But it’s ridiculous how expensive they are. Well, if you want it to be good, at least”, you told them further.

The main rush of the night was over and you had a little time to talk, not needing to hand out new drinks every two seconds.

“What was the most expensive pair you’ve ever seen?”, Phoenix asked you. You thought for a second. “I think the craziest were 8k a piece”, you told them and their eyes got big. “For boobs?”, Rooster said a little loud and some heads turned his way. Out of the corner of your eyes you saw Hangman looking over.

“It’s crazy how much people are willing to pay for stuff like that. I could never afford anything close to that. But I have to admit they looked spectacular”, you said and formed perfectly round boobs in front of your chest.

“To be fair, you have no need in that department”, Payback toasted you with his beer. Anybody else might have made it sound gross or sleezy, but he had a real charm about him and you knew how he meant it.

“Thank you, but just because they’re natural doesn’t mean they were cheap. The right one’s mostly McDonalds and the left one’s pizza. That’s because it is also the bigger one”, you told them with a smirk. As prove, you bent over and pulled your shirt down a bit, revealing the hem of your breasts. “See?”, you said and had them look directly down your cleavage.

Partially you meant it as a joke, but also you were sure that even they all liked to flirt and joke around, none of them actually considered you as sexy or a potentially datable person. That was just never the case for you. Why should it be different with them?

“Okay, shows over”, you pulled your shirt back up and snapped your fingers in front of their faces. “Pay up, it’s late”, you told them and made them close their tabs for the night. They waved a goodbye at you before they left the bar as a group.

“Pay up”, you said to Hangman as you made your rounds of closing the tabs of the remaining customers. Coyote must have left already as he was sitting there alone.

“So, you moved here from New York?”, Hangman asked as he handed you his credit card, having no trouble admitting that he had eavesdropped on your conversation. “No, from New Jersey”, you answered, not planning on going into more detail as you swiped his card through the machine. “And there were no more jobs left in New Jersey so you decided to torment the good people of San Diego?”, he asked and a mocking smile appeared on his face.

“You know, it has always been my dream to move across the country to become a bartender, getting to serve a green-eyed jerk for a living”, you told Hangman and handed his card back to him.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. Here I am to make your dreams come true”, he said with a wink and a sleezy smile.

You waited for a moment then leaned over the bar counter to look at the floor right in front of it. “Nope, you didn’t drop dead. But a girl can dream”, you shot at him with a fake smile.

“You can dream as much as you want about me”, he said with a cocky smile plastered across his face.

“Why are you so easy on the eyes but so hard on the ears?”, you asked him with an eyeroll. “So, you think I’m pretty?”, he asked in return and leaned his underarms on the bar top. “No, you think you’re pretty. And that’s the problem. Have you ever considered therapy? Or a good hit to the back of your head?”, you suggested and polished some glasses.

“Sometimes I get my head banged against the headboard, I don’t always have to be on top”, he told you. You exaggerated a dry-heave motion and sound and Hangman let out a big laugh.

“See ya, Y/N”, he said as he pushed himself off the bar and walked towards the exit. “I hope not”, you called after him.

You turned around to put away the freshly polished glasses and tried your hardest not to picture Jake in bed, naked and sweaty. But you failed. Failed miserably.

next: Part 3

[natromanxoff]

(x)

Anita has no time for love

ANITA DOBSON has put her life on ice. “I’ve switched off all the sexual chemistry,” she says. “I haven't time for any relationship.

"I love men and I've had some wonderful men in my life. But I'm certainly not going to have an affair at the moment.

“I couldn't be in a TV studio and then a recording studio, and have an affair at the same time. I'm sure my man would leave me immediately. I’ll wait until this is all over and then I’ll concentrate on my love life.

“Anyway, it’s difficult to find a man who can understand that my career comes first, I’ve considered marriage, but it’s at the bottom of my list.”

Laughed

Who would be her ideal man? “I don't think they've made him yet!" she laughed. “I suppose when he turns up I’ll know.

"I like tall men. I love blue eyes. I don't mind if they are blonde or dark. As long as they are jolly and have a sense of humour, because I think I'd be a handful.

"I don't like them fat and I'm not too keen on too much muscle. But I don't think you can really make judgments. Simply because I could say I'd like eyed a tall, blonde, blue-eyed Swedish-looking man, and then a short, dark, moustached man comes along and something happens.”

Not content with being the favourite of Albert Square as landlady Angie in the BBC's top soap EastEnders, Anita has released a duet, Talking Of Love, on which she sings with Queen rock guitarist Brian May.

This unlikely combination came together through a chance meeting at the cinema, when they had to pass each other between watching the film Down And Out In Beverly Hills.

“Brian had written this song for me and asked if I would like to record it. I ran round the room three times and said: ‘Yes, yes, please’ — and that’s how it all started.”

Although Brian is married with a family, it has already been implied that they are more than just musical partners.

“If I was making record with a kangaroo I suppose they would all say I'm having an affair with it," said Anita. "But Brian and I are nothing more than good mates, really.

"People keep asking is there anyone in your life? There really isn't. I don't go out at all socially and I usually learn my lines on Sunday night after six days of filming.

Crisis

"You can't do everything. When I decide to take on something, I totally commit myself. I can’t do that if I’m out bopping away half the night.”

So who does she turn to in a crisis?

"My mum and dad,” says this 38-year-old bachelor girl. “I can discuss anything with them — even if it’s professional. They've been exceptional.”

So that her father, an East End pattern cutter, and mother can be close to her, Anita has treated them to a maisonette directly under the two-bedroom maisonette she bought herself in Wapping.

“It’s lovely” she says. “It means I can go there and be with them whenever I like.

“They don’t know anything about showbusiness. They only know what they like and what they don’t like.”

She was shocked at criticism for buying a property in the middle of dockland’s Yuppyland.

“Quite honestly, I didn’t think I could handle some elegant, elite place after I’d been living in a council flat in the East End all my life.

“I think if I’d moved away from my true roots, people would have criticised me for turning my back on my class. If I stay, they criticise me for living in the area and having money. I don’t think you can win.

“All I can say is that I love the East End. I was born there, and I feel I’ve earned the money and made it possible for myself and my family to live a little better than we did.”

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[how-masterful]

Undercover

Delgado!master x reader

Summary: Finally, the Master had let you join in on field work for earth missions. His newest plan, the Keller machine, is going off without a hitch. The Doctor, however, is starting to suspect he’s seen the mysterious Professor Emil Keller’s assistant before- but more important matters are at play beyond the suspicions of a Time Lord: You’ve followed your Master’s orders perfectly, and a reward is seemingly in order...

Warnings: Lemon, EC for definite below the read more.

Notes: A return to writing for masterful! thankyou for being so patient with me, classes are finally beginning to end and so expect more fic’s to be released soon (perhaps that elusive new remaster will finally come out, despite my endless promises!) This half remaster is, as usual, dedicated to my absolutely beloved @plethora-of-imagines- you might recognise this fic from a while ago, but with a few little refreshes and changes here and there. A remaster of a half remaster, if you will. I hope you enjoy this trip down memory lane, queen!

The doors to the base opened with a mechanical grind and heave, the escorting guards that flanked your side guiding you towards the entrance of the UNIT embassy in London. You turned over your shoulder, heels stood upon the precipice of the entryway, leather gloved hand pulling your circular sunglasses down your nose. You met the gaze of the Brigadier, Doctor and Jo- your eyes lined with a dark kohl and red lips quirking up into a smirk. 

"Will we be seeing you again, officer?" Jo asked, her voice sweet as she shoved her hands into the pockets of her blazer. You nodded with a fond smile, turning on your heels to face them as you pushed your glasses back up your nose, brushing the blonde hairs of your wig behind your ear.

"Perhaps, Miss Grant. However it depends on how the operators here at UNIT manage to handle the situation."

The Brigadier gave his typical expression. It was a raised lip corner, signalled mostly by the movement of his moustache. The various officers at UNIT, most recently Sergeant Benton, referred to it as the Brigadiers ‘not-smile smile’: he was a professional, after all. Hiding his displeasure at his authority being questioned behind a display of decorum.

"Believe me, officer, my men are working to the highest level of capacity. This peace conference shall go off without a hitch."

"Good, I'm glad to hear it. You do your Job, Brigadier, and the professor and I shall do ours."

You smiled at the Brigadier, who returned with the legendary expression once more, before turning to face the Doctor. His eyes were narrowed as he inspected your face, head slightly tilted as the ends of his wild white hair and long cape coat were beginning to be caught in the invading draft. You brushed down the front of your black blazer dress, buttons shining as you adjusted your hat with a gentle push.

"Until then, Doctor."

The Time Lord hummed, hardly an answer, watching as you swiftly turned on the heel of your stilettos and headed out of the door. The Brigadier gave a sigh as the eyes of his soldiers followed you out, letting out an abrupt cough that broke the men's gazes from the length of your dress.

“I’m guessing I should consider making that uniform mandatory for you too, since you’re so interested in its design.”

The men quickly resumed whatever work they’d been momentarily distracted from. The Brigadier turned towards his scientific officer with a further movement of his facial hair.

"Honestly, it's as if they've never seen a lady in uniform before."

Jo frowned, shaking her head before turning to the Doctor. He was still following after you, eyes narrow as you clutched your briefcase and elegantly slid into the waiting military vehicle down the steps. Jo sighed loudly as you went.

"Oh Doctor, not you too!"

"That woman seemed familiar. Far too familiar for a stranger, Far too familiar for a supposed visitor from Switzerland, anyway."

Jo rolled her eyes and smiled fondly up at the larger man.

"Doctor, I'm sure you've met many soldiers in your lifetime. Maybe you’re just misremembering?"

"Quite the contrary, Jo. I never forget a face. And my gut is telling me that face will be nothing but trouble."

The Brigadier shook his head, giving a light chuckle as he patted the Doctor on the back.

"Come along now, Doctor. She seemed like a professional young girl. You're more than likely worrying over nothing. That apprehension in your stomach can't be anything more than the result of you skipping breakfast."

The Doctor sighed, Jo taking it as a triumphant sign of his relenting.

"Speaking of food, I'm positively famished. Mike said he’d order some sandwiches from that nice little café around the corner earlier. Coming, Brigadier?"

The Brigadier rolled his eyes.

“I suppose it would be delectable of me to keep captain Yates from his obviously rigid lunch schedule.”

The humans parted, discussing such trivial things as food. But the Doctor knew something was definitely wrong. He'd seen your face before, the memory scratching at his brain. All these pieces were beginning to look like disjointed parts of a puzzle: this Keller machine, the peace conference, and now his strange sense of familiarity. He just needed to find out what was going on, and quickly- before his suspicion came far too late to prevent.

You met his eyes one last time as the vehicle door slammed shut, his curious expression suddenly being hidden by a veil of window tint as the engine revved and began to pull out onto the busy road.

By the time the military car had reached its drop off point, late afternoon clouds had begun to fall over london. You thanked the driver, standing under the early light of the street lamp as you watched the vehicle escape down the road and turn the corner back towards UNIT headquarters. You smirked, turning on your heels once more before heading down the street in the ever growing black of the soon to be evening.

A small skip entered your step as you made your way past the row of houses, a giggle escaping your lips. How your Master's plan was coming together wonderfully, your heart practically racing at the thought of his next attempt at world domination. You could see it now, yourself and the Master stood side by side, watching the destruction of earth as he whispered in your ear how good of a girl you were. It was simply dreamy to imagine: and now professor Emil Keller was about to make it happen.

You reached the end of the street, excitement brimming in your stomach as you caught sight of the large, sleek black car and the glassy eyed driver in the front seat. The man nodded at your presence, turning over his shoulder and speaking to the passenger in the back seat. The tinted window to the rear passenger side door cracked open slightly, cigar smoke billowing out into the night. He hopped out of the driving seat and pulled open the door swiftly as you arrived at the side of the car, the cigar quickly discarded out the window as a familiar voice sent comforting shivers down your spine.

"Come inside, my dear- it's frightfully chilly out there at this hour."

You giggled happily at the Master, sliding into the leather interior of the car and placing yourself firmly into his side. He grasped your chin softly, guiding your face to meet his as you dissolved into a tender, welcoming kiss. You pulled your glasses from your face, discarding them to the side as you buried yourself in the waiting arms of the Master. His coat was warm, smelling just like his cologne and lined with luscious fur, something he’d picked out for himself on a planet during one of your various trips.

The timelord knocked on the roof of the car with his knuckles, the hypnotised driver pushing on the ignition as the windows to the vehicle rolled all the way up.

"Master, I missed you." you admitted into the fur of his jacket, a smile appearing on the Master's lips as you made yourself comfortable. He stole another kiss from you, this time a sweeter, more chaste peck.

"As did I, my dear girl. As did I."

Your blush was positively adorable. The Master looked you up and down, a smile settling to a playful smirk at your rather exciting disguise. You noticed his gaze, lifting his chin with your fingers to meet your eyes.

"What do you think of the disguise?"

The Master grinned, watching you unabashedly attempt to seek his approval.

"You're positively radiant, my love. Even a fabulous disguise such as this can't hide your beauty."

You smiled, pleased with the praise you’d received. You sank back into his embrace, watching the road pass through the front windscreen as your head rested upon his shoulder.

"I never thought I'd sink low enough to be a UNIT officer."

"No doubt you were the most beautiful officer there."

You giggled once more, scratching the underside of the Master's beard. He hummed in delight, pulling you closer to his side. He enjoyed this little game of yours that you were currently playing.

"And no doubt it wasn't my face they were busy looking at."

The Master's face dared to sour at the notion, but you pressed a sweet kiss to his hand, pecking the leather just above where his wedding band lay on his finger. He sighed, relenting to your pledging kiss. At least you knew who you belonged to, even if those perverted, prying officers back at UNIT didn't. He'd enjoy pulling out every eyeball from every officer  that dared to objectify you, but he currently enjoyed the thought of your company more. Besides, there were bigger plans in motion than petty, small-scale revenge.

"I trust you were not only stealing hearts, but were successful in your little task I set you, hmm?"

You beamed up at the timelord with a gasp, nodding with vigour and patting the briefcase at your side. The Master had finally let you out into the field on earth- he relied on you greatly during his plans in distant galaxies, letting you play pretend and dress up to cause as much mischief as you desired. But there was something about earth, about the idea of a human opponent, that made him keep you close to his side. This was an exciting change of pace.

"Yes Master. Documents, files, plans, anything and everything that I could get my hands on. There's nothing more thrilling than seeing 'top secret, keep out.' In big red letters on a dossier. How can a girl resist?"

The Master smiled widely, obviously thrilled, pulling you into his lap and rewarding you with a kiss to your forehead. You squealed happily, head resting on his shoulder as his hands came to rest on your lower back and thigh, fingers digging into the soft flesh sat taught against the tight fitting material.

"Good girl, my darling- What a good girl you are. You've made your Master very happy indeed, my dear. How proud he is of his best, most obedient girl."

Your whole body curled up tighter in his arms, pure happiness coursing through your veins. Master was proud, Master was happy. He was drowning you in buckets of praise and telling you everything you wished to hear. It was all you could hope for.

You kissed the underside of his jaw, trembling slightly as his cold, leather clad fingers began to wander up and down your thigh. You allowed your own fingers to trail along his jawline, leather gloves against his skin in return making him almost purr with Joy.

"Your Master couldn't ask for a better, more beautiful girl to obey his every command with no hesitation. How perfect you are. Nobody could ever compare."

You moaned softly. You gathered your strength, pulling yourself from his lap to straddle his waist, hands gripping the fur of his collar as you pressed your foreheads together. Your noses brushed together in collision as his lips teased yours, tension building in your core as you felt his hands move to support your behind as you adjusted your position.

"Please, please Master... Say it. Say it for your good girl."

You bit your lip, stifling a moan as an arm curled around your lower back and a hand came to grasp your chin, thumb pulling your lip from your teeth and brushing over the red stained skin.

"Own me, command me. Tell me I'm yours."

The Master chuckled, voice low as you began to grind against his suit pants. He treasured how much you desired to be under his command, the power his words had over your mind.

"My darling girl, your mind and body belong to me: obey me, obey your Masters every command."

You moaned louder than before, grinding harder against his lap- you could feel his growing hard beneath you, a drawn out 'yes' escaping your lips. The Master purred darkly, snapping his teeth together as you grasped hold of his face in your hands.

"My precious girl, irreplaceable and invaluable. Obey me, pledge yourself to me"

You groaned even louder, eyes fluttering shut as your noses brushed together, your tongue slowly teasing his top lip as he gazed up at you with hungry, heavy eyes. His words were sending chills up your spine, more than the cold outside ever could.

"Master... I’m yours. Every part of me belongs to you, every part of me desperate to serve you. To please you. To be owned. Please, show me I exist only to please you."

Your words were obviously getting him hot and bothered. You pushed off his coat, allowing it to fall against the leather seat, rapidly pulling your hands to your dress as you undid the buttons that lead from your neck to just below your bust. You pushed open the material, exposing your bare chest against his as you pushed your ass further back into his groping hands, his fingers trailing to tug at the hems of your stockings and the lacy material of your panties- which were already painfully damp.

The Master snarled, lips moving to nip and bite at your now exposed neck. His tongue licked at the sensitive skin as he allowed his lips to trail over your breasts. A filthy groan dripped from your tongue as you fought to undo the zipper on his pants, your breath caught in your throat as he suddenly growled at the sensation of your wandering fingers.

He grasped hold on your hands, causing you to whine, pulling them up to his mouth with a sneer and biting at the leather material. Each glove was yanked from your hand by his teeth, his lips racing to kiss your wedding ring which shone upon your finger. You purred, a noise that seemingly pleased him, as a leather gloved hand grasped hold of your throat while another moved to grasp tight purchase of your ass.

Your fingers nimbly fought to undo the zipper and the remaining button on his pants, freeing his cock from his boxers and beginning to stroke it with well practiced precision. With a sharp tug your panties were pulled from under your dress, the lace slipping down your thighs and being hastily pulled off your ankles and dropped to the floor. Anticipation was crippling you, your head thrown back as the Master guided your hips to slide you carefully onto his ready and waiting cock.

The back of the car was filled with your excruciating gasp, the fierce moan rippling from your throat as both of his arms wrapped around your back to support you. Your hands once again found his neck, your arms wrapping around it as you fisted into his salt and pepper hair. Instantly the pair of you dived against each other's lips, your moans muffled within each other's mouths as you began to ride him on the backseat of the car. His tongue was precise, warm and tender inside your mouth as his fingertips dragged down your back, beginning an ecstasy fuelled sensory overload.

You whined, desperate for the connection, whimpering his name into his mouth. 

"Take it off... Master, please."

He seemed to understand perfectly- and to share the sentiment, his gloved fingers furiously fighting to unbutton the rest of your dress and push the black garment to the car floor. You gasped at the rush of chill on your back, pushing yourself deep onto his cock as you swivelled your hips and allowed yourself to bounce on his lap- his fingertips stroking up your spine, grasping hold of the black cap and blonde wig that hid underneath it. He pulled off what was left of your disguise, letting your hair fall free as you skilfully rode him in nothing but your heels, stockings and bra. The sight was sinful to the highest degree. Thank god your driver was hypnotised, or the noises you were making would cause him a dangerous distraction.

Moans and whimpers fell from your lips, your whines combined with the Master's harsh grunts creating a symphony of pleasure in the backseat of the car. You were practically falling apart in his lap, putty in his hands, desperately rocking your hips and grinding down as he supported you from beneath. You allowed your head to throw back, tears almost streaming down your cheeks at the waves of pleasure ravishing over your entire body. The Master was deliberate, thrusting hard and in time with your grinding as you both rode towards satisfaction as the car sped down the road. 

It was positively thrilling, your movements melting together as you felt him handle you like his most precious treasure. It was an utter delight to your system, the feeling of the Master roughly yet carefully thrusting his cock inside of you, seeking to make you utterly boneless in his arms. You could feel your climax was suddenly close, the thin veil of sweat building on your brow a symbol of your devoted effort. The Master was also close to his satisfaction, the sensation building in his core as he came closer and closer to the precipice of ecstasy.

"Master, I'm close, I'm so close."

"Hold on, my darling. Good girl, such a good girl"

His rough voice was enough to make you cum there and then. It was the unspoken rule- you came only when he did. You both believed it was the polite thing to do in any situation.

You gave a final series of grinds before the Master eventually came with a low grunt, the sensation of release making your previous ever growing moans seem miniscule in comparison. You cried out desperately as you also came, the Master's arms wrapping around you as you tiredly slumped forward onto his chest. Both of you gasped for air, the Master carefully removing his handkerchief from his pocket and lightly dabbing at your forehead. Your chest rose and fell quickly, his own hearts racing in tandem in his chest.

You hummed, nestling into his chest and placing a trail of kisses to his neck as he mopped your exhausted brow. You smiled, curling up within his embrace, the chill of sweat causing you to shiver under his touch..

"My love, you never fail to bring me to the utmost parts of ecstasy" he murmured softly, removing the smudged eyeliner from the corner of your eye. You sniffled, sighing at the scent of his cologne on his collar, relishing in his post sex praise.

"Love you, Master. So much..." You murmured, voice small against his jacket. If it weren't for his timelord hearing, you were sure he'd struggle to understand. But he did, softly tucking your hair behind your ear and kissing your lips tenderly. You adored his after sex kisses.

"And I love you, my dear girl. Here, let me wrap you up warm. You'll catch your death, and people will stare."

You smiled tiredly, nodding as he carefully pulled his fur coat onto your exhausted body.

"We wouldn't want that, would we? I’m yours." you proclaimed, a stance that caused the Master to chuckle adoringly.

"That's right, you belong to your Master and your Master alone. And when we get home he'll wrap you up in the softest sheets, allowing you to feast on the finest delicacy in the safety of his arms. Because that's where you belong, my dear girl, after such a delightful performance."

The thought was drool worthy. You weren't sure you didn't already start. When the car arrived at the residency the Master guided you from the car, supporting your arm as you let your head rest upon his shoulder. With an instructing snap the driver grasped hold of your clothes, another guard positioned outside the house grasping hold on your briefcases. You placed a kiss to the timelord's cheek, a gesture he returned with a small boop of your nose. You blushed even harder, feeling so safe wrapped up in the warmth of his coat, leaning against his side.

"Master?" You asked softly, voice tired as you made your way up the steps.

"Yes, my beloved?" He replied, a nickname that made your whole body shiver with adoration.

“I don't think the Doctor trusts me… I think he suspects me.”

The Master tilted his head, raising an eyebrow as you whined into his collar. How adorable, you still cared for the plan even in the after sex haze. He shushed you softly as you continued to mumble against his suit jacket.

“I think he recognized-”

The Master shook his head, causing you to stop in your trail of thought.

“Later, my dear. We can discuss business in the morning. You’ve done so well.”

“But-”

The Master shushed you once more, pausing at the top of the steps of the townhouse. He held you to his chest, guiding you chin up to meet his eyes once more. You pouted softly, his thumb pulling on your bottom lip.

“A familiar face will be the least of his problems, my dear. I’ll send Chin Lee on a little mission tomorrow, a small distraction will be enough for us to continue working on the machine back at Stangmore. Trust me, my darling.”

The Master finally let go of your lip, causing you to moan softly as he pushed a stray hair from your face.

“Let's get you inside, you look positively exhausted.”

“Hmm, I wonder why.”

The Master gave a warning chuckle as you entered into the grand foyer of the townhouse, his eyes widening in a harsh refusal as the hypnotised doorman moved to take your coat. You blushed, this time from embarrassment, the Master ushering you further into the house as you pulled the coat further across your chest.

“I suppose I should take a bath. You can't take over the world while filthy.”

The Master grinned, happy his enjoyment of the finer things in life and his presentational standards had passed on to you. He held your face softly, brushing his thumb over the apple of your cheek.

“You rest now, my darling. I’ll have some dinner prepared.”

“Nothing fancy, Master. Consider my appetite firmly satiated.”

You wiggled your eyebrows as the Master shook his head, a small giggle escaping from your lips as you began to head upstairs. You considered yourself lucky you could get away with such cheek.

“If you insist, my dear. I’ll send one of the men out to get something quote unquote ‘’not fancy’. I heard there's a lovely quaint little bistro just around the corner”

The Master raised a confused eyebrow as your laughter echoed from the top of the stairs.

[murderousginger]

Everybody Talks

Tommy x OC

Song here requested by @imagine-that-100 ❤️

Warnings: None. They're criminals guys, they do bad things.

Word count: 1638

He had been watching her since she entered the busy Garrison alone. She had walked to the bar, her head high as she moved through the men and sat at one of the few open seats near Harry. The men had parted easily, their tired eyes sharpening as they noticed the woman's bright dress practically shining against the dirt and drab colors of their work uniforms.

A flurry of "ma'am" and head dips were left in her wake. She simply smiled and continued on as the men searched for her invisible escort.

Tommy watched from the booze door in the private room tucked beside the bar.

Harry hadn't noticed her yet; too busy getting the Blinders their drinks, blustering about with a curse under his breath. Tom waited, watching the men grow increasingly uneasy around the woman as they realized she had no escort.

Harry brought a bottle and multiple glasses to the booze door, mumbling apologies for the wait.

"Right busy night, it is," Harry said as he handed the goods over.

"The woman," Tom said, "she's not a regular."

"I seen her," Harry grumbled. "I'll kick her out next. No trace of a man at her side."

"No," Tom said. "Explain the rule, but give her the drink. Then send her my way."

"I can deal with a whore, Tom," Harry stammered. "You no need to get involved."

Tom met Harry's eyes for a moment as he licked his lip, his brows curling together before he closed the booze door and sat back down around his brothers.

"What are you bothering with small business, brother?" Arthur said as he slid the bottle and a glass to himself and started to pour a drink.

"She pretty, then?" John laughed. "That's what it is, in it?"

Arthur looked at John before looking at Tommy, who had settled in to the spot directly in front of the door without saying a word. He muttered a curse and started to chuckle to himself as he passed John the bottle.

"Well lookit that," Arthur said as he leaned back. "Our brother's still warm blooded after all."

Moments later she walked in the room without a knock, looking between the bored man in front of her and the two slack-jawed men sitting further away.

"I see," Arthur murmured behind his glass.

"Who bloody well couldn't," John said louder, earning an elbow to his side.

"Right," the woman said, returning her gaze to Tommy.

"What kind of man sends another man to bring a girl over?" She asked, one eyebrow raised. Whether it was in defiance or amusement remained unknown.

He paused, waiting a breath or two, eyes locked on hers as the gears in his head churned. He wasn't slow -- quite the opposite -- but he learned at a young age that making people wait on you makes them uncomfortable. Makes them feel like they need you. And it gave him time to decide his next ten moves.

"The important kind," he finally said, even toned, practically bored in comparison to her voice.

"You don't look so important to me," she said as her eyes ran over his vest, shirt, coat. Her voice danced around like a sprite on a summer's breeze. "Nice enough outfit, but nothing flashy enough to mean money or any real power."

She took a sip of her drink, reenacting Tommy's pause. John barked a laugh.

"Bird's got a mouth on her," he said as he rolled next to Arthur, who was doing his best to hide his smile in his moustache.

"My brothers were just leaving," Tommy said, pulling out a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it. "Sit."

Arthur broke into a grin as John climbed over him and they both rolled out of the booth. John stumbled to his feet and grabbed the bottle off the table as he saluted his brother, making eyes at the woman as he brushed past her. Arthur stood and tried to walk by her with a nod and a "ma'am" before shooting his eyebrows up suggestively behind her toward Tom.

"You're not from here," Tommy said once the brothers shut the door as he eyed her new dress. "Too clean cut to be from a local family."

"I'm Mary's cousin, Elsie," she offered with a smirk. "From London. My father decided I was too wild and sent me to dirty little Small Heath to find a job and be a proper girl."

"Your father sent you to Small Heath to be proper?" Tom said as his brows raised and he smirked into the cigarette dangling from his lips. "That may well be a first, Elsie."

He rolled her name around his tongue, appraising the woman in front of him. Her dress was stiff and bright, as if she had never worn it before, but it fit her like a glove. She was either from money or waltzed into Small Heath hoping to make an impression.

"I thought I told you to sit."

"You did," Elsie said as she casually sipped her drink. "You never got up to let me in beside you or given me your name."

"Tommy," he said, standing to let her slide beside him in the booth. "Tommy Shelby."

"Tommy, not Tom or Thomas?" She smiled as she brushed past him. She smelled of strawberries and rum. "How cute."

They toyed with each other through the night, pressing boundaries and examining each other like a new creature they discovered. Tommy was intrigued. It has been so long since someone hadn't flinched at the name Shelby.

At the end of the night, he offered to take her home. Elsie smiled, playing with the lapel of his jacket before looking up at him and shaking her head no.

"Can I kiss you, Elsie?" Tommy asked, suddenly very aware how close their faces were.

He licked his lips and could almost feel her breath on his tongue. She looked up at him with her bright eyes and kissed him first. He froze, confused for a moment before he melted into her warm kiss. Her hand at his lapel wrapped around the fabric and pulled him closer as his hand found her cheek.

"Money's counted and everything's cleaned, boss, do you want me to leave you--" Harry said as he walked through the door, nearly hitting them both. He grunted and swiftly tossed a stack of money on the table before closing the door behind him.

Elsie pulled away at the noise, her eyes wide as Harry rushed out. She looked up at Tommy, giggling in embarrassment as she pressed her face into his neck and shoulder.

"I believe that's my cue," she said as she took a step back. "I'll see you around, Mr. Shelby."

Tommy had never felt such a chill as he did when she left his side and disappeared into the night.

---

Weeks later, Elsie had found herself a respectable job as a seamstress apprentice at a suit shop on the edge of Small Heath. She had settled in fine after she got in terrible for her first night in town when she had visited The Garrison.

Something she would have to get used to. The place was too small, too interwoven to allow her to move without eyes following and mouths wagging back to her relatives. But the gossip of a small town hadn't been all unwelcome. She had learned quickly that Tommy Shelby had been an important man just as he had said he was.

Her face scrunched as she concentrated on the hem she was mending. She heard the bell for the door ring but she was too busy to look up. She heard one of the other girls greet the customer and went back to concentrating on the garment she was working on.

"Elsie?" Mrs. Lundy called, "I need help with pinning this man's jacket, be a dear and come help."

Elsie sighed, frustrated at the interruption, and set the garment down on the counter as she headed to the back where the fitting rooms were. She grabbed a cushion of pins as she rounded the corner and saw a familiar set of blue eyes.

"Elsie, dear," Mrs. Lundy said, her smile tight, "this is Mr. Shelby, he's--"

"A very important man," you finished for her as your eyes dipped to his jacket. "Yes, I've heard of the Shelbys."

"Have you?" Tommy said amusedly.

"Yes sir," Elsie said firmly as Mrs. Lundy instructed her to pin the bottom as she pinned his sleeves. "Everybody talks."

She no longer would meet his eye and her playfulness had disappeared.

"So you have," he said evenly, looking back to the wall as they finished.

After a few moments, Tommy cleared his throat.

"Mrs. Lundy, if you could be so kind as to tidy up my bill, your apprentice can finish the last few pins," he said to the woman. "I've got business to attend to and really must be off."

"Of course, of course, Mr. Shelby," Mrs. Lundy said with a smile as she shot a look to Elsie, who was almost done with her pins. She disappeared quickly to the register.

"What happened to the reckless girl at the pub, eh?" Tommy said as Elsie checked over the pins on his sleeves. "I'd like to see her again."

"She's in trouble for spending her first night at a pub with a gangster," Elsie sighed. "I didn't know you were dangerous."

"Who said I was dangerous to you?"

"Everyone."

"Everyone talks too much," Tommy sighed as Elsie took off his jacket. "Especially in Small Heath. Have dinner with me."

"Is that a request or an order?" Elsie snapped as she folded the jacket. She stilled as her eyes grew wide.

Tommy's eyebrow raised as he fought a smile.

"There she is."

[blackswallowtailbutterfly]

Got my upper lip, chin, and neck waxed. I don’t feel bad about it, just musing. Like, my hair is long and will remain so, but I don’t straighten or style it. It’s either loose or I (rarely) braid it. I haven’t plucked my eyebrows in ages. Don’t own many pairs of shorts, but don’t care who sees my legs hairy. Don’t care about my pits either. Don’t care if I look tired, don’t care if I got blemishes. Any everyday clothes that are flattering are pure coincidence because I only wear them for comfort and practicality. Don’t care that my boobs sit lower on my chest than they might if I’d worn a bra regularly throughout my teens and twenties. Don’t care about obvious cellulite. Don’t care about the crease beginning to develop in my forehead and at the corners of my eyes. Don’t care about strands of silver slowly threading through my hair. Didn’t care when I put on weight either until it started interfering with my job and my stamina, so then I got on track to losing it, but had no problem with the way I looked.

But that one thing I can’t quite get over. It’s not a testosterone imbalance. My periods are regular and the cramps are mild and the one single semen ever got in me I got pregnant. Women on both sides of my family have it, though not quite to the extent I seem to, and I’ve noticed most young girls at edge of puberty have a shadow on their upper lip before it disappears a year later. Maybe one day I won’t care. I have major respect for all the women who are able to rock the moustache and chin fuzz without giving a shit, but I’m not there yet and maybe I’ll never be.

And the thing is it’s so impractical because when it’s grown out a little it keeps my nose warm and every time I shave or wax my nose is cold in pretty much anything below 25C. There’s not just no physical benefit to getting rid of the hair, but it actually has a physical disadvantage for me. I feel like in our development in the womb, sometimes our brains recognize when something’s not quite right and expresses/represses certain genes to help compensate. Like my grandmother only has 8 adult teeth and the rest are all baby teeth, and when she was first put on baby food, she would spit out all meat and sweets and only go for the veggie pastes. It was like her body knew she would only have one set of teeth and some change to work with so gave her taste preferences that would protect them. To this day she could take or leave some sweets and really doesn’t like super sweet things. And for me, I guess I have poor circulation in my nose or something, but from puberty onward I got a fine fuzz of hair growing naturally under it, with some course hairs interspersed after I reached adulthood. I remember when I had my sammoyed dog, reading about how their coats worked: a dense layer of soft undercoat, and guard hairs over top. There’s no real difference between human hair and the hair on other mammals. Its function is to wick away sweat (for those mammals that sweat) and dirt, and to help keep us warm, and to keep things out in the case of female genitalia. It has a purpose. I know it and no longer feel bad the way I used to just for having upper lip hair. I just can’t quite stand not to remove it when it gets noticeable from several feet away.

Femininity requires us to alter ourselves and/or put ourselves on display whereas masculinity is simply existing in a natural state (with the exception of long hair, but men in plenty of cultures let their hair grow, and it’s pretty normal here in Europeanized North America too).

Since I stopped shaving my armpits I no longer have itching or inflammation from spiking myself. I never wear makeup, so I can rub an itch on my face, eat and drink without worrying about needing to touch anything up. My mass of frizz and curls helps keep my ears warm in the winter and can be soaked to keep my head cool in the summer. I do experience irritation in the winter when my leg hairs get caught in my thermals but not enough to bother shaving. Because I’ve never worn bras regularly I can run and jump with no discomfort to my chest and can lift my arms up without bra straps impeding me. I can twist and bend easily because because my clothes are loose enough not to impede me. I can walk very long distance because my shoes fit comfortably, have good grip, and don’t crush my toes or put all the step impact on the balls of my feet. I am free to sleep in, be at leisure on the net, or at work in my garden when not at my job, and thankfully removal of the upper lip hair is only once a week and no more than 2 minutes if I’m shaving.

And I wonder how many things we could do, how much more sleep, how much head space for thought about the state of our individual selves and of our sex, how much more time for hobbies or leisure would we all have if we stopped it all, and much we could do to improve things for women collectively if we did.

[shotsbyshae]

Angel on Fire

Warnings: Language, Murder, Little Fluff, Smidge of Smut   

Words: 4.2k

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader, Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: You literally fell for Bucky Barnes in 1944, Steve was there when it happened. How is it possible that you’re sitting across from him now in 2012 looking exactly the same?

Song: Angel on Fire by Halsey

A/N: Please do not hold me accountable for any of this lore. 

I’m standing in the ashes of who I used to be.

1944

It was a celebration.

A small gathering to acknowledge everything The Howling Commando’s had accomplished thus far in sabotaging Hydra’s operations. There was only one reason you were here – him. Steve Rogers, America’s golden boy. You had to admit the newspaper clippings did not do him justice. He looked so young and innocent in his service uniform that night.

Guilt. It echoed through the very depths of your soul.

You had traveled this far though, so you finished your glass of wine, a little liquid courage, and ran your hands along the front of the emerald green chiffon material of your dress to smooth it out. You inhaled deeply, trying to calm your nerves before you left the bar and waltzed across the room towards him with sheer confidence. The moment he saw you, his blue eyes widened, and he shifted on his feet. Chest out. Shoulders back. You kept your eyes on him, the corner of your lips turning up in a smirk at how utterly distracted he was by you – it was adorable.

An unseen force slammed into your shoulder, knocked you off balance, and strange hands grabbed at your waist and arm as you fell. The man had managed to catch you in time and pulled you back to your feet. His hand slipped from your waist to lower back as he steadied you against his strong frame.

“Dammit Dugan,” the man who was pushed into you hissed as you instinctively clutched his arm for support.

“Oh shit,” a large, burly man in a bowler hat and red moustache gave you a look of embarrassment as he tipped his hat. “Sorry ma’am.”

“Sorry about that,” the stranger’s hand was still on your lower back and heat radiated from his palm. Your skin prickled where his fingers gripped you ever so slightly through the dress, his hand felt as if it encompassed you wholly. For a moment you were terrified the fire that pulsed through your veins might consume you both. Dark hair and eyes that were blue as the ocean only emphasized the boyish grin on his face. “They’re idiots.”

This feeling was unlike anything you’d ever felt before. Lust? Love? One thing was certain, for the first time in a long time you felt safe. You smiled at him because his charm was infectious, “It’s okay.”

“I’m James,” he offered his hand as an introduction and you took it carefully. “My friend’s call me Bucky.”

You had given him your name and as he brushed his lips across your knuckles you knew things would never be the same. Sergeant James Barnes stole your heart that night and saved you from yourself without knowing. He wasn’t who you had come for, but sometimes fate has other plans.

The two of you fell in love hard and fast. The kind of love that absorbs two people so fully that nothing else exists in the entire world except each other. He was your first real love – first real mistake – being in love with Bucky had meant bringing his best friend into your life.

The photo Bucky had carried with him of he and Steve showed the person Rogers was before the war, the shield, the serum – a rail-thin kid from Brooklyn. Bucky had told you stories about having to save him from fights he’d get into and how awkward he was with girls. He’d also tell you how proud he was that Steve had volunteered for that experiment. Bucky wanted you like Steve, because that was important to him – Steve was important to him.

You tried not to like Steve Rogers, you really had. After all, you knew where that road would lead. There was no escaping it though, because Bucky was a brother to him. They were a packaged deal. You didn’t get one without the other. So, Steve had befriended you, against your better judgement.

“Watch out for each other,” you told them.

“Always,” Bucky placed a chaste kiss against your lips before he turned to join Dugan and Morita.

“Will do,” Steve gave a small smile, warm and assuring.

They were just young men – boys – fighting the monsters of the world. Not exactly the same types of monsters you were accustomed to, but monsters nonetheless.

One year felt like forever.

In the middle of a war, you had snuck around to places to you shouldn’t have been, just to spend a few moments with the guy you loved and the one you shouldn’t have met.

It was amazing.

Until it wasn’t.

People die. It’s the curse of being human. That’s one reason you’d never let your guard down before. Bucky Barnes had been worth the momentary lapse in judgement though, Steve too, even though you hated to admit it – he was a good friend.

When you lost them both, you had been devastated, but in your life, you knew you would outlive people.

Lose those you love.

That didn’t make it any easier.

However, with Steve Rogers gone you had nothing left to lose – literally.  

2012

You had seen the news – The Avengers had saved New York.  

At first you thought it was someone imitating him, just a cheap knock off behind the mask. So, you had come to see for yourself, after all, it’s been over sixty years.

They said he was frozen in the ice.

What is your excuse going to be?

You watch as he sits across the patio from you, a half dozen empty tables between you, sketching away in his notebook. Steve used to do the same thing, all those years ago, always drawing in his spare time. Against your better judgement, you pull your sunglasses lower on your nose, peering over the rim of them to get a better look.

It’s him – it’s really him.

The same golden boy you remember, he’s not aged at all. Your mind is racing and for a moment you just stare at him as a flood of memories wash over you. Your heart stops as his eyes flick up from his drawing and immediately focus on you.

He recognizes you instantly. You’re still as beautiful as the last time he saw you, but that was over sixty years ago. Steve blinks, afraid his eyes are deceiving him. His mind is telling him there’s no way it’s you, but his heart is reminding him that in a world full of aliens and gods – maybe – just maybe the universe could give him this.

A piece of home.

He’s been stumbling through a world that’s not his own. Everything has changed. At least when he puts on the suit, he has a job to do, responsibilities as Captain America.

He’s a hero.

A damn national treasure.

Take away the red, white, and blue, and he’s just Steve Rogers, a man who doesn’t belong here.

This isn’t his time – it isn’t either of your time.

Why are you both here?

The recognition is evident on his features and you quickly push your sunglasses back up on your face as you carefully stand, trying not to draw attention to yourself. It’s too late though, because he’s on his feet, notepad forgotten on the table.

He’s halfway across the patio as you head for the sidewalk, calling out behind you, “Hey.” You don’t stop, but he’s persistent as he chases after you. “Excuse me, miss?”

You pick up the pace, but he doesn’t relent. Images of your smiling face flash through his mind. Bucky’s arms wrapped tightly around your waist, his chin on your shoulder, the wide smile on his face crinkled the corners of his eyes. He had been happy for his friend, even if there was a tinge of jealousy there. Steve had saw you first that night, but after everything Hydra had done to Bucky – he was the one who needed you.

Rogers has to jog to catch up with you and gently places his hand on your shoulder to stop your escape. For a moment you forget to breath, his touch familiar – yet foreign. You close your eyes as he circles around to get a better look at you. An almost silent whisper falling from his lips, “It is you.” You look up at him slowly, staring into his curious blue eyes as he continues, “How – how are you here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” you remark.    

“Long story.”

“Mine’s longer.”

***

Steve tells you about everything, the fight with Schmidt, the tesseract, and crashing the Valkyrie, then about Loki and the battle of New York. You can see a happiness in his eyes when he looks at you, as if no time has passed.

It has though and so much has changed.

“How?” his brows furrow. “How are you here?”

You don’t want him to know the whole truth – not yet. You’ve lost a lot since he’s been away and having him here brings back feelings you’d long since forgotten.

You didn’t think it was possible anymore.

“It’s complicated,” you say before taking a sip of your coffee.

Steve knows you’re holding something back and his hand finds yours on the small patio table between you and he gives it a gentle squeeze, “Tell me.”

He had developed this uncanny ability to ready you like a book during that time together in the war.

Maybe it was from being a third wheel in your relationship with Bucky.

Maybe it was something else.

It had been wrong, and you knew it, but fate be damned. There had been something very pure about Steve Rogers – innocent. In a world full of monsters and demons, he was good and kind, and oblivious to it all.

“I can’t die,” you say simply as if that sums up everything he needs to know, “technically.” He stares at you for a moment, waiting for you to elaborate, but you take another sip of your coffee instead.

Steve raises his eyebrows after a few moments of silence, “I’m going to need more than that.”

“I’m not human,” you finally say, your fingernail anxiously scraping at the chipped paint on the table. “I’m what they call a Phoenix.”

His blue eyes are inquisitive, and you can see the flurry of questions waiting there, “Like the mythical bird?” You nod and he continues with boy like curiosity, “Do you breathe fire?”

“No,” you shake your head with a smirk and hold your hand up, wiggling your fingers. “That comes from these.”

He gives a slow nod as he contemplates another question, “Can you fly?” You give him another shake of your head and he takes a deep breath as he leans back in his chair. “Okay.”

“Okay?” it’s your turn to look surprised. “I just told you I’m not human and you’re just going to roll with it?”

“I fought aliens two months ago,” he gives you a half-smile, “alongside an Asgardian. Weird isn’t so weird anymore.”

Truth be told, as long as you aren’t Loki, he could care less what you are. You’re here. That’s all that matters. Seeing your face brings back the good memories of the war, those small moments in time, which he’d forgotten about.

“You know what we should do,” Steve says suddenly, as a thought crosses his mind. “Let’s go see a movie.” Your brows furrow together in confusion at him, the large smile on his face making him look like a teenager. “Remember? Me, you, and Buck, we used to talk about when the war was over and we got back home, we were going to spend all day at the theater just watching whatever was playing. Eating popcorn.”

“With butter,” you do remember those discussions.

“Loads of butter,” his eyes widen with excitement. “What do you say?”

You just got him back, you’re not ready to let him go just yet, even though you know you should. It’s selfish, and you know that, but you agree, “Deal.”

The two of you spend the rest of the day watching movies and binging on theater popcorn and snacks while reminiscing about the past and how much things have changed. When Steve talks about how everything is different now, you can see a glimpse of that rail-thin kid Bucky had always protected.

You know what it feels like to be lost, and even though you had told yourself you wouldn’t stay – you can’t leave him like this.

He was Bucky’s best friend – your friend.

2013

Just a few months, until he’s more adjusted.

That was the phrase you had started telling yourself in the beginning. Steve had no one and you couldn’t leave him. He needed you and the fact your friendship was able to pick up right where the two of you had left it in 1945 made it easy to stay.

But you shouldn’t be here.

You know it.

Yet, here you are, assisting Captain America and the Avengers in taking down another Hydra facility, this time in D.C. of all places. The fighting, the violence, it’s too much. Fueling the flame inside of you, making you irrational sometimes, but you can’t tell him that. Then you would have to explain everything, and you can’t do that either.

The mission is going according to plan until two Hydra agents get the drop on Barton and you’re the only one to see it. You react without thinking and your right arm juts out towards the two agents, hand igniting in a beautiful combination of red and orange flares. The action immediately causing the two men to burst into flames. Their screams of agony are short-lived as your manipulate the blaze with your hand. It only takes a few moments until nothing is left of the men but a pile of ashes.

Clint raises an eyebrow in concern because you’ve never used your powers like that, then gives you small nod of appreciation for saving his life.

“What the hell was that?” Steve says from behind you, ignoring Tony’s ��Language Cap’ over the comms.

“Sorry,” your tone almost flippant.

“We’ve talked about that,” he reprimands you, making you feel like a child, which only pisses you off. “Incapacitate only. Killing is a last resort. We don’t do that.”

“You don’t kill people,” the cold look in your eyes is one he’s seen before.

“Neither do you,” Steve voice is still firm, calmer.

Shaking your head, you glare at him, “You don’t fucking know me. There’s a whole world of bad out there Steve. It can’t all be contained. Some of it has to be killed.”

You know you’ve said too much and you storm off. You’re going to have to tell him, but you’re too angry at him right now. You died too many times during the sixty years Steve was frozen in the ice. It’s taken a toll and you know he’s seen it, his blue eyes filling with concern and uncertainty at some of your actions. You aren’t the same carefree soul you were when he and Bucky met you, in fact, you know there’s not much of your soul left at this point.

That was part of being a Phoenix.

You and Steve have talked some on the subject of Phoenixes. He knows you’re a rare species who can control fire with your hands, although he’s not a fan of that. You haven’t mentioned the issue with your soul though, or how he plays a part in your story. There’s no easy way to tell him and you know it will be easier to leave – disappear.

Steve approaches the quinjet seeing everyone on the team except you and glances to Tony his eyes questioning your whereabouts without him saying anything.

“Hey Firestarter,” Tony says over the comms, even though you hate that nickname. “You still inside?”

“Yea,” you respond.

No one expects the explosion that originates from somewhere inside the warehouse and rocks the quinjet, but Steve’s eyes go wide in horror. Tony has to grab him to stop him from running into the flames. Metal arms cling to him tightly, as his world goes up in bright orange and red waves.

You told Steve you couldn’t die – technically. He never asked what technically meant because he was afraid to.

He searches the warehouse himself after the firetrucks leave. Tony and Natasha help, but there’s nothing left.

This is technically.

Later that night, you wake up in the rubble of the warehouse – naked and cold.

You know you’ve stayed too long. You can barely feel any of yourself left inside and it scares you. Feeling completely empty, void of any emotion or empathy. That is a fate worse than death.

It’s time to let him go. He’ll be okay without you. He has Tony and Romanoff now. You should leave while you can, but Steve Rogers is the only friend you’ve ever really had – which in itself is a cruel fucking joke.

***

You rap your knuckles against the wooden door in a rhythmic beat. The hem of the oversized bright yellow t-shirt you’d stolen from the construction worker’s truck brushes against the middle of your thighs, and it reminds you just how numb your body feels from the cold. It had been a long walk from the warehouse to here.

Steve opens the door to the apartment, red-rimmed eyes staring at you in shock. Your face has smudges of ash, sprinkles of it are in your hair, and you smell like the thick smoke of a campfire.

“Have you been crying?” Your tone edging on derisive as you enter the apartment.

“I thought you died,” he replies slowly, before closing the door hard behind you.

“And?” You can’t help the cockiness in your voice, chalk it up to being almost soulless, and you turn to him. “I told you, I couldn’t –”

His mouth is on yours, shutting you up as he pushes you back against the wall. One hand grips your waist firmly while the other tangles in the hair at the nape of your neck. Your mind races because this isn’t supposed to happen – it can’t. You shouldn’t be here.

The muscles in his shoulders flex under your fingers as he tightens his hold on you, pinning you to the wall with his body. Steve’s kiss is punishing and as his tongue slides past your lips, your body arches into him instinctively, overriding your thoughts. His assertiveness makes you forget the reason behind your visit, the warm, wet sensation between your thighs quickly becoming your new motivation.  

He presses his forehead against yours as he breaks the kiss for a moment, whispering against your lips, “I thought I lost you.” He has never looked at you like this before, with such longing and desire, and you feel it.

Really feel it.

The small part of you that is left is suddenly overcome with a surge of emotions and feelings.

Joy. Fear. Sympathy. Confusion. Love. All colliding together, twisting and spiraling inside of you like a whirlwind. Making you question yourself, ‘When did I fall in love with him?’

This need you’re feeling.

This ache.

You’ve forgotten what tears feel like as they prick the corners of your eyes and you cup his face gently with your hands, staring up at him. Your golden boy, “I’m here – I’m right here, Steve.”

It would be easier if he fucked you. Cold and hard against the wall of his apartment or with reckless desperation in the shower as water streams around the two of you, but he doesn’t. Steve Rogers makes love to you that night. Forcing you to melt as rough hands trace every curve and line of your body with feather like strokes and tender touches. His mouth both insatiable and intimate with kisses, expressing his feelings for you without words.

It’s raw, intense, and passionate.

You shouldn’t have come back, it’s not fair to him.

But you’re thankful you did.

Because you’ve never felt more alive – the irony of that is not lost on you.

***

The next morning you’re sitting at the kitchen table when Steve comes out of the bedroom and he can immediately see the look on your face. He notices the duffel bag by the door, and it makes his heart stop.

“We need to talk,” you say ominously, and the man slowly moves to sit across from you at the table.

“I don’t like how this looks,” there’s a noticeable tick in his jaw as he keeps his eyes focused on you.

“I didn’t tell you everything – about what I am,” you begin to explain, wrapping your hands around the coffee mug in front of you nervously. “Everytime a Phoenix dies and is reborn, or rises, a part of our soul burns off. It’s an incentive really, to keep you from dying. The more you die, the sooner you become a soulless monster, not caring about anything or anyone. Killing others becomes a second nature to us then, at least while we have a soul, we can keep that part of us in check.” You watch him closely as you speak, making sure he’s understanding everything as you say it.

“So, the two men at the warehouse?”

“Yea,” you nod shamefully. “Phoenixes are immortal, but we are destined to be killed eventually. A final death, one which we don’t rise from. When a Phoenix rises for the first time, there’s a name you’re given. The name of the person who will ultimately be the one to kill you – bring about your final death. Usually a hunter, or someone along those lines. Sometimes, that person may not enter your life for hundreds or thousands of years.” You glance out the window thoughtfully, “You have no idea what it’s like to know the name of the person who will kill you. Live with that for years, but you can’t run from fate.”

Steve sits across from you solemnly as he processes the information you’re sharing, “Can you change it?”

You shake your head. “I wanted to though. I wanted to change my destiny, kill the person whose name I was given before he had a chance to kill me. I found him too, but fate had other plans,” you glance away from him. “She’s cruel that way – fate – destiny or whatever it is that’s written in the stars. None of it would have ever happened if I’d not been trying to change it.”

“Whose name were you given?” he asks quietly.

“Yours,” you say, looking back over to him. “Steve Rogers.”

It looks as if you’ve punched him in the gut. That night, all those years ago, when he saw the prettiest girl at the party walking his way, it was because you had planned on killing him. Because eventually he was supposed to kill you.

“I never wanted to be your friend Steve,” you let the words slip out quietly. “Then Bucky happened, and I let my guard down. That wasn’t fair to you and I’m sorry.”

His mouth goes dry as he shakes his head, “But I wouldn’t –”

“You won’t have a choice Steve,” you reply. “When my soul is gone, that’s it.”

There’s a moment of silence between the two of you as he shakes his head in frustration. “How much is left?” he questions you, his brows furrowing together. “Of your soul?”

“Not enough.”

“There has to be a way we can fix this,” he tries to reason with you.

“No, we can’t,” you look at him hopelessly. “This is it. We both know what’s coming and I need you to promise me, when it happens, you’ll take care it.”

“I can’t do that,” the pain on his face is enough to break your heart.

“You have too. When there’s nothing left of me, I’ll just be a shell. The person you love won’t be here anymore, I’ll be a monster,” you can see the wretched expression on his face as you stand up from the table. “Promise me.” Steve looks out the window as he starts to chew on his bottom lip. You reach down, placing your hand on top of his, squeezing it gently, “Please.”

He glances up at you with glossy blue eyes. He’s broken because of you and you’ll never forgive yourself for this. You shouldn’t have come back.

“I promise,” his words are barely audible.

“I should go,” you say before leaning down to kiss his cheek gently. “I do love you.” The words come out as a whisper against his skin before you stand back up. You make it halfway to the door when you hear the chair scraping across the hardwood floor roughly. Steve is on you by the time you turn around, his hand flying to the side of you neck roughly, pulling you back to him. His lips crash into yours hard and desperate as tears slowly stream down your face.

Sometimes your soulmate isn’t the person you fall madly in love with, sometimes it’s the person you least expect.

A beautiful disaster.

Steve Rogers is your soulmate.

He’s also the man who will have to kill you one day when your soul no longer exists.

The thought of it shatters your heart and you’d give anything if you could take that burden away from him, but fate is cruel.

“I’ll see you around Steve,” you state quietly as you move to grab your duffel bag.  

He watches as you open the door to his apartment, his face full of sadness as he says the words firmly, “I hope not.”

[e350tb]

The Owl House: A Blight on Gravesfield (Chapter Two)

Two

Luz wakes up.

So, ten Puritans walk into Connecticut. Sounds like the start of a joke, doesn’t it?

To be fair, ‘Puritans’ might not be the right word here. Most of them were, certainly, like Goodfaith Smathers, and the excellently named The-Lord-Shall-Damn-Ye-Sinners Marlowe, who seems to have insisted on his full name being used in all conversation. But then there’s the pair we’ll be talking about today, Philip and John Wittelsbane.

You’ve all seen the statue, I’m sure, but nearly all the ‘common knowledge’ about them is actually false.

See, in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth century, the Wittlesbanes were big on the whole ‘family history’ thing, but not so much on the whole ‘truth telling’ thing. The story that John Wittelsbane personally chose the site of Gravesfield, and that he personally converted a local Pequot village to Christianity? There’s no evidence of that, and indeed it seems very unlikely, because John was sixteen at the time, and Smathers was the real leader of the exhibition.

Of course, Smathers died in the Pequot War, and The-Lord-Shall-Blah-Blah-Blah Marlowe went out from smallpox in 1639. The others were illiterate, so most of the records of early Gravesfield come from the Wittelsbanes. So it’s very easy for their family to pretend they were more important than they actually were.

Now, in 1642, something very big happens. It doesn’t happen in America, but it’s effects cross the Atlantic. Can anyone tell me what that is?

The Thirty Years War? Close, that was just about ending at this time. Any other guesses?

That’s right, the English Civil War! Or the War of the Three Kingdoms, as some call it today. To put it simply, you had the Cavaliers supporting the King on one side, and the Roundheads supporting Parliament on the other. It’s a gross oversimplification but it’s all you really need to know for this class.

A sixth of all the men in New England went back to England to fight for Parliament, and most people generally supported the Roundheads. Most people. Do you remember what I said about dissenters? Fascinating people with bizarre names, like Fifth Monarchists and Muggletonians. Some of them were very egalitarian, at least for the time.

It seems the Wittelsbanes got themselves mixed up in a particularly weird form of dissension. In 1645, Philip starts writing a lot about witches - but not in the same way that someone like, for example, Matthew Hopkins, Witchfinder-General in England, might have. This wasn’t fear; it was curiosity. He and John began to believe that magic was a gift from Christ.

This was a privately held belief of cause. The war was breeding suspicion in the Puritan populace of Connecticut, and in 1647, something happened in that colony. Something that would set the course for a split between the Wittelsbane brothers that would never be healed.

It was the beginning of the Connecticut Witch Trials.

---------

It was storming in earnest now, the wind shaking the house as the sounds of driving rain pounded on the windows. It was dark enough that Camila had had to turn the lights on, although the artificial light did little to abate the sense of gloom that hung over the house.

They had moved Luz and the other girl into Camila’s bedroom - there was more room to lay them down on the bed. That had been about an hour ago, and Camila was getting more than a little restless. She sat on her chair, facing away from her desk, rapping on the wood with her fingers. Vee paced by the door, looking no less antsy.

“We should call an ambulance,” declared Camila at last.

“What’re we gonna tell them?” asked Vee.

“I… I don’t know,” replied Camila, “But…”

There was a cough.

Camila’s eyes widened as Luz slowly began to sit up, rubbing her head.

“...man, I feel like I got hit by a truck…”

“Luz!”

Camila leapt out of her chair and darted over to her daughter, instinctively pulling her into a hug.

“Cariño, I’m so glad you’re okay,” she said, her voice breaking. “I was so worried! I…”

“M-mom?”

Luz blinked; it seemed like she didn’t know how to process her surroundings. She blinked, and a few tears ran down her cheek.

“Mom!”

She returned the hug, chest heaving. Neither of them moved for some time - there was a sense of unreality, the sudden ability to see each other, to touch each other. For a brief and beautiful moment, nothing else in the world mattered; just them, reunited at last.

Eventually, Camila pulled out of the hug.

“Oh, mija, never scare me like that again,” she sighed.

“Mom, I…”

Luz’s face fell, her eyes widening.

“...wait, where’s Eda?” she asked. “Where’s King? Where’s…”

She looked to her right, her eyes falling on the girl unconscious next to her. She gripped the bedsheets, starting to shake.

“Amity?” she exclaimed. “But… but we’re in the human world! Which means there’s a portal! We’ve gotta get Amity home!”

“Yeah, about that…” said Vee, rubbing the back of her head.

Camila frowned.

“The… portal disappeared,” she said.

Luz swallowed.

“So… we’re stuck?”

“We’re stuck?” The words came out before Camila could stop herself.

Luz’s eyes widened and she shook her head.

“No, no, that’s not… that’s not what I…”

She reached out, seizing Camila’s hands in hers.

“Mami, I don’t want to leave you again, I didn’t - I never wanted to hurt you, I just…”

Camila took a deep breath, closing her eyes.

“Luz,” she said, as evenly as she could, “I think we both need to talk about this.”

Luz bowed her head.

“I know.”

She turned to Amity.

“Is… is Amity okay?” she asked. “I don’t remember her getting hurt.”

“She cast a spell, I think,” replied Camila. “Something about… sharing the pain?”

Luz swallowed, and a few more tears spilled down her cheek.

“Oh Amity,” she said. “You didn’t… you didn’t have to do that for me. You didn’t have to do any of this…”

“Amity?” Vee tilted her head. “Amity Blight?”

Luz turned and nodded.

“Yeah,” she replied. “How do you know… oh yeah, Blight family, duh.”

She turned back to Amity - just in time to see her eyes slowly start to open.

“L… Luz?” she murmured.

“It’s okay, Amity, I’m here,” Luz replied. “We’re gonna figure this out, okay? Just…”

She sighed.

“...it’s just a little complicated.”

 -------

“He really believed in witches from Mars?”

The Gravesfield Historical Society had been closed for the past two weeks; this was the first time somebody who wasn’t a policeman had stepped in since the Jacob Hopkins Incident. But the Society had to keep going, and that meant the museum needed a new curator.

Enter Professor Fabian Stearne.

Stearne was an older man, somewhere between fifty and sixty, and looked every inch the prof. The tweed jacket, the blue shirt (tie roguishly discarded), the purple cardigan and the fire-engine red vans painted the picture of a charming eccentric, not hindered by his half-moon glasses, comb over, and trimmed grey moustache. He was a Gravesfield ‘lifer,’ who had rejected esteemed job offers from Yale and Harvard to head the history department at the small Gravesfield College.

And he’d never wanted to be a curator; if anyone had asked him, he’d tell them he was a researcher, preferring to dig up new theories than present old relics. Yet now there was literally no one else to do the job, so it was up to him.

“I did my PhD with him. Never thought he had that sort of thing in him.”

His assistant, Ben Frakes, was helping him clean the staff room - clearing the mess of weird conspiracy theory paraphernalia to make it a little more professional. Much younger than Stearne, Ben was fairly junior in the history department; he was convening his first course, ‘History and Myth in Gravesfield,’ a small, niche course that he nevertheless enjoyed.

Stearne and Frakes went back many years; Ben’s whole progress from history undergrad to PhD had been done under his watch. The lanky young man, brown haired, clean shaven and with a propensity for leather jackets, owed his career to Stearne, and he was always keen to give back when he could.

If that meant taking doctored photos of ‘owl beasts’ off a wall, then he was happy to do it.

“Yes, it’s a shame what happened to Jacob,” nodded Stearne. “But he’s not the first historian to run afoul of the law. Hopefully, once he’s gotten the help he needs, he can get back on his feet.”

He took the photo from Ben’s hands.

“He’s a clever man,” he said. “Just prone to wild imagination.”

“And animal endangerment?” said Ben, raising an eyebrow.

Stearne chuckled.

“What is a historian without eccentricity?”

“I’m surprised you took this job,” mused Ben, grabbing a box to take out to the trash. “You were always so critical of museums.”

“Well, there are worse ways to spend your twilight years than curating,” shrugged Stearne. “And Mr. Wittelsbane made a very compelling case. The town needs this museum. We can’t lose track of our past.”

Ben chuckled.

“Well, I’m gonna take this out back,” he said. “You need me to carry anything else?”

“No, my boy, not just yet,” replied Stearne.

“Okay, see you when I get back!”

Stearne watched as Ben walked away - as soon as he was gone, he looked down at the photograph, running a hand across it.

“Oh, my dear Jacob, so close and yet so far,” he sighed. “But worry not, worry not.”

He smiled - or perhaps it was more of a smirk.

“Redemption comes for all of us, in the end.”

[whatcouldgowrong-ohthat]

Us and Andie Ch. 2

Summary: Bucky works as an Avenger because it’s what’s right. He feels he has sins he’ll never be able to make up for, but he’ll spend the rest of his life trying. However, his life takes an unexpected turn when he comes across Andie, the daughter of recently divorced Y/N. The life he had once “maintained” in hopes of surviving changes as his heart warms for a tough-as-nails nurse and her wonderful daughter.

Pairing: Bucky x singleparent!Reader

Word Count: 3333 words <<< that has to be lucky!!

Warnings: Nothing. This is a chaotic chapter where Avengers meet Andie and Bucky is just plain worried. 

Next chapter has Bucky and Reader interacting! It seems someone has to tell Y/N what her kid has been up to all day.

This IS in response to @buckyssoul’s writing challenge! But the dialogue hasn’t been used yet. XD

Three days.

Three days avoiding the subway…staying at the compound…and not even setting foot in Brooklyn. So much for returning to routine.

If anyone in the compound noticed, they didn’t say anything. However, he could tell Sam and Steve were dying to every time he stepped into the same room. But he didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want to talk about Andie or her mother. He wanted to forget they existed. And the lengths he would go to consisted of several hours in the gym, blaring music when he was alone, trying to watch movies as a distraction. Nothing worked. So desperate times called for desperate measures.

“You never want to go running.”

Bucky finished pulling his hoodie over his head, his fingers deftly working to pull his hair out of his face. He glanced back at the door, not sure what he should say to Sam. “Your point?”

“That is my point. You never want to go running. Any time you’re working out – it’s cooped up in that gym.”

“Don’t want me hoggin’ Steve?”

Sam laughed, watching but not commenting as Bucky pulled on his glove. “Hey, I’m still going. There’s no stopping that. I wanted to make sure you’re alright, man. You’ve been around a lot lately.”

He hesitated before quickly shrugging it off. He didn’t want to talk about it. “I just…” Bucky gnawed at his lip, struggling to find the right words. “I need the distraction.”

Sam nodded. It seemed enough was said in so few words. “Well then, let’s go. Steve sent me to grab your ass.” He smirked, crossing his arms. Any chance to tease him, it seemed he would willingly take.

Bucky rolled his eyes, shoving Sam out of the way and closing the door behind him.

“What, no hat?”

He bit the inside of his cheek – the flashing image of a toothy-grinned Andie staring up at him now front and center in his mind. “Not today.”

Here was his problem. Today should have been a good day. In all reality, it was beautiful outside. There were no clouds. It was actually starting to get warm with signs of spring everywhere. And yet, Bucky found himself struggling. He kept thinking back to that little girl.

“Her name’s Y/N.”

He wondered what Y/N had hidden in her locket.

“Bucky, you listening?”

He blinked, looking back at Steve and Sam. They had just finished their seventh mile. But not at the compound. No, Steve had decided that Bucky needed to get out. So here they were. In Central Park. He glanced down at the coffee in his hand. That’s what they were doing now. Breakfast.

Made sense. Nice day meant they should stay out longer, right?

And it was. It was a nice day. It was meant to be a good day. So why did he feel like something was missing?

“I didn’t know Peter had a sister.”

Bucky frowned at Steve’s comment. He turned in the direction he and Sam were looking and noticed that Peter was hanging out with a couple kids closer to his age. But then there was someone else. Someone a little younger, a little scrawnier.

With that damn hat on her head.

Clenching his jaw, he shoved aside that hopeful feeling in his chest. Why did that damn kid keep getting that reaction?

She looked better than when he saw her a couple days ago. And it was a relief. He would never admit it out loud, but he’d been worried about Andie. She’d been such a mess on the subway…

She already has a shitty role model for a dad. You really think you’d be any better?

The truth was, he didn’t know if her dad was horrible. Hell, all he knew was that he didn’t do something she wanted, so she ran to her mom.

It’s not your problem.

“I’m goin’ back to the compound,” he told them. Turning on his heel, he walked away before even giving a chance for Sam and Steve to ask him why.

The two shared a look. Something was off with Bucky, but the idea of asking and getting a real answer was near impossible. Sam asked, “You want to talk to him?”

“Not right now. He needs space. Bucky…” Steve sighed. “Bucky always talks to me when he’s ready.”

“Seventy years later and you’re still so sure?”

“Kind of have to be.”

“Captain! Sam!”

The two looked up simultaneously, their faces something similar to two kids caught scheming to get cookies. Why? They hadn’t done anything wrong.

But they hadn’t exactly expected Peter to be waving them over.

“Hey, Peter.” Steve chuckled as Peter threw the ball again. The kid he was with ran backwards, jumping up and catching it.

“Who’s your friend, Web-head?”

Peter’s ears turned a bright pink at the nickname. He didn’t mind keeping his identity a secret. In fact, the teenager preferred it that way. But it still didn’t stop Sam from giving him ridiculously obvious nicknames to his alter ego. He quickly turned his head, catching the ball moments before it could collide with and break his nose. “That’s Andie.”

“Your sister?”

Peter glanced at Steve and shook his head, throwing the ball again. “No, I’m an only kid.”

“So what, superhero gig ain’t paying enough?”

He laughed at that, stumbling over the words to explain why he was hanging out with a kid so much younger than him. “Aunt May and I take care of her when her mom is working.”

“What’s her mom do?”

“She’s a nurse over in Brooklyn. Today was supposed to be a day off for her, but she had to pick up an extra shift.”

Brooklyn? The two soldiers seemed to gain more curiosity over that. Was Andie the reason Bucky had taken off or was it an insane coincidence?

“She a good kid?”

“Oh, definitely. You two don’t mind meeting her?” When they shrugged, Peter called out, “Andie, get over here! I got some guys over here that want to meet you!”

Andie paused and, in that moment, both men noticed the hat on her head. It looked an awful lot like a certain soldier’s. There was no way there were that many coincidences. Right?

“Hi.”

They jumped, looking down at her. How did a kid manage to sneak up on two Avengers?

Steve took in her hat. It was frayed around the edges, the color faded – he would bet money it belonged to his best friend.

But Sam was looking at her shirt, brow raised. That was not a girl’s shirt. It was a t-shirt of all the Avengers, clearly meant for boys, but she didn’t seem to care. And neither did he. What had his attention was the various sharpie décor that covered each Avenger’s face. In multiple colors, he might add. “Looks like someone got a little creative with their clothes, Cap,” Sam teased, earning a wrinkled nose and laugh from the girl.

Tony’s Iron-man suit had a curly moustache on it.

Thor had a pink bow in his hair.

Clint was given a rainbow mane and what he guessed was a…unicorn horn?

Spiderman had rainbow doodles all over his uniform.

Hulk had a Devil tail and horns to contrast with added Angel wings and halo.

The only ones untouched? Natasha. Steve. Sam. And Bucky.

No wonder Peter wanted them to meet her.

“Avenger fan, huh?” Steve crouched in front of her as she tilted her cap up.

Loose strands fell from her braid as she offered a shrug. “I like Bucky. He’s cool.”

“I resent that statement,” Sam said, crossing his arms.

Andie giggled. “I know. But that’s okay – Nurse Jones thinks you’re cute.”

“Oh, does she now?” Sam knelt to her side, grinning like the cat that ate the canary. He was always willing to hear about a Falcon fan.

Peter smiled at the sight. Knowing how much this would mean to Y/N, he pulled out his phone and snapped a couple photos. None of them noticed, but if they did, they didn’t acknowledge it.

“Yeah. I think Bucky scared her when they met.”

“Wait, Bucky met your friend?” Steve raised an eyebrow, doing everything he could to keep himself from smiling. It seemed all of their curiosities were being confirmed just by this girl’s bluntness.

“I want to keep her,” Sam whispered to Steve, earning a swat on the arm.

What he hadn’t expected was for the hit to come from Andie.

She raised an eyebrow, placing her hands on her hips. “Do I look like a pet to you?”

Sam felt his heart was ready to burst. Oh, this kid was priceless. Looking at Steve, he asked, “Please, can we at least take her back to the compound to meet the others?”

Her eyes lit up at that. “Can I meet Black Widow?”

“Oh, I can guarantee she’s going to want to meet you,” Sam assured her. He looked over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow at Peter. “What do you think, Pete? Want to show our new friend where your internship’s at?”

Peter couldn’t hide his smile even if he wanted to. “Absolutely.”

--

It had only been a handful of hours since Bucky had left Steve and Sam at Central Park and God, he just wanted this day to end already. The longer he went without crossing paths with a certain dorky kid, the better off he’d be. But no. With all the people living in New York City, it was obvious that he would run into one eleven-year-old not once, but twice in less than a week. Because it was obvious. It was logical.

Because God hated him. That was why.

Pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes, he struggled to let the music blaring in his earbuds to simply distract him. That was all he needed. A good old-fashioned distraction.

He missed the days when he could get drunk. He really did.

Shuffling and thundering feet outside the door were felt more so than heard as Bucky stared at the ceiling. Maybe if he stared hard enough it would cave in? No, he wasn’t that lucky. Then it came again. Heavy footsteps whose vibrations he couldn’t ignore even if he wanted to. What the hell?

Bucky sat up, glancing at the door and seeing several shadows cross quickly underneath. What was going on?

A banging on the door made him jump. Steve’s voice shouting for him was enough to drag him out of bed. He yanked open the door, running a hand through his hair. Why did Steve look so guilty?

“What’d you do?”

“Uh…” He smiled, trying to look innocent, but failing miserably. This guy was going to send him to an early grave. “We need your help.”

Or was it a late grave at this point? He was a hundred.

“We?” Brow furrowing, Bucky asked, “What did you do?”

“You remember Peter and his friend at the park?”

Andie. Bucky’s shoulders tensed. Recognition flashed in his eyes and Steve knew he was going to get an earful later. But that could wait. Through gritted teeth, he asked, “What about her?”

“She needed to go to the bathroom and – “

“She?”

“Andie.”

“You brought her here,” Bucky asked, voice thundering in the corridor.

“Yes! But that’s not the issue right now.” Steve huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose before finally looking at Bucky. “We can’t find her.”

“You brought her here and lost her?”

“Sam wanted to introduce her to the rest of the team. I didn’t see it being a problem and you gave her your hat – “

“I was helping her home. That’s all that was.” Bucky slammed his door shut behind him. Running down the hall, he knew Steve was on his heels.

They stepped into the kitchen as Bucky wondered how the hell this could have happened. “You brought a kid to the Avengers Compound. There are weapons here! And people with PTSD. She could get hurt! Not to mention Tony’s lab that has God-knows-what in it.”

Steve watched Bucky, amusement flitting across his eyes. He was used to his friend being calm, cool, collected. He’d never seen Bucky so vocal. So worried and, dare he say, protective. Not since the 40’s at least.

“We’ll find her, Buck.”

“Before or after she pisses off the Hulk?”

Steve froze at that thought. He hadn’t even thought about Bruce. Surely a kid wouldn’t scare him, right?

But then again…Andie was extremely quiet and sneaky.

“I have Nat searching the training room. Clint’s covering the bedrooms. Sam and Peter are checking the grounds.”

“What about Bruce?”

“He’s meditating. Maybe it’d be best to leave him out of this one?”

Bucky nodded. If he was meditating, he was on the roof in his own little sanctuary. Surely Andie wouldn’t find her way up there. “Tony?”

“He’s locked up in his lab. We shouldn’t have to worry about her getting there.”

“Let’s keep him out of this. I really don’t want a lecture from the great Tony Stark,” Bucky muttered.

“It’s not exactly your fault. He wouldn’t blame you.”

“Tony blames me every chance he gets.”

Steve frowned, knowing it was true. Tony, though willing to let Bucky join the Avengers, still hadn’t forgiven him for his parents. It would take time and Steve was sure it would happen eventually, but Tony was extremely talented at holding a grudge. Clasping a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, he squeezed gently. “Wanda and Vision are out on a date and Thor’s off doing whatever he does. Just leaves us. We can check the garage and weapons facility.”

Bucky nodded. “Let’s go.” He couldn’t shake that worried feeling settling in his gut. He’d barely spent any time with this kid. By the sounds of it, the rest of the team had gotten to know her for a lot longer. So why was he so damn concerned?

As the two stepped out of the room, the glass doors to the kitchen shut with a ‘hiss’. Without even thinking about it, they hung a left, quickly forgetting about the room they had just been in.

It was quiet.

And completely empty.

Or so they had thought.

Andie came wandering in from where the kitchen’s tv and couch were set up. The place had too many rooms, but it seemed she had just been on the couch, sleeping. The only thing that had made the room oblivious to her was the back of the couch.

With every step she took, her body shimmered, turning invisible and revealing what was visible through her. She grabbed one of the barstools, dragging it to the kitchen counter as she let out a loud yawn. Her stomach rumbled as she climbed up, searching the cabinets for something to eat.

It took two cabinets to find something she deemed ‘good’. Turning around, she sat on the edge of the counter and popped open the large bag of peanut butter M&Ms. Shoving a handful in her mouth, she took in the fact that the room was completely empty.

Tilting her head, she called out, “Hello?”

Shrugging, she closed the cabinets and grabbed the barstool before putting it back where she found it. Her mom did teach her how to clean up after herself after all. Especially as a guest. Tucking the M&Ms under her arm, she wandered out the same door Bucky and Steve had gone.

Except she went right.

Another ‘hiss’ from the closing doors and a shuffling of feet were followed. Bruce entered from the other side of the room, wearing baggy sweatpants and a loose shirt. He looked like he had rolled out of bed. He took in the kitchen, the room he was used to seeing everybody in, and scratched the back of his head. “Where is everybody?”

---

The sun was setting outside, making Bucky even more nervous. How pissed would Y/N be if they lost her child? Probably a lot. Bucky ran a hand through his hair as he stepped into the foyer. Steve was right behind him and they both saw Peter and Sam heading their way. Peter ran ahead, panic clear in his features. Poor kid was probably as worried as Bucky was. And it was clear, they hadn’t found her.

“Any word from Nat or Clint,” Sam asked, jogging up to them.

“No sign of her.”

“How can one kid outsmart a whole team of Avengers?” Sam was clearly impressed, but that tone in his voice earned a glare from Bucky. He wasn’t impressed. Far from it. He was ready to shake some damn sense into that girl. The worry he had for Y/N’s concern was getting closer to frustration. Who raises a kid who just runs off and hides? He wanted to talk to her mother about raising the kid with some common sense. Good, decent common sense like not hiding from a team of Avengers.

“She has to be here somewhere. The grounds are massive, but she’s a kid. It’s not like she can drive.”

“Please, don’t put that image in my head, Steve.”

“Look, Ms. Y/L/N keeps calling and texting. I can only let it go to voicemail so many times, guys,” Peter said, voice cracking. He genuinely enjoyed looking after Andie when he wasn’t going to school or “Avengering”. She was a good kid. Normally at least. “We really need to find her. Please.”

“What do you think we’ve been trying to do,” Bucky huffed.

Peter took a step back, not wanting to piss off Bucky. Sam patted him on the back. Even if Peter irritated him from time to time, it wasn’t the kid’s fault. “Don’t be hard on him, Barnes. I take responsibility for this.”

“We all do,” Steve added.

Um…gentlemen?

F.R.I.D.A.Y.

Everyone was silent.

“Why didn’t we ask F.R.I.D.A.Y.?”

Mr. Stark says it’s because you’re idiots. However, he does ask that you come join him in the lab.

They all shared a look. Did…Did Tony find Andie?

It didn’t take long for them to cross the compound. It seemed everyone was rather efficient when they weren’t panicking. Even Natasha and Clint had joined them, wanting to make sure that Andie was found and safely taken home. But Bucky was the one leading the way. He had to make sure that Andie was alright. He didn’t understand it, but he had to. He just…he had to.

Stepping into the lab, he looked everywhere. Several desks and works-in-progress littered tables and the floor. Some were even hung up. It made it impossible to see everything or even find Tony. He really had upgraded since moving from Stark Tower and Bucky hadn’t exactly made it his mission to come to this part of the compound.

“Over here, guys,” Tony called.

Everyone spun around. There, working on his newest suit, was Tony. He spun in his chair, waving a wrench as a sign of ‘hello’ before pointing to the nearby desk.

There, with chocolate covering her mouth, was Andie. She was throwing M&Ms into the air, catching them in her mouth before throwing them to –

Bruce.

He cheered when he caught one, high-fiving Andie before he saw that the rest of the gang had joined them. “Hey, guys! Look who I found.”

Andie glanced over her shoulder, her eyes lighting up when she spotted Bucky. His shoulders visibly relaxed when he saw that smile of hers. “Hi, Bucky!” She quickly turned back around, throwing another M&M in the air. Bruce caught it, falling out of his chair with a loud ‘thud’.

“That’s 15 to 14 now,” Bruce told her, pointing a finger as he fixed the chair.

“So…” Peter, Steve, and Sam all looked in Tony’s direction, but Bucky couldn’t tear his eyes off Andie. Relief was clear in his now relaxed features, but he might be a little worried she would pull another disappearing act. But that wasn’t what was important to Tony. Not right now at least. No, he was more curious about one thing in particular. “Mind telling me whose idea this was?”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

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[littlesliceofmarvel]

Meet My Love

Prompt: Loki x Reader (Prompt #9 - “Watch me.”)

Warnings: sooooft loki

Word Count: 1,755

A/N: Wow so my posts haven’t been showing up in tags because I apparently still hadn’t verified my email address to my tumblr five years after making my account... why’d it take me so long..... My Prompt list is still open so you guys can continue to request away! xox

Y/H/C = Your home country/city. 

"Ok, what if he decides to banish me from the lands and have my head cut off by a moldy piece of wood?” You asked, quickening your pace along the looooong walk up to the dining room in the Asgardian palace. 

Loki was finally bringing you to his planet to meet his family and to say you were nervous was the understatement of the freaking century. You had met Loki during his not-so-nice New York invasion, which is the strangest way you could meet the love of your life, but you wouldn’t have changed a thing because after everything, you had helped him out of his dark place and he had done the same with you. 

When Loki had meet you, you had recently lost your job, and your parents kicked you out for your ‘irresponsibility.’ So, you had been practically living from cheap motel to cheap motel, eating shrimp ramen and showering once every four days. It was in no way a good time. So, when the invasion happened and you found yourself coming face to face with a green and gold clad God, you vowed to yourself that you’d turn your life around. And you did.

So, now, here you were, walking up the giant marble stairwell to meet Odin and Frigga. You had briefly met Thor during The Great New York Event, but not enough to really recall what he was even like.

“Darling, no one is chopping off anyone’s heads.” Loki chuckled, cutting you out of your thoughts as he placed his hand on your lower back, helping guide you in the right direction once you reached the top of the stairs. 

“Loki, they’re gods! Literal gods, how do I fit in?” You asked, not wanting to meet his eyes as you tried to focus on your surroundings more than your thoughts. The shiny golden statues and columns made the room feel massive and royal, as if you had stepped into a palace you dreamt of when you were five. 

“You just be yourself, love,” he stopped walking and spun you around to face him, “No one compares to you.”

You felt your cheeks flush as you continued trying to avoid his eye contact, hating your current state of vulnerability. A group of Asgardian women dressed in silky colourful gowns walked by, politely waving at the two of you before continuing on down the hallway. 

“Loki! I’m underdressed.” You looked down to your floral summer dress, no longer thinking it was nice enough to meet your boyfriend’s parents. 

He gave you a stern look, “Love, you look fantastic. Stop overthinking and keep walking with me.”

You rolled your eyes, letting him grab your hand and continue dragging you down the halls and stopping in front of a large wooden door, golden flowers and twirls decorating it all over. You knew that his family was right behind this door, and for some reason, your nerves died down. It was probably because your entire body was numb. 

“Okay, so, we’re going to walk in and you’re going to be fine.” He placed a gentle kiss on your forehead and opened the door before you could respond. 

The room was massive. A large table sat in the center, and only two walls surrounded you. The other half of the room was completely open with a large balcony overlooking the planet, a light breeze flowing through the room as the sun only just began setting. The golden light made the room look even golder, if that was possible. The marble floor looked like one massive tile and you let your eyes dance over the small accessories, from the large plants to the tiny candles on the table.

But what also caught your eye was the three people sitting around it. You instantly recognized Thor, his blond hair tucked back into a messy bun and a large smile on his face as he looked down to the pint of beer in front of him. The woman who could only be Frigga sat across from him, a royal blue gown making her strawberry blonde hair practically glow against her pale skin. She was beautiful. Odin sat at the head of the table, a slight scowl on his face as he picked at something in his wine glass, talking quietly to his wife. 

“Loki!” Thor called out, pulling everyone’s attention your way. 

You attempted to hide behind him but he grabbed your waist before you could. He smiled at his brother and the two of you walked over to the table, the click of your heels echoing lightly across the room.

You held your breath the entire way, nearly passing out when Frigga stood up and walked over to the two of you. She gently pulled Loki into a hug, turning to face you when she pulled away.

“Family, meet my love,” Loki smiled fondly down at you, completely ignoring your shyness as he threw you into the spotlight. 

“You must be Y/N, it’s so lovely to finally meet you,” she grinned, placing a hand on your shoulder, “I don’t think Loki has gone one second without talking about you.”

Your grinned, looking up at Loki just in time to catch the light blush on his cheeks.

“It’s lovely to meet you too, Loki talks a lot about his mother,” you smiled at her, watching her eyes gaze fondly over to her son before turning back to you.

“Please, sit.” 

So the two of you did just that. You sat next to Thor, Loki sitting next to you. His hand immediately went to your thigh, rubbing soothing circles on your skin.

“Y/N, it’s nice to see you again.” Thor smiled from next to you, taking a sip of his beer and grinning at his brother, a light moustache of foam forming against his upper lip making you bite your cheek to avoid giggling.

“Loki,” Odin spoke up for the first time you had walked into the room, “Hello, son. And hello, Y/N.”

Loki nodded to his father, almost as if unsure about how to talk to him. You knew Loki didn’t exactly have the best relationship with his father, having told you a few less-than-happy memories about when he was growing up. 

“Y/N, where are you from?” He asked, learning his elbows on the table and looking over at you.

“Y/H/C.” You smiled, thinking back to your home.

He nodded pensively, looking back down to the table. Frigga shrugged him off, shooting you a kind smile and pointing towards the food in front of you that had your mouth watering.

“Please, let’s eat.” 

All of you helped yourselves to the meal, a slight awkward silence falling over the room as the sun continued to set, the candles emanating a stronger glow as the room got slightly darker. 

“So, tell us a bit about yourself, Y/N,” Frigga spoke up, “Loki has told us a little bit but we’d love to know more.”

You started talking about your parents, your childhood, what you studied in school, and your current job. The three of them seemed interested, paying attention to your every word. The only reason you had the courage to continue talking was Loki’s hand giving your thigh a reassuring squeeze every few seconds, reminding you he was by your side. 

The dinner finished relatively quickly, and before you knew it, the room was illuminated by a giant chandelier you didn’t even remember seeing when you walked in. The sun was gone, and a cool nighttime breeze made goosebumps rise on your arms. Curse your summer dress. 

You stood in the corner of the room next to the balcony, chatting with Frigga and Loki about what life was like on Asgard, when the two other men came over to join you. 

“Y/N,” Odin spoke up, looking over to Thor who simply nodded, “I was told here by my son that my actions to you tonight were... unwelcoming. I’d like to formally apologize. You seem like a lovely woman, and you and Loki seem very happy.”

You felt your heart completely stop, looking wide-eyed at the man in front of you, mouth probably hanging open like a toad. You had found him to be a little rougher than the others, but you just expected he was always like this. 

You felt Loki jab your side slightly, bringing you back to reality.

“O-Oh, right,” you stumbled upon your words, “I... no, it’s fine, thank you?” It came out as more than a question than a statement of forgiveness, but he seemed to accept it as he nodded at you before sticking his arm out to Frigga. She gladly accepted it, and the two walked over to the edge of the balcony, overlooking their kingdom with pride on their faces.  

You smiled up to Loki, his face holding the same expression as he gazed back down at you.

“Well, doesn’t take an idiot to see you guys want alone time!” Thor chuckled awkwardly, waving at the two of you before walking back to the table, picking at the dessert options. 

You giggled, twirling around as Loki turned you to face him, his hands gently wrapped around your waist. You noticed him starting to lean in and you abruptly pulled away.

“You can’t kiss me in front of your family,” you smirked up at him, placing your hands against his chest. 

“Watch me,” he mumbled, leaning down and connecting his lips to yours. They were cold, but you found yourself leaning into him anyways, loving how delicately your lips moved against his. One of his hands found its way up to the back of you neck, holding your mouth hostage against his. 

You pulled away after hearing Frigga chuckle, Loki’s parents looking over at the two of you. Frigga turned to her husband, muttering something about ‘young love’ and turned back to look over the city.

“You know I love you, right?” You grinned up at Loki.

“Oh, you do? Hm, this is awkward, I’ve got another girl to bring home to my parents tomorrow,” he shrugged, giving you a lopsided smirk.

“Oh that’s fine, I guess, I’ve got a date next Tuesday anyways,” you smirked back, pulling away from his grasp lightly before he dragged you back in. 

“Actually, I’ll cancel mine if you cancel yours.” He teased, his hands gripping you a little tighter, “I love you.” He placed a kiss against your forehead.

You were in pure bliss.

[imnotwolverine]

Free writing - Mom And The Mushrooms

Author’s note: Again -- if you’re here for the Henry content you can skip this one. I can’t find any inspiration for Henry stories at the moment, so I thought I’d share one of my ‘free writing’ stories instead. I’m super nervous about sharing this with you, but..ever tried ever failed, right?😅

Mom And The Mushrooms

Warnings: Dystopian, character death, food poisoning, grief

Word count: 3.607 (13 min. reading time) 

--

Phase 1: Denial

They had to be kidding right?

With a shaking jumble the train came to yet another screeching halt. And we weren’t even there yet.

Would they throw me out here? In this suburban, white picketed wilderness? I could see the grass growing thigh high. Trees poking out through the roofs of houses that had once been the wet dream of every newly-wed nuclear family.

If only they had known what would come of the world. 

Leaning into the large glass window, I let my eyes wander. There wasn’t even a platform in sight, the rails tracking for miles ahead before I could make out the silhouette of my hometown in the distance. It was no more but a bluer shade of blue in the crisp sky. Like a fever dream that I so eagerly wanted to wake up from right now. I didn’t want to be here. In this train. Going home. Or whatever was left of home.

I watched as two blue uniformed men passed outside my window. Train crew. Their stubby fingers letting factory rolled cigarettes dance as smoke puffed from their lips, their moustaches curling up with something that might just be a smile. I hadn’t seen people smile for years. So, sure. It was a little weird.

Would they throw me out here? With a speeding heart I watched them, but they walked on. Onward to the nose of the train, their pace glacial as they sauntered on side by side. Why were they so happy? Idiots.

Sighing, I rested back into the coffee stained bench, the old raggedy fabric reminding me of the long years this train had been in service. It was a miracle that it still managed to move out here once a week. In between the mighty storms, floods, hurricanes and what not. It was a miracle that people still dared to go out in this wilderness. Myself included. Though, I obviously didn’t have much of a choice.

Simmering quietly, my attention was drawn to an old broadcaster that crackled to life. The sound resembled something that might have once sounded human. But right now it sounded more like metallic gibberish. Hard to discern and probably also hardly important.

“Kggg--zz running int-----resume in a tsssskk --”

*click*

It was the last stop before we finally arrived in my hometown. Home. Pff. They had to be kidding right?

--

Phase 2: Anger

Home was a town without a name. The sign was long stolen and had never been replaced. RB04 - Midhaven. That’s what it was called. For it was located exactly in the middle of two supercities; 8LU3 - Blue City and R3D - Red City.

It was the only town that still had a few inhabitants for miles to come. And it had a shop too, my feet dragging inside as I tugged my suitcase along. The copper bell by the door tolled loudly and I couldn’t help myself but think: I fucking hate this.

‘Angel?’ A halfling sized man walked out from behind the counter, his head appearing from behind a rack with candied bars past their expiration date. He looked a century older, and perhaps an inch or so smaller. But he was still Bub. He still had that stupid smile on his face. That spiky white hair. A near toothless smile. Why did these people ever smile? What was there to smile about?

‘Bub.’ - I sounded tired.

The man’s furry brows lifted, and for a moment I wondered if he could see me at all.

‘You look terrible.’ - Fair enough, he did.

I shrugged. ‘Much like this town.’

For a moment we just stared at each other as a strange energy crackled in the late afternoon air, the rest of the small shop completely abandoned. Then again; so was most of this town. The bell behind my head ringed again, this time by a gust of autumn wind that washed inside, breaking the silence. Bub cleared his gravelly throat.

‘You’re here for ye mum’s stuff?’

‘I am.’

His brows furrowed even more, before finally he turned his attention to the counter, small feet shuffling back until I could see no more of him but the few white hairs that poked out over the wooden counter. I could see him move to and fro, but I was too tired, upset..and perhaps a touch angry, to be willing to care.

‘Tis been long since last I saw you.’ He spoke from behind the counter. ‘You a grand cuisine cook now?’

I felt my gut drop and face sour. I wish I could say I had. I had promised I would. But I had failed. I was a fucking, miserable failure. I hated myself. I was angry at myself. And had I just been better, smarter, faster...and less of an expensive mushroom stealing mess..I wouldn’t be here. They wouldn’t have cast me out. I could have made my mother proud.

I could still hear her voice: “Don’t forget about us - because we won’t forget about you. And know I’ll always be here for you.”

Well that was a lie. She was proclaimed dead and I was here, alone. Or well, sort of. Bub was still around. And for some odd reason I believed he was one of those immortal beings, ready to even outlive me, the last girl to ever be born in Midhaven. He was like one of those wizard-like creatures that offered you omens and odd jokes. In fact the only thing he missed was a bushy full beard. He sure got the humour right. I think. I mean, society wasn’t about fun. I had learned that the hard way in the last ten years as I worked my way up in the kitchen of The White Hall.

Fuck. I hated myself, for making such a mess of my life. And what in the hell was Bub doing back there?

I peeked over the counter but couldn’t see more than Bub’s spiky white hair. ‘So..how are you Bub?’

He didn’t respond and I decided to just breathe and let my anger fizzle and eyes wander. This shop had been here since I was young. It was all artificial foods. Tasteless crap. Quick, easy, cheap. No animals hurt. No nature hurt. No nature even needed.

I hated that, too; for true beauty, taste and pleasure, a little hurt is needed. That’s what the kitchen taught me. You’ve gotta sear, steam, salt, dry and beat your ingredients if you want to make them taste like anything. Pain. Pleasure. Perfection.

Perhaps that was the silver lining of my return. It sure hurt good.

Bub returned from behind the counter with a key on a keychain, the red colour of the cord faded.

‘No need to bother with the pleasantries.’ Bub finally answered, a little defeated. ‘Miryam died. The boys left for the city. Business is terrible. Do you want anything else?’

I looked down at the small man and felt something that might just be a pang of sympathy. I hadn’t felt sympathy in a long time and it made me uncomfortable to say the least. In my time as a sous-chef, sympathy was the last skill I’d ever need to use. I just had to perform, perform, perform!

I quietly took the keychain and looked back into the dusty old shop, wondering.

‘Did the farm close down?’ My eye fell on the corner where some fresh produce had  once been displayed; the empty crates looked too dusty for my question to even need answering.

‘A long time ago. Yes. There’s no business to be done in onions and leeks no more.’

‘Shame.’

‘Gotta blame the people.’

Another silence fell and for another moment we just looked at each other. A small smile formed on Bub’s wrinkly little mouth and I sighed. Could you really blame the people when they simply couldn’t even afford good food if they wanted to? I retaliated.

‘You’re right. And eh, give me some of the red stuff.’

Bub nodded and picked one off the long row of identically red labeled cans, his small body wobbling as the contents shifted his center of gravity.

‘This should keep you stuffed for a good week. Anything else?’

‘Nope. That’s all.’ I took the can from him. ‘How much is it?’

His smile grew. ‘One home cooked meal.’

I wasn’t sure if I was going mad by that point, but I swear that man had just asked me to cook for him. And it wasn’t likely to be warming up this red goopy goo. I looked down at the can and then the man, confusion crawling over my tired face.

‘What now?’

‘Your mother taught you to forage, right? I haven’t had a proper good meal in…’ He raised a brow as if thinking. ‘..ages.’

I blinked at him as he walked back to his hiding spot behind the counter, the deal apparently made.

‘I have some pig’s grease stacked away. Not much. But enough. See you tomorrow?’

I knew I should say no. In fact I had almost sworn to never cook again as they had thrown me on this train today. But something deep inside of me sang to Bub’s words. Begged me to consider. Perhaps it were the rich autumn smells in the air. Luscious and fungal. Perhaps it was my grumbling stomach combined with the hopeful glint I saw in Bub’s eyes. In any way. Before I knew it, the word was out.

‘O-okay.’ I breathed.

‘Great. See you tomorrow, Angel.’

--

Phase 3: Bargaining

They had never found my mom’s body. And laying here in my mom’s bed, I could swear she had been here only hours earlier. I could still smell her. That nauseating combination of heady flowery scents. Even now it made me a little sick in the stomach. Honeysuckle, herby, rosy..skunk.

I had despised this smell with a passion, but for the moment it gave me comfort. And perhaps even hope. Perhaps my mom wasn’t really dead. Perhaps she had just met a new man and moved to a new apartment further down town. Perhaps, she had just forgotten to send me an update. I mean. I never sent her updates about my life. So who could blame her? Oh mom. You crazy, crazy woman.

I rolled over in bed and inhaled deeply. Memorizing the dizzying smells combined with the wisp of morning air as it moved in through the cracked open window. It smelled devine. Like wet dirt and sunshine. So very different from the pristine clean smells of the city, which were all chemical and dispassionate.

In nature smells had a goal. To entice. To warn. To taste. To .. love. And my mom had been just that. Always completely and utterly in love. With nature, beasts.. and men. Let’s not forget about men.

Rolling out of bed I trudged into the small apartment, flowery cushions layered with dust and vines moving in through the cracks in the walls. I took a few testy bites of the red goo, but decided that I might as well move out and see if Bub had been right. Whether I could forage at all.

--

The morning was still surprisingly cool, my fingers wrapping urgently around my city-girl coat to keep warm. My practical shoes beat a steady rhythm on the pavements and for long quiet moments I remembered my youth here. There had been more people then. There had still been a school, some bars, jobs, families. But right now they all seemed to have left. Just like my mom had. Away from this overgrown misery. Million dollar misery.

My mom had once told me that these car wrecks by the road had once been driven by the richest of the richest. They’d sit in the back and have drivers drive them to important business meetings in the tops of the highest skyscrapers. They’d wear sleek tuxedo’s and go to fancy balls. They’d go dancing with pretty women. On live music, played on real instruments. And they’d have food. The best that money could buy.

Right now those cars were no more but rusty wreckages. Bugatti. Astin Martin. Ferrari. The city had swallowed them back up, large trees now growing around them, breaking up the cracked tarmac like spindly green fingers.

In the distance I could see some movement. A herd of deer. And though I knew there would be animals, I could still feel my heart race at the sight of their fluffy white butts, nervous cheeks halting their chewing as they noticed my presence. I held my breath and waited, but they fled all the same. Softly their hooves clacked as they jumped through the city jungle. One by one. A great buck following them last, large antlers reaching out like roots from his head.

‘Everything is connected dear. The people, the plants, the trees, the earth and the sky. We’re all connected, living the circle of life. Over and over and over. And that’s not scary. That’s beautiful.’

I could hear my mom as we’d saunter through the wilder parts of the city. Picking herbs to make that watery drink. What was it called again? Ah yes. Tea. My sweetness, I had missed tea. And, I missed mom.

Taking a steadying breath I calmed my escalating thoughts, instead focusing on my journey for today. Today, I was going to cook Bub a meal. And this time I would not have to steal the ingredients. No, I’d find them myself. Thank you very much.

--

‘This is divine!’ Bub exclaimed with a full mouth.

I smiled woefully and looked down at the mushroom stew I had managed to make with the meagre bounty I had gathered. I could have done better probably. But it was good enough for Bub. He was humming and buzzing with every bite.

‘Say Bub..’ I swallowed and looked up at the small man who barely managed to reach out above the table’s edge.

‘Yes Angel?’

‘I never heard how she died.’

Bub stopped chewing and licked his lips. He sighed and slowly shook his head. ‘A broken heart I’m sure. If ever I saw one so passionate about her man, she was it.’

‘And then he left her.’

‘He did.’

‘And you..saw she was dead?’

Bub realised what I was aiming at and huffed softly. ‘Dear. I am so sorry. It must be painful to be back here. All the memories. With your mom especially. I mean. It is difficult with there being no body and all. But she is gone. She is. She was never one to leave without a trace. A sign. A note. A goodbye...’

I didn’t listen as he rambled on. Because as I looked down at my meal I somewhere deep down knew that he was absolutely right.

--

Scene 4: Depression

I probably shouldn’t have pushed my grief away for so long. Back home my body decided it was time for a cleanse. And it sure wasn’t pretty. I sat on the toilet for hours. And for hours I wondered if I perhaps should have put that red goo some place cooler. Did I get food poisoning?

Slow hours passed and I felt dehydrated and exhausted by the time I could lay back down on my mom’s bed again, my dreams after fitful until morning came again.

The next day there was little I could do. I had hoped that I’d see some familiar faces around other than Bub. But the streets were deserted and for hours I’d just wander, reminiscing the old days. I was glad I felt somewhat better. Physically that is. Mentally I was but a shadow of my old, confident self. I had never felt grief before, so I figured I had to just occupy my body until my mind would be too tired to think.

I had nothing left to live for. I had lost my permit to live in the City. My job. My savings. My mom. My ..home. And all I could think of was that it was all my fault. I had left my mom all those years ago. I had made that decision without her. I just went, angry and spiteful of her dreamy daze that got us nowhere.

For long years I didn’t speak or update my mom. But she did update me. The beauty of personal codes was that you couldn’t simply disappear. Updates would always find you when you were in the land of the living.

Should I send my mom an update? See if she’d respond?

I looked down at my feet, their soles no longer touching tarmac but sand, the sediment carried into the streets after centuries of howling winds. And before me there were trees. Not the spindly kind like in my mom’s neighbourhood. But ancient trees, their leaves all fallen down in deep shades of red, purple and yellow, the sun tickling through their bald branches.

And then I could feel rain. Timid at first. Teasing my hair and face as I looked up into the grey sky. I felt the small bullets of truth rain down on me. Torturing me with their cold little kisses. And my eyes started to burn. I knew my mom was dead. I just knew it. I had known it deep in my gut when I had gotten the obituary statement of the legal council. I had known it when Bub had sent word for me - he never did. I had known it when I had waved it away, stating to my colleagues that this was just my mom trying to make me come home.

I hadn’t come home to her then. I hadn’t looked for her. I had stayed. And now I was too late. All I had was the rain as I crumbled and cried beneath the weight. Of defeat. 

I failed you mom.

--

Phase 5:  Acceptance

After my poor night, I figured that the red goo was probably the cause of my digestional problems. And so, after I picked myself up and dried my tears, I scavenged for more food. And I was more successful this time too. The forest I had found offered a great source of roots and herbs. Herbs with which i made my first tea in years. And though the tea tasted alright, it wasn’t as great as when my mom made it. I missed my mom.

Slow days passed like that. Scavenging, foraging, cooking and sleeping. I wondered if this was what my life would be now. Had my mom really died of a broken heart? And if yes; could I? I’d wander and wonder. My feet hitting the streets with a little more confidence each day. And perhaps it was just madness kicking in, but I could swear I heard voices. First far away, making me drift around and search for human life. Then closer by; I realised they came from the earth.

‘Everything is connected.’

My mom had been right. She had once explained that many plants had huge root systems and that there were theories they could sense each other. Even sense each other’s pain. So perhaps, just maybe, they were sensing my pain, too.

The idea was absolutely absurd. I knew it was. But it did bring me some much needed comfort. I had even tried to find Bub and ask him about those roots, but he hadn’t been in his shop. Shop closed, come back later, the little sign on his door had stated. And so I did what any good scientist would do. I started to investigate.

--

The sky was so.. blue. Spreading my hands out over the soft warm moss, I looked through the small glade up at the tall tree branches and away into the eternal skies. I wasn’t quite sure when I had lain down. And if someone had come up and told me I had been laying here for years, then perhaps I would have simply agreed. I could feel those roots beneath me, clawing at me, fusing with me. Dragging me down until my body was but mush.

I could hear them too. Much louder now, especially here in this little sunny glade, a small mound risen like a small bed just for me. I had lain down some minutes, hours, days or years ago, and what a fine bed it was. Mossy, musky and sweet, I let it soothe me as my body started to beg and plead. First quietly, but by now it had become aggravating and paralyzing. I couldn’t as much as lift my fingers by this point now the aches started to grow in strength. It felt as if I was truly falling apart as I rooted into my new existence here at the bottom of these trees.

If you want to make your food taste like anything a little hurt is needed. You gotta sear, steam, salt, dry and beat. Pain. Pleasure. Perfection.

One week ago I lost it all. My house, income, job, future. It lost it all. But now, looking up at the blue sky, voices singing to me, those worries seemed so unimportant. Everything was alright. I was here. Back to my roots. Broken and bruised and hurting all over, I smiled. For the first time in years I smiled. Because as I lay here I realised it no longer mattered. I would never leave again.

‘I’m home mom.’ I muttered, my speech slurred as my body started to seize and shake.

I had made a mistake. That much was clear now. Because as I lay here, writhing and dying, I knew: it hadn’t been the city that would take me down, but the mushrooms. The mushrooms!

The end.

--

Author’s note: I might share some more free writing stories in the future if any of you are interested. But please..! I know you’re here to thirst over Henry (and so am I), so do not feel obligated to like, comment and reblog - though it is of course always most appreciated! Sending you my love dear readers and I hope you’re having a good weekend ❤️

Sources of inspiration: For my short stories I’m diving head first in a lot of interesting articles I’ve archived over the years. For this particular story I’ve delved into the world of the five stages of grieving, as well as the magical world of mushrooms. Did you know that the mushroom you see is but a tiny part of a much larger, growing being? You can somewhat compare mushrooms to apples, as mushrooms are but the fruit that are formed by the much larger mycelium that is found beneath the earth; always prepping to produce more ‘fruit’ when the atmosphere and moisture level is just right. The more you know...

[heathsbitch]

Treat You Better ➳ PEAKY BLINDERS

ii. A NEW FRIEND

          Shock, amazement, wonder. All three emotions raged through Ivy's mind. She was speaking to the leader of the Peaky Blinders and in Birmingham! Her father had spoken about them a lot. He always complained that they were getting too big for his liking. He told her that they were a group of gangsters, cut-throats, that doubled as book-makers. He said that they were called the 'Peaky Blinders' because they blinded people with the razor blades stitched into their peaked caps. Ivy had always held a type of curiosity about them and now, she was finally meeting them. It was obvious when the girl thought about it. She knew that she was in Birmingham because of the accents and the smell, a man called Tommy saved her, and it was probably a razor blade that was in the hat. The pieces all slipped into place. But she was also confused for what felt like the hundredth time that day. 'Why would a gang of cut-throats and thieves save me?' She just didn't understand. Maybe her father was lying just because they were his competition? Either way, the girl was grateful that they took her far away from London, even if they were a bunch of strangers. After all, if they couldn't be trusted and were going to kill her, wouldn't they have done it already like Tommy said back in the bedroom?

Her thoughts came to a fast halt when she heard a knock at the door. "Come in." Thomas Shelby ordered. The first glimpse of ginger hair was all Ivy needed to know that it was Finn who had just been beckoned in. He had his eyes on the floor, was he always like this? "You can come closer, Finn. She doesn't bite." Thomas ordered the boy. Finn came closer to the pair but still remained at the bottom of the steps. "Aunt P-Polly is here to see you." He stuttered. "Take Ivy and introduce her to everyone. Make her feel at home, Finn." Thomas instructed and gestured to the small girl before him. Finn nodded, agreeing to his orders and Ivy followed him out of the door. Up close, Finn towered over the girl. He held maybe a foot over her in height but despite his height, Ivy didn't find him intimidating in any way. Thomas stopped the teenagers before they could get all the way out, "Ivy. If you have any questions, I'm sure Finn will be happy to answer them."

"Okay. Thank you, Thomas." She responded before walking out of the door. They walked back into what was definitely their betting shop. Now, only four people remained: three men and one woman. "Um, I've been asked to introduce you all." Everybody's heads snapped towards Finn and Ivy. They all waited for Finn to speak. "This is Arthur, my oldest brother." A slim man with a moustache nodded to say 'Hi' and the girl returned his gesture with a smile. He then pointed to the man with the wonky hat and pout "That there is John, my other brother." He winked at Ivy and a red tint appeared on her face."This is Isaiah, he's the son of the preacher." A tall boy with dark skin walked up to the pair. He raised Ivy's hand up to his lips, bowed and kissed it. She snorted at the action and whispered a small, "Hi." Finn finally pointed to the woman in the room. She was fairly short with curly brown hair. She was standing next to John. "This is Esme. She's John's wife," Ivy gave her the same smile that she had given to Arthur earlier. "And everyone, this is Ivy." The people in the room gave her a nod or a smile and she returned the favour. "I'm Finn, as you can probably tell," He laughed when he spoke. "I'm the youngest out of the four brothers." Ivy's eyebrows furrowed, "Four?" she questioned as he had only said that John and Arthur were his brothers. "Yeah, four. Me, John, Arthur and Tommy."

"Oh, Thomas is your brother." He just nodded as a simple reply. "I also have a sister, Ada. But she lives in London." The small girl smiled at the thought of a good family, a safe one. Something she had longed for for a very long time.

Everybody else in the room went back to their previous conversations and Ivy continued to talk to Finn, she thought that he seemed sweet, kind. "So, how old are you and Isaiah, then?" His eyebrow twitched at the mention of Isiah's name. "Sixteen." He told me. "I'm fifteen, sixteen in a couple of weeks." She said to him. 'At least we have a few things in common.' A blanket of awkward silence rested over the teens. None of them knew what to say next so, Ivy tried to fill the silence, but she regretted the question as soon as it tumbled from her lips, "Do you guys actually blind people?" She mentally slapped herself for her stupid question. Luckily, Finn wasn't looking at the girl any more because her face contorted into one of regret and embarrassment. "What?" He chuckled at her question, she didn't think that he heard it. "It's fine, forget it." She replied all too quickly. "No, no, I wanna know now." He persisted and looked into her icy blue eyes. She, reluctantly, repeated her question "D-do you guys actually b-blind people?" He didn't laugh again and answered it seriously. Finn didn't look offended or confused at all which was a mental 'Hooray' for Ivy. "Um, sometimes, if we need to. Our job isn't all about blinding people though. We're book makers but sometimes we need to get our hands bloody." He didn't seem phased by the question at all.

"Have you ever blinded someone?" She mentally slapped herself again. 'Why am I asking these stupid questions? He's going to hate me.' She mentally scolded herself. Finn snorted, maybe he could see the regret plastered across the poor girl's face? "No, I've always been 'too young' for that kind of business." He made air quotes when he said the words 'too young'. Ivy's head bobbed when she listened to him, she liked his accent. It was slightly softer than a cockney one. "Have you ever done anything like that?" Blood; covering every crevice of her once-pure mind. The memories came back again. The bodies came back again. Ghosts and demons followed her every move, ever since that day; even before she had run away...

"Why did I say that? You're a lady of course you haven't." He placed his head in his hands. "You'd be surprised," The girl responded simply. Finn's eyes widened. "What?" She asked, worried that she might scare him off. "Don't look so scared," He assured her, "I'm fed up with all the prissy, whiny girls 'round here. It's finally nice to meet a girl that can actually stand up for herself." A grin emerged on her face. "Thanks."

"Do you wanna go sit in the house? It's a bit loud in here." She nodded at his proposition. "Sure." Ivy followed him into the main house and what she assumed was the living room. It was dark and followed the scheme of the rest of the house; dusky furniture with an orange tint in the air. Two plush sofas rested in the centre, all partially illuminated by the light of the fire. Finn seemed to be gaining more confidence the more that the pair spoke. "Are you close to your family?" He asked her as they sat on one of the sofa's together. She tensed at his question. "I-i'm sorry Ivy. I-i-." She cut him off. "It's okay. You don't need to apologise to me, Finn." The girl could've sworn that Finn had got closer to her as they talked, but she thought that it was probably just her mind. "Did you have a boyfriend? Back in London?" Her eyebrow rose in suspicion, "I-I'm just trying to fill the silence and get to know you better." He defended himself but stuttered in the process. "Some would say that you're trying to flirt with me, Finn." His entire face turned to the brightest shade of red, even the tips of his ears changed colour. "N-n-no. I-i was just curious." All of his confidence flew out of the window. "Relax. I was joking." He nervously laughed but still pursued an answer to the question. "So did you?" She grinned and licked her lips, "No, my father would scare all the boys away." She didn't want to explain further.

Finn nodded, as if understanding the girl's struggle. "Yeah, I can relate to that. All the girls are scared of me, being a Shelby and a Peaky Blinder scares them all away." She gave him a sympathetic smile and put her hand on his shoulder. "They say girls are attracted to 'bad' boys, Finn." A voice startled them. The teenagers both bounced away from each other. Thomas stood at the door with a smirk. How long had he been standing there for? "I'm going out to deal with some business," There was that word again, 'business'. She could tell he threw that term around a lot; so did her father. "Arthur's in charge so behave you two." He slipped out of the door and they both looked back at each other. The pair didn't move back to their original positions, they sat there, more awkward silence blanketed over them.

Somebody burst through the doors, causing their heads to snap towards the noise. "Jesus. Who died?" Isaiah joked as he came in, referencing the un-lively nature of the room. He sat down on the couch next to Finn and Ivy. It was a fairly small sofa which meant that Ivy was sandwiched in between the boys. "You're name's Ivy right, kitten?" Isaiah asked the girl in a strong Birmingham accent. "Yeah." She simply responded, slightly taken back by the nickname. Ivy's heart thundered against her chest, surely this couldn't end well.

They talked for a couple hours. They laughed and joked. By this point the boys had brought in a spare bottle of whiskey from the kitchen. They were swiftly making their way through it whereas Ivy took light sips, not wanting to get too drunk in front of people that she'd just met. The boys didn't care about that fact though and alcohol worked its way through them; intoxicating them more and more with every gulp. They no longer had a filter on what they were saying. Ivy had learnt that Isaiah was a bit of a lady's man. Well, he liked girls, he liked them a lot. "Wait, so you're saying that even if you loved the girl, you still wouldn't let her take control?" Ivy quizzed the preacher's son. "Yeah, I'm not sexist, kitten, don't worry. It's just the thought of having a girl so in love with you, that you're irresistible to her; the thought that she would do absolutely anything to please you."

"You guys are fucking weird." Finn downed his drink in one. His jawline became more prominent when he threw his head back. They sat in silence for a while; it was warm and comfortable. They were still sat on the couch with their heads thrown back. The boys both had their legs wide open and a glass of whiskey in hand meaning Ivy was very squished in the middle of them. "Ivy?" Finn started, "Yes, Finn?" His head turned to face the girl, she could feel his hot breath on her face. "Don't suppose you can sing, can ya? I love a girl that can sing." She laughed at his comment, "I can actually, I think. I used to sing all the time when I cleaned the bakery for my dad." Isaiah joined in on the conversation, "Give us a little sing-song." He encouraged. "Fine," She complied and stood up, "But don't complain if it's shit." The boys hadn't moved from their previous positions but they looked so tempting from this angle, the alcohol was clearly getting to her. 'Seriously, you need to drink something to satiate your thirst.' She scolded herself once again and reached for Finn's glass first. She necked his drink then she stole Isaiah's. They both looked at each other, eyebrows raised. It was a song Ivy had heard Ezekiel's wife sing before, it was a beautiful song. She just hoped she could do it justice. Ivy used her feet as a beat and began to sing.

"Like a river, like a river Shut your mouth and run me like a river, How do we fall in love? Harder than a bullet could hit you, How do we fall apart? Faster than a hairpin trigger,"

Ivy put as much emotion as she could possibly muster into singing. She thought of all the pain her parents had put her through over the years, all the tragedy and petty feuds between them. The song lasted a couple of minutes and when she was finished the boys sat there in silence. Ivy hung her head in embarrassment, of course it sounded terrible. "That was really bad, wasn't it?" She asked them. "Fuck no, Ivy. That was... well it was incredible." Finn stood up and gave Ivy a hug as a single tear slipped from her eye. "Thank you." It had been a long couple days and the girl just wanted to sleep. Isaiah hugged her when she sat back down on the sofa.

The next few hours passed quickly as all three teens had passed out from the whiskey. But their slumber was cut short when someone had come bursting into the room. Arthur had woken them up by shouting incoherent words. "Arthur, slow down." Isaiah tried to calm down the eldest Shelby brother. His hands rested on Arthur's shoulders and quick breaths left his mouth. After a couple more breaths, he forced out what he was just shouting about.

"Tommy's been taken to hospital."

iii. HOSPITALITY

MASTERLIST

[tyrannoninja]

Mayhem at the Menagerie

Egypt, 1345 BC

I crouched at the edge of our woven papyrus raft and peered down at the dark green-blue water, harpoon in hand. Along the river’s edge near the reeds, there drifted a plump tilapia almost two feet long. I licked my lips at the thought of chowing down on its succulent flesh. The fish would feed both Nebet and I for at least one day, if not two.

I stabbed at the tilapia. It escaped by darting over to the reeds, where it vanished. Under my breath, I cursed Sutekh’s mischief for hexing my aim yet again. The aardvark-faced Lord of Chaos had caused me nothing but grief and disappointment since we had set out on the day’s expedition early in the morning.

Nebet, my niece of ten years, held up a line of rope with a hook, a tiny morsel of mutton affixed to it. “You sure you don’t want to use the lure, Aunt Takhi?”

I gave her a half-serious scowl while accepting her lure with a grumble. I would always protect the child with my life, but I had to admit that she had grown into quite the smart mouth over the last few years.

I plopped the hook into the water. “I must have underestimated how rusted my fishing skills have grown. When I was your age, Nebet, I would put all the boys to shame at this.”

“Maybe find yourself a man who would do the fishing for you?” Nebet asked. “There should be plenty to go around, and most of them seem to like you.”

I raised my eyebrow. “How would you know that?”

“Whenever you go by, they always seem to look at you twice. And you know that old Vizier Ay from way back? I remember he sounded like he wanted you for himself.”

The memory of that shriveled husk of a man, that lecherous lackey of the false Pharaoh, flooded the inside of my mouth with a sour flavor. The passage of five years since we last crossed paths had not softened my distaste for him and his minions. I would sooner swim with crocodiles than occupy the same room as him.

“You have seen much more than any child your age should see, my little niece,” I said. “As far as men are concerned, the problem I have isn’t that I can’t attract any. If anything, they like me more than I like any of them.”

“Then maybe you like women more, Aunt Takhi?” Nebet said. “Maybe you could have another woman in place of a man?”

I rolled my eyes with a laugh. “No, no, I prefer men in the way you mean. It is only that I haven’t found a man worthy of our house. Maybe I should consult the priestesses of Hetheru. They might know why.”

For most of my life, it was Sekhmet I served more than any of the other old gods or goddesses. Yet the stories held that Sekhmet, she of the lion mask and blood-stained gown, was in truth another guise of the loving bovine Hetheru. Perhaps calling upon my patron goddess would convince her to shift forms and answer my prayer for love.

“I thought there weren’t any more priestesses of Hetheru?” Nebet said. “The Pharaoh shut all their temples down long ago. Don’t you remember?”

She was right. Too often, my mind drifted back to the better days of my youth, before the false Pharaoh assumed the throne and desecrated everything his righteous father had built and maintained. I had to return to the present, not think too much of the past or future, and get back to fishing.

I checked our hook beneath the water’s surface. The bait had disappeared, yet there was no fish attached. They must have figured how to bite off the meat without getting themselves caught. How foolish I had been to let myself get distracted!

A wave rocked our raft from the side. Over by the far bank, a man screamed while splashing and thrashing his arms in the air. Zipping through the water towards him was the bumpy, olive-brown wedge of a crocodile’s head.

I told Nebet to watch the raft and dove in. Moving my arms in sweeping arcs while kicking my legs behind me, I propelled myself through the warm and murky river after the struggling man. The current kept pulling him away from me, and the crocodile advanced with greater speed.

Another splash. A cloud of blood stung my eyes under the water’s surface. The crocodile seized the man’s arm and pulled him deeper into the river. I took a deep breath and swam after the reptile, whipping out my bronze dagger from the sash around my loincloth. The beast’s swishing tail kept pushing me back with stirs of the current.

I could not catch up to the crocodile, no matter how much I pushed myself through the water.

I had to attack from afar. I threw my dagger into the crocodile’s neck. It released the man in its recoil, and I scooped up the man in my arms. He weighed more than me, but I wasted no time hauling him back to the surface.

Suddenly, sharp teeth pierced my calves. The crocodile dragged me into the depths, stretching the muscles of my leg with every shake of its head. I rammed my other heel into its snout, to no avail.

Then something shot into the space between the crocodile’s eyes. After its jaws released me, it fell limp into the darkness below, the narrow shaft of a harpoon sticking out through the blood that jetted from its wounds. In the distance, the enlarging silhouettes of more crocodiles emerged, all closing in on their injured neighbor. As I made my way to the surface, I could hear their ravenous chomping amidst the gurgle of water.

Once I resurfaced, I found our raft floating right next to me in the middle of the river. “Did you throw that harpoon, Nebet?”

She shook her head. “That would be him.”

The man I had rescued lent his hand to pull me onto the raft. His coppery skin, more typical of the provinces of Lower Egypt much further downriver, contrasted with my own dark umber color by a couple of shades.

“I owe you everything I have for saving my life over there,” he said with a subtle Lower Egyptian drawl.

I wrung the water out of my dreadlocks. “The same for you. You’re not from around here, are you?”

“You guessed correctly, my girl. My family’s from the countryside near Djedet. Matter of fact, I’ve been up here at Waset for, what, only since the last inundation?”

He ran his hand over his shaven scalp and smiled at me with full lips between his moustache and short beard. I had to admit that he was somewhat handsome in a trim and lean way. Judging by the way he ran his eyes along the contours of my figure, he seemed more interested in my own good looks.

“Sorry, forgot to introduce myself,” the man said. “Call me Nenwef. And you are…?”

“Takhaet. And this would be my niece, Nebet. I had to take her in after her parents, well, got into some trouble with the Pharaoh.”

“Takhaet, you say? I’ve heard of you somewhere before. Yes, you were one of the last Pharaoh’s favorite warriors!”

I grinned as I stroked one of the gold fly medals attached to my necklace. “Those were the good times. If only our new Pharaoh would find as much for me to do.”

“Tell me about it. He seems so preoccupied with that whole new god of his that he’s left everything else to the jackals. Which, come to speak of it, is why I left Djedet for Upper Egypt. You’ve heard the whole Delta’s been overrun with pirates and bandits, haven’t you?”

“By the gods, no! Has it gotten that bad down there?”

Nenwef gave me a grim frown. “Believe me, girl, that’s putting it mildly. Some of them come from all around the Great Green Sea, such as the Canaanites, the Greeks, and these newcomer barbarians they call the Sea Peoples. The saddest thing, however, is that some of our people have been going pirate as well, either due to bad influences or simply to make ends meet. Wherever they’re from, they’re all turning Lower Egypt into a mess worse than a den of ravenous hyenas.”

“Excuse me, Nenwef, but what were you doing in the middle of the river, anyway?” Nebet asked.

“Oh, I was out catching some fowls for my evening meal. Then I bumped into some ornery hippos… and you know the rest.”

Along the far riverbank, I spotted a distant herd of hippopotami milling about in the water. Yet I could not make out anything that looked like a capsized raft. Perhaps the gluttonous brutes had eaten the reeds that made up its body.

“I should have a few ducklings stored at my place,” I said. “You’ll be welcome to spend the evening there. Tomorrow, we’ll row you back home.”

Nenwef bowed to me. “Thank you very much again, my lovely lady.”

I felt a warm flush in my cheeks. Behind me, I could hear Nebet’s giddy snickering.

##

We did not dine on anything grand for our evening meal. I simply warmed up some of the ducklings I had stored, along with a bowlful of bread, in my front yard oven. I took these and three cups of frothy beer on a platter to our hut’s flat thatched roof, where Nebet sat in watch while Nenwef rested on my wooden bed. Blood-stained linen bandages covered the area on his arm where the crocodile had bitten him.

I laid the platter by the bed. He plucked up a duckling with his good arm and bit into it. “Not bad. Almost as good as the ones my old mother would cook when I was a boy.”

I prodded my elbow into his ribs. “Almost as good?”

“Don’t feel ashamed. Not many could even compare to her cooking.”

“Her birds were hand-caught, I presume? Because I bought these at the marketplace a couple of days ago. Small wonder they’d be a step down from whatever your mother could fix.”

Nebet was already polishing off her duckling’s bones. “I bet my mother could cook even better than yours.”

Nenwef laughed. “I’m sure she’d be flattered to hear that, but there couldn’t be any contest between them, believe me.”

“Nor should there be,” I added.

Nenwef got off the bed to stand up and gaze at the surrounding village of huts, dirt roads, and palm and sycamore fig trees planted between the buildings. When he faced the Nile to the west, its waters shimmering in gold from the sunset, he beamed with a contented sigh. He pointed to some alabaster-white structures rising from the treetops beyond the river’s farthest bank. “You can see the old Pharaoh’s palace across the river from here, you know? If only we had such lovely views back near Djedet.”

“It’s all flat swampland outside that city, isn’t it?” I asked. “Though I hear it is quite lush regardless.”

“I suppose it is.”

Nenwef directed his eyes to my necklace of gold flies. “I don’t know if it’s true, but word on the street around here says that you, O Takhaet, fended off a whole pride of lions once. Or was it leopards?”

The breeze blowing over my village, once balmy, had turned cold as midnight. How had he even heard of that incident five years ago? “It…was both. There were only three of them, and they were each a cross between lion and leopard.”

“I see. And they also said you sent a whole herd of gazelles stampeding over the Pharaoh’s men when they were out to arrest you for heresy.”

“That’s true as well. In fact, I later sent those lion/leopard cats after them, too. But how do you know about all that? Ay promised me he’d cover the whole affair up.”

With a sly smirk, Nenwef shook his head. “Oh, I didn’t have to hear it straight from the Vizier. Like I said, it was word on the street.”

I remembered that my whole village had celebrated our act of rebellion against Akhenaten’s henchmen with jubilant drumming and dancing, the roasting of cattle and game, and everyone chanting in praise of Sekhmet. The battle roar I let out in her honor rang within my ears again. I should have known the people of my village would recall that occasion with the same vivid colors.

“Whatever way I came to hear of it, those have to be the most amazing feats I’ve ever heard of,” Nenwef said. “So amazing, indeed, that they’ve inspired me to stand up to the false Pharaoh’s tyranny myself. He can’t go on lazing in that shining new palace of his while the rest of Egypt breaks down with barbarians at its gates. No, I intend to march in there and give him a piece of my own mind!”

I spat out the beer I had imbibed. “You don’t expect he would even let you set a single foot in his great house, do you?”

“He is supposed be Pharaoh, the steward of Upper and Lower Egypt, is he not? He has no choice but to listen to his people at some point, even if what they’re telling him isn’t what he wants to hear. You expect me to do nothing while he lets raping thieves tear my home province apart?”

“No, of course not! What I do expect, however, is that he’ll have you thrown out. Maybe fed to his lions, or whatever he keeps in his little menagerie.”

Nenwef laid a hand on my shoulder with a grin. “Which is where you’ll come in, my girl. Why don’t we persuade him together? His best guards couldn’t restrain a seasoned warrior like you even if they tried.”

I dropped my cup of beer onto the thatching below. “No. Out the question. I can’t leave Nebet here all alone while I go off with you.”

Nebet looked up at me with sparkling eyes, wringing her fingers together. “Then why not bring me with you, Aunt Takhi? I’ve always wanted to see what the Pharaoh’s new capital looks like. I heard it’s magnificent.”

“I heard that too, but you should know it’s all been built on the backs of starving men, women, and even children your age,” I said. “And I would never dare let either Akhenaten or his slavering pack of jackals near you. You should stay where you’ll be safe, little baboon.”

“I wouldn’t assume she would be in danger,” Nenwef said. “Akhenaten might be cruel, but even he should know that hurting a child for the world to see would turn all his subjects against him. Not to mention, he goes out of his way to present himself as doting on his own young.”

“So you think that means he’ll have mercy on the children of his enemies, too?”

“What I mean is, we could use your niece’s presence to temper his wrath. I say bring her along with us. Together, we can convince Pharaoh of the error of his ways.”

He curled his hand into a fist and nodded. “Do we have a deal, Takhaet?”

“You mean all the error of his ways, or simply the error affecting your province back in Lower Egypt?” I asked.

“All his ways, trust me.”

With a shrug, I bumped his fist. “Then we have a deal.”

Nebet clapped her hands. “Yay! I get to see the Pharaoh’s new city after all.”

I gave her puffs of fluffy hair a playful scratch. “And maybe help change the course of his rule for all history to record.”

##

The sun had only begun to sail up from the east when we walked off the ferry onto the dock, yet the towering entrance to Akhenaten’s new capital blasted us with the brilliant glow of walls a purer white than the limestone casing of the ancient pyramids. Inscribed on each side of the entrance were the painted likenesses of the Pharaoh and his Queen receiving the gold-handed rays of his god Aten with open hands. Flanking them were the relatively miniature figures of their children.

Nenwef hadn’t lied when he said Akhenaten wanted to present himself as benevolent towards his own family. Perhaps he was. Yet the knowledge that the false Pharaoh had conscripted whole gangs of youths and children, some no older than my little niece, to build his new home had dimmed the luster of the architecture.

From beside the entrance’s doorway, two royal guards marched towards us. One of them bowed his head to Nenwef, who whispered something into the man’s ear. I thought that little exchange strange for a native of Lower Egypt who claimed to be a newcomer to all the upriver provinces.

“Welcome to Akhetaten, our new capital,” Nenwef said. “I was, uh, telling the guard that we wanted an audience with the Pharaoh.”

“Will we get to see the menagerie soon after?” Nebet asked.

Nenwef winked at her. “Soon, little one. Very, very soon afterward.”

The guard displayed a cheerful smile full of radiant white teeth. “We’ll be very happy to give you a tour of Akhetaten in all its glory, my lady. First, however, the Pharaoh requests your presence in the Temple to Aten. Follow us.”

The guard’s singsong chime with made me shudder with a chill despite the morning’s rising warmth. Nor did I care for the name Akhenaten had chosen for his new abode. It sounded too much like his own name, except for a hard “t” in place of the “n”. He could only have intended that similarity.

We followed the guards through the entrance and a series of white-walled plazas and alleyways, all shaded with rows of columns and stands of trees and flowers that flooded the place with a natural fragrance. Even the tiled floors dazzled with a smooth polish unmarred by the dirt or grime of a normal city street. Did Akhenaten have his legion of servants wash the entire city every evening? Not even Amenhotep the Third, his nobler father and predecessor on the throne, would be so meticulous in keeping everything in his capital so clean.

Unless, of course, this whole city was nothing more than an overgrown palace for the false Pharaoh, rather than a place for people from all walks of life to call home.

We walked down an avenue bordered on both sides by a row of sphinxes watching us with stoic silence as we passed them. At the end was the entrance to the Temple of Aten, an edifice twice as tall as the city entrance we passed through earlier. Images of Aten, portrayed as a golden disk shooting down dozens of arms like a monstrous corruption of an octopus from the Great Green’s waters, adorned the temple gateway’s left and right sides. So this was the face of the false god Akhenaten wanted to force upon all of Egypt, instead of the gods we had always venerated!

We entered the temple and a broad, open courtyard fringed with palm and acacia trees. At its center stood none other than the Pharaoh himself, together with his Queen, Nefertiti.

Akhenaten did not appear much like his statues and wall reliefs. They showed him as a tall and lean man, albeit with a strange paunch on his belly like a pregnant woman’s womb. The man who stood before us, arms crossed and holding the royal crook and flail, was a stout bulb whose enormous gut glistened with oil like a ball of grease-stained mahogany. A devious grin spread across his pudgy face when he laid his beady eyes on me.

His Queen looked closer to my expectation. She was a slender woman with gleaming dark chestnut skin and a tall blue crown like a cylinder, which flared out at the top. The woman stood a head taller than her husband. Behind them stood another, much lankier man with a dreadlocked wig much too black for his wrinkled date of a face. There was no mistaking his smug sneer as that of anyone other than Ay, the old Vizier himself.

Akhenaten spread his arms wide apart. “Welcome home, my soldier Rameses. I knew you’d catch what once eluded my Vizier.”

“And I have to say you dress like a quite convincing commoner,” Nefertiti said. “You could’ve fooled even me.”

The man I had known as Nenwef bowed at the waist before the Pharaoh. “It helped that I did use to be one, before Your Highness lifted me up from my poverty. Though, I must remind you to give some credit to old Ay. The trap was his design, remember?”

I wanted to draw out one of my daggers —except I left all of them at home. They would have confiscated any weapons on me anyway. I could only screech out the worst profanity that came to mind. “How could you, Ay? It’s been five years!”

Ay strutted to me with a vindictive cackle. “Five years was all the time I needed for you to lower your guard, young Takhaet. Or were you foolish enough to think those ‘concessions’ I made, right after your beastly friends had decimated my men, were sincere in the least?”

He handed a bronze sword to Rameses, who ran his finger over its blade with a satisfied look before pointing it at my gullet. “She sure was gullible enough to believe I was a poor and oppressed commoner seeking rebellion like herself, wasn’t she?” Rameses said.

I took one step back, and bumped into the guards’ cowhide shields behind me. “What do you want from me this time? Because I’d sooner die than throw away the gods of our ancestors in favor of yours, you false Pharaoh!”

Akhenaten clapped his hands. “I admire your heroic devotion to the old ways, my subject, but you misunderstand me this time. I don’t seek to change your faith, but that of the one closest to you.”

Nefertiti knelt before my niece and reached a finger to stroke the girl’s chin, but Nebet jerked away to huddle by my side.

“You have to admit, she looks like she’s grown up in poverty,” the Queen said. “And you’ve been raising her all by yourself, like a single mother in the slums. That’s no way for a child to grow up, is it?”

“You’re wrong, you mean lady,” Nebet said. “We’re not poor, and Aunt Takhi has taken better care of me than you ever could!”

“Aw, she thinks I’m a mean lady, does she? Maybe she’ll think differently when I take her in. Unlike you, Aunt Takhi, we can afford all kinds of toys for our children in our big and clean, comfortable home. We even have a whole menagerie of animals from all over the world right here in this city. Wouldn’t you like to see the chimpanzees at least, little girl?”

I drew my hand back to slap the Queen, but Rameses grabbed my hand and pinned it against my body. The cold bronze tips of the guards’ spears dug into the nape of my neck.

“That isn’t going to work, bitch!” I said. “You can try to manipulate her all you want, but nothing you have to offer could ever replace her love for me. Or her mother, or her father. What happened to them, may I ask?”

“They…were every bit as unrepentant as you,” Akhenaten said. “So, I had to address them the only way I could. You need to understand, my subject, that I cannot allow a single voice of dissent to remain if I am to realize my vision for Egypt. If I do, who knows how many dozens might hear that voice? And whom might those dozens speak to in turn? You see how it could lead to my eventual undoing?”

“You would have nothing to fear were you a just ruler, Akhenaten.”

“Ah, but I do see myself as a just ruler. A ruler so just that he wishes to usher in a new age for our civilization, instead of clinging onto the obsolete traditions of our ancestors like cowardly children. Since you, on the other hand, have demonstrated time and time again that nothing I can do can change your mind, I have no choice but to eliminate you.”

“And I know precisely how you should do it,” Rameses added. “Credit where it’s due, this woman did save my life from a crocodile while I was in the river. Let us see how she fares against a whole float of them.”

Nebet tightened her arms on me. “No! How could you do that to her? Leave my Aunt Takhi alone!”

Nefertiti pounced and dragged her into her embrace. “Don’t worry, you won’t have to watch. Like I promised, I’ll take good care of—”

She shrieked as Nebet bit down on her arm. “Why, you little… Let’s see, should I feed you to the chimpanzees, or throw you down into the crocodiles with your aunt instead? I say, the latter sounds more fitting a punishment to me. Wouldn’t you say, Rameses?”

 “Agreed. If they love each other as much as they claim, why don’t we watch them die together?”

Everyone around Nebet and I laughed like hyenas on the hunt. Even more so than Akhenaten or the rest of his clique combined, Rameses’ laughter made my legs buckle.

##

The guards did not withdraw their spears from my neck until they had escorted me into the city’s menagerie. Fences of bronze atop mudbrick foundations enclosed the animals’ living spaces, each of which contained trees, rocks, and at least one waterhole for drinking. I did appreciate that these pens resembled their animals’ native habitats to one extent or another. The hippos got a pool framed with papyrus and tall grass, the lions an expanse of sand and grass with a couple of acacia trees, and the chimpanzees a grove of fig and palm trees like their jungle home in Egypt’s far south.

Akhenaten took better care of his exotic pets than he did his human subjects.

We stopped at another pool. Unlike the hippopotamus pool, the bones of fish, goats, and cattle were strewn around scattered islets of stone, exuding an even more rancid odor than the musty one that rose from the still water. Over the edges of the pool swayed slender eucalyptus trees with white bark that seemed to be peeling off.

“These wouldn’t be like the crocodiles we have over in the Nile, mind you,” Rameses said. “We brought these over from a land very far away to the southeast. They can thrive even in seawater, hence why the natives call them ‘saltwater crocodiles’, or ‘salties’ for short. Aren’t they all beauties?”

I could only see the top of one crocodile’s head poking up from the opaque, muddy water. Even from a distance, it appeared nearly twice as big as the one from which I had saved “Nenwef”. I gulped down a mouthful of air.

“I think they need something to bring them out of hiding,” Nefertiti said. “How about feeding time?”

With a rocking swing of her arms, she tossed Nebet into the pool. I tore away from the guards, hurdled over the fence, and plunged myself into the water. It was deeper than I had anticipated; my entire body sank beneath the surface. Unlike the Nile a few days earlier, I could not see much more than a forearm’s span through the briny murk.

What I did make out was the shrill sound of a child’s scream. I breast-stroked through the pool to the source of the outcry, where the most gigantic crocodile I had ever seen clutched Nebet within its jaws. I threw my arms onto its neck and squeezed, pushing myself against the monster’s tremendous weight.

Another crocodile clamped onto the fringe of my loincloth. I hammered my sandal’s heel into the hinge of its jaw while still shoving myself against the first one. The second crocodile withdrew, a rip of linen in its mouth. Thus freed, I wrapped my legs around the first crocodile’s waist and turned it over onto its back. Flung out of its mouth, Nebet squealed with terror. I swam for her, but another crocodile blocked my way. The other two closed from behind, jaws agape with the stink of rotten flesh wafting out. Grabbing onto the third crocodile’s flank, I leapfrogged over it to Nebet.

A fourth crocodile seized her foot. After punching it in the eye, I inserted my fingers between its front teeth and pulled onto its jaws. I could only pry them open enough to release my niece’s foot before the beast shoved me back with a thrust of its snout. My back smashed against yet another monster’s jagged hide.

The crocodiles had surrounded and locked us in a tight circle of scaled flesh and snapping jaws. Nebet and I had no way to get around them.

We could only go one way. Down.  

I hugged Nebet close to me and told her to take a deep breath. Together, we dove straight down into the pool’s salty muck, beneath the crocodiles’ pale bellies. Some of their brethren had already submerged and given chase, their jaws chomping mere inches from our toes.

One of the reptiles slapped us into a column of rock with its tail as it came out in front. It spun around and zoomed in, jaws agape, the cavernous black hole of its gullet wide open before us. As it approached, our lungs were drained of air.

I sank myself beneath the crocodile and shot my fist up into its chin.

We hurried to the surface, gulped in more air, and held onto the stony pillar’s summit, still gasping. The rest of the crocodiles slashed through the water after us as Nebet pointed to one of the eucalyptus trees standing on the reedy bank. “Can’t we climb those, Aunt Takhi?”

I nodded with relief. “Good thinking, little baboon!”

I kicked off from the rock to the pool’s edge, crawled up from the mud and wrapped myself around the nearest tree. Holding Nebet on my back, I clambered up the trunk, ignoring the way its shedding bark poked at my skin.

The tree shook. The crocodiles had gathered by its roots and were beating their heads against its trunk like woodcutters’ hatchets. One of them sprang up and tore my sandal off, forcing me to slip halfway back down. Right beneath my belly, the bole began to split.

The crocodiles kept leaping after us, their weight further knocking onto the tree with every fall. The instant the eucalyptus broke asunder at the waist, we jumped — and landed outside the pool.

The two guards stood over us, the tips of their spears hovering.

“Very impressive performance, I must say,” Akhenaten said. “I should’ve known not to have those trees planted there.”

I coughed out a puddle of salty mud. “At least you made those saltwater crocodiles feel more at home, I presume.”

Rameses drew out his sword, his face dark with a reddish tint of rage. “Since you eluded our crocodiles, you and your little brat will have to go the old-fashioned way!”

He chopped down. I rolled out of the blade’s way, hopped onto my feet, and yanked the spear out of one of the guards’ hands. With its shaft, I whacked Rameses’s ribcage and sent him tumbling into the crocodile pool. This time, I felt no impulse whatsoever to save him while the reptiles ganged up and bit him into pieces. The clamor of rent flesh and cracking bone became triumphant music to my ears.

Akhenaten pointed his flail at me. “Don’t think you can escape this time, my cunning leopard. Get her!”

 The two guards charged, one with his spear as the other pulled out his dagger sidearm. I used the guard’s spear to pole-vault away, and then chucked it into its former owner’s face. The second guard threw his spear at me, but I escaped with a sidestep and retrieved it, too.

The surviving guard snarled. “You think you’re so clever, girl? Two can play that game!”

He threw his dagger at me. I raised the spear to parry it, but it split in two when the blade hit. As he pulled the other spear out from his fallen comrade’s skull, I sprinted and pounced towards him. The guard swatted me away in mid-arc, and I tumbled over the fence into another enclosure.

It was another forested pen, but it was not chimpanzees that awaited me inside. Instead, there dashed a stocky cat bigger than any lion I had seen, but without a mane. The black stripes running up and down its deep orange coat blended into the shadows cast by the trees and tall grass. It bared its fangs, its roar harsher and more spine-rattling than anything I had ever heard from a lion.

Nefertiti taunted me from outside the enclosure. She held a squirming Nebet in her arms, a hand pressed over the child’s mouth. “They call that a tiger over in the distant east. While he’s giving you trouble, I’m sure the chimpanzees will adore your feisty little niece as much as I do!”

I shouted my nastiest curse at her and lunged in her direction. The tiger’s claws cut across my back, and I stumbled onto my knees. The cat crouched down behind me, twitching its tail like a housecat about to pounce again. I wheeled around and waved my spear’s severed head in front of my face as a warning to the predator. It launched itself at me, but I somersaulted underneath it and stabbed it in the hip. Under my breath, I begged Sekhmet’s forgiveness for wounding one of her feline children.

I grabbed the branch of a fig tree and swung out of the tiger pen, landing on the remaining guard and knocking him out with a bang of my elbow.

Nefertiti had already reached the chimpanzees and was stretching her arms over the fencing with Nebet in hand. After hollering the battle roar of Sekhmet, I raced over and threw my weight onto her. I hooked an arm around the Queen’s neck, snatched her crown off her head, and tossed it into the enclosure.

One of the chimpanzees, who had been banging rocks together, picked up the blue crown to examine it. The ape hit it with one of the stones, denting the metal, and shook its head in seeming disappointment. Its face lit up again with a smile as it placed the crown top-first on the ground and sat on the lid like it was a stool. Nebet chuckled with girlish delight the same moment the whiff of feces hit my nostrils.

Nefertiti growled with disgust. “That is one vile child you have there, Takhaet!”

I smirked at her, still holding her neck in my arm. “You’re one to talk about others being vile, my Queen.”

Ay and Akhenaten stormed towards me, the Pharaoh brandishing his crook and flail like twin war clubs. “You know I have plenty more guards where those two came, commoner,” Akhenaten said.

I applied more pressure to Nefertiti’s throat. “Let’s see if they can get here before I choke the life out of this bitch you call your Queen!”

The Pharaoh’s eyes widened with horror. “Stop! What do you want?”

“Simple. Pardon my niece and I right now, and the Queen lives. Got it?”

“Fine. I shall clear both of your sentences…on one additional condition. You and your niece must leave Egypt forever. If we catch you returning thereafter, I’ll have you both thrown to the crocodiles. And by then, I’ll have all the trees in that pen cut down. You understand?”

I relaxed my grip on Nefertiti, to carry out my end of the deal. And something else. All my life, I had fought on behalf of my country and its beliefs, even if it meant defying the false Pharaoh once he had taken power. And, as a child of Egypt, were I to die without a proper burial away from its shores, I would never reunite with my ancestors in the afterlife. Instead, I would face an eternity of oblivion.

Even worse, my little Nebet would experience the same.

Nebet knelt before the Pharaoh and whimpered. “No, you can’t make us leave. Egypt has always been our home!” she pleased.

Akhenaten shook his head and pressed the top of his crook onto the girl’s head. “I am Pharaoh, he who commands all of Upper and Lower Egypt. I have already granted you and your aunt the permission to live. Consider your citizenship the price.”

Ay smiled with fiendish glee. “And why not? You didn’t think we would surrender everything to you with such ease, did you?”

As much as I wanted to jump onto the old jackal and hammer out what remained of his pathetic life, I knew he was right. Akhenaten had a whole force of guards he could summon within one pulse of my heart, not to mention his regular army. I could evade and fight back as much as I wanted, but I could never defeat him alone. Not while keeping my niece out of harm’s way.

I knelt in front of the false Pharaoh, drooping my head with a defeated sigh. “I accept your sentence, Your Majesty.”

Akhenaten nodded with a victorious grin. “Excellent. I’ll give you a month to pack up your belongings and then see you at the border, wherever you choose to go. May Aten bless you with good fortune the rest of your life.”

“And may he watch over your child as well,” Nefertiti added.

I dipped my head to them. “I will pray every day that he will, O Pharaoh and Queen.”

I lied. I had no intention of even muttering his false demon’s name again. If there was one thing I would never concede to Akhenaten, it was my faith in the gods of our ancestors.

Nebet ran up to bury her glistening tear-washed face into me. “You can’t do this, Aunt Takhi. We can’t leave home forever.”

I lifted her up in my embrace and stroked her hair. “I’m afraid we have no choice, my little baboon. But it may not be all that bad. If nothing else, we’ll spend the rest of our lives seeing the world together.”

I knew not where we would go. We might venture up the Nile south of the Kushite provinces, into the savannas and jungles and the many kingdoms therein. Or we might sail for the east, visiting the ziggurats of Babylonia, the temples and sacred wells of the Indus Valley, or the burgeoning cities of distant China. We might even head north to the rocky isles of the Greeks and Minoans, or even further into the snowy forests where tribes of red- and yellow-maned, white-skinned men prowled.

All I knew was that we could not remain in Egypt any longer. And that, wherever we did go, Nebet and I would always have each other.

As I walked away from the menagerie, heading for the city’s docks, I gave my niece a wink and a whisper. “It may not all be lost. Maybe we could, say, persuade someone abroad to take Egypt back for us. What say you, my little baboon?”

[marcuspedersen-nz]

1- Time Crime

(by Christopher Jones)

The year was 2040, nine years after the bust. They had called it the new El Dorado during the boom, but what could they call it now? Greymouth: the open orifice of a corpse humming to the tune of its own death rattle. It was a city trying to hold onto, yet somehow forget, the glory of years gone by; to settle at last to humble death, while the last of its flesh was consumed by collectors, as debtors made a hasty exit, and all those who had come to ride the wave were gone, leaving an overweight economy and too many high-rise buildings to sustain its rotting core.

I arrived during the tumult of a spring storm. There was quite some turbulence but the air hostesses didn’t seem very worried, and that was good enough for me. The one on my aisle was very made up, with tight blonde hair, a sweet chubby face and her skirt came down to just below her knees. They say that when it rains here it really rains, but they also say you get used to it. The pilot had to circle three times waiting for a window of visibility before finally bringing the DC-20 down to land.

I met my rental car agents outside the terminal building. I had ordered a manual four-wheel drive, apparently the only one in town. The mainstream companies which crowded the interior dealt only in the new generation of foolproof automatics, and besides there was a limited supply of large vehicles without prior notice. I knew what I would need, so I looked around on the internet until I hooked up with these guys, Smack Car Rentals, and at the last minute arranged for them to meet me at the airport. Before going outside into the din of the weather I let my local contact, Police Inspector Jack Martin, know that I had arrived. He gave me the address of where to meet him.

The dark day was just coming onto dusk, and I waited there for a moment sheltered from the rain by the large overhead canopy until a small silver Suzuki Swift drove up. A tall, handsome man of about 30 got out, quite a flashy type with black hair and dark brown eyes. He introduced himself as Paul Bartley, “We spoke on the phone, Mr Jones. Sorry about the delay,” he said, putting my cases into the back and opening the passenger’s door for me to enter, “Your Range Rover is at the office. I need to check you in.” It was here that I felt the first inexplicable glitch, like a shudder through my reality that showed I wasn’t there by accident. This was no false alarm.

I got in and he said as the car drove towards the CBD, “I’d apologise for the weather, Mr Jones, but it’s beyond the powers of my control. This is the West Coast, after all.”

“Yes,” I nodded, “It’s a narrow strip of land between the coast and the Southern Alps. When the prevailing westerly comes off the ocean loaded with water, it hits the mountains and dumps its load, leaving the east in drought while the west has more rain than it can handle.” He laughed as though I had told some kind of joke, so I added, “Call me Chris.”

The office on Mackay Street was one of several on the second floor of an old two storey building standing between taller, shakier buildings built during the 2020s. It was accessed by a narrow flight of steps which took us up to a shabby lobby with several doors to various offices. The sign above the door we entered read, “PPS Bartley Real Estate, Smack Car Rentals and P. Bartley Detective Agency”. He indicated for me to stand at a counter which was obviously used for the car rental side of the business, “Would you like tea or coffee?” he offered, and I shook my head.

Looking at the real estate display board, I noticed one property stand out from the others. It had a note saying, “Serious Viewers Only. No Tourists!” which piqued my curiosity. I then recognised the red shed on the photo from my research files as being the location of one of the Blondino murders. The thought of that recognition gave me a second inexplicable glitch; a feeling like déjà vu. I asked, “How is the real estate business doing these days?”

“It’s a good time to buy,” he said, “People shy away from a market in a slump, but think about it. You wouldn’t buy your groceries like that, would you? You wouldn’t wait till prices rocketed before you rushed down to the supermarket. No, you’d grab what you could while everything’s on sale. So why treat real estate any different? There are plenty of good bargains to be had around here.”

“What about this one?” I asked.

“That’s the Thompson property; a real bargain. If you’re interested, come back tomorrow when the office is open and we’ll talk business. You honestly could not go wrong.”

He entered my details into the computer, such as driver’s licence and credit card numbers, and printed off some papers for me to sign just in time for a second, younger man to enter. “It’s all fuelled and ready to go. I’ve put your cases on the back seat,” he said, he looked so similar to Paul Bartley that he was obviously his younger brother. He wasn’t quite so flashy and he wore a wedding band. He handed me the key attached to a bright orange key-ring with the Smack logo on it and said, “Diesel only. It’s just outside.” So I looked nonchalantly at the window as the rain came crashing down even harder, and bade them farewell.

I set the navigator to Power Road and pulled out from the curb. The good thing about cars of the era before everything became self-driving was that you felt like you were actually driving, and not simply a passenger in the driver’s seat. Even by 2040 the majority of cars practically drove themselves, but they weren’t fully driverless so it kind of made you feel like you were there but not there. Of course they already had the technology for self-driving but public suspicion had pushed for legislation that prevented its general implementation. Only vehicles that used special lanes such as freight and taxi were permitted to be driverless.

I took a left on Tainui Street, up past the traffic lights at the railway crossing, and turned right at the roundabout. After a few kilometres Tainui Street became High Street, and the rain eased off to a trickle. It was already full night. I passed the Oasis Hotel on my left, which I was booked into but would check in later, and proceeded for another 3.2 kilometres before turning left onto Power Road as the navigator directed. I drove up a steep hill to the house at number 32, where there was a police cordon in place. A modified white Camry and a standard patrol car with flashing lights awaited there for my arrival.

Reaching into my case for the gaga meter I noticed an umbrella on the back seat, so I decided to make use of it. There were four men, two in uniform and two detectives, standing beside the Camry. They took notice of me as I got out, clutching the meter, fumbling about with the umbrella which didn’t seem to want to open. It came up all of a sudden and almost sent me tripping over my own feet. The detectives walked over to greet me, putting out their hands and the older, obviously more senior of the two said, “I’m Police Inspector Jack Martin, this is Police Inspector David Walton. You must be Special Agent Christopher Jones.” I gave him and his partner the firm handshakes they wanted, showed them my badge, and Jack indicated towards the house, “We didn’t expect you would arrive tonight.”

He wore a thick coat and the water ran off his head but he acted as though it was nothing more than a slight inconvenience, which it probably was. He was a well built man of about 40 years, with a trimmed black moustache and a very friendly manner. David Walton was much thinner and younger, with brown hair and ginger moustache. Jack said, “Forensics were here this afternoon. So far, despite the blood being human, there’s no indication that the murder took place here. The bodies of the residents, Janine Hoffstad and her daughter Susan, were found in bush about 20 minutes out of town, and the blood isn’t theirs. They were strangled, and there’s every indication that they were murdered there. Personally, I wouldn’t have alerted you, even if it does look occult. It’s the computer that does it. It’s an algorithm. I hope you haven’t wasted your time. She’s the daughter of a crime boss.”

“It’s better to be safe than sorry,” I said, “And call me Chris,” but I could tell just by looking at the exterior of the yellow weatherboard house that I had already been there. It’s like the glitches. It’s what we call the ripple effect, and you develop a sense for it when you’ve been in the job for long enough. Think of it like a stone being dropped into a pool of water, and the ripples radiate out from the epicentre, repeating the trauma, which brings about the sensation of repetition. Some call it déjà vu, but for most people only the very strong pulses are felt, where they feel the ongoing effect of a great surge through the fabric of their lives.

Inside the house I switched on the meter and took a reading of the hallway with immediate indication of gaga. Jack Martin pointed to a door at the end of the hallway, “The interesting stuff is this way.” I nodded. “What does that thing do exactly?” he asked.

I said, “It measures gaga.” He nodded.

The lounge room at the end of the hallway came up with very strong readings. The light was dim, but at the turn of a dial Jack made it very bright. There was a pentagram painted from blood on the cream carpet of an otherwise fairly ordinary lounge. A black leather sofa and two matching lazy-boy armchairs were set facing a plasma television screen which took up most of the wall they faced. There was a strong scent of very sweet perfume like an overture to the senses with an undertone of musty dampness, and the rancid stench-like odour of rotting meat barely perceptible. At each point of the pentagram were two items, which mostly looked like they belonged to a woman, or a young girl, or both. “What exactly is gaga?” asked Jack as the meter hissed, almost off the scale.

At the closest point of the pentagram were a Barbie doll and a deck of cards with the golden pick logo of Inangahua Resort Casino at Reefton. The next point in a clockwise direction had a red badge with the picture of Daffy Duck on it, and a lady’s smart-watch with a blue strap. The third point had a postcard of a snowy mountain with three serrated peaks, that is, Mt Owen, and a brown felt hat with splotches of mud and a red flowery band. At the end of the fourth point was a CD album Sugar Sweet Candy Water by the Aloe Veras, and a small plastic daffodil of the type they sell to raise money for cancer research. At the final point was a Lenovo tablet with star and flower stickers on it, and a bottle of Le Frais perfume, with the lid not pressed on properly and so most of its contents had spilled onto the carpet.

I said, “To put it simply, gaga measures the difference between what is real and what is unreal. Think of it as the difference between matter and antimatter. The action of matter normally flows in nominal resistance to the reaction of antimatter, like a wave held in balance. When the wave becomes discordant, shadow waves appear, which is what we call a ripple effect, measured in units of gaga. You follow me?” He raised his eyebrows. “Okay, just think of it as telling me that something illegal has taken place here and the sooner that I deal with it the better it will be for everybody, so it’s good I got here when I did.”

“How bad is it? Should we be worried?”

“It’s bad, as bad as it gets. I need to bag these items.”

“What are they for? It is occult then?”

I nodded, and picked up the brown felt hat. There were strands of long blonde hair on the inside. Turning over the postcard there was, “Dear Mummy,” but nothing else written on it. I turned on the tablet and the screen saver was the same photo of Mt Owen as on the postcard. It asked for a pin and I tried a few basic combinations but they didn’t work.

I said, “Certain items become charged with gaga. We call them talismans. It’s occult in as much as ritualistic procedure was used to create the talismans, but occult is just a layman’s term for the process of manipulating the fabric of the space-time continuum, that is, the normal flow of matter and antimatter. Of course it’s highly illegal, but we have our methods. This crime took place here, but not the here as we see it, the here that exists somewhere else. All we see is the exhaust of an event and the only way to fix it is to find the source of the tear and stitch it up.”

“But should we be worried?”

I shrugged, “No, I think we’ve caught it in time. Good work.”

We came away and to my surprise the night had cleared. Everything looked washed, serene, and clean, with a starry sky and the near full moon glowing high above the ranges to the east. To the north the seven towers of Greymouth’s CBD were sparkling like they were something beautiful, to be proud of, but dread filled me because I knew they were more like the embers of a fire that had not quite been extinguished, and just the slightest wind would bring up the flame to consume it all like a dragon’s breath.

The city had been born of gold, and gold had destroyed the city, with a hundred and seventy years between to grow, to languish, and hope for better times. Their motto, “Our time will come again,” seemed like presentiment during the 2020s boom as many believed their time had finally arrived, but the problem with gold is that too much happens all at once, and when the gold is gone everything must collapse back into itself. Back in the 1860s it hadn’t mattered so much because there was only a limited amount that a town could grow with such means as steam ships and sailboats. But it was a different story during the 2020s, as the 2030s proved and the year 2040 was about to conclude; the devastation to be visited upon this city would be more than the sum of its components.

That was “Chapter One” of The Woman in the Brown Hat, a sci-fi fantasy detective novel by Marcus Pedersen.

Available on Amazon as an e-book and paper book: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08RW59M7G

For more information see: https://www.facebook.com/ToroPopularFiction

For reviews see: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/56531729-the-woman-in-the-brown-hat

[takeiteasypeasybaby]

Save Me: Chapter 10 - The Storm

~Hey guys! This is Chapter 10 of ‘Save Me’ ❤️ I can’t believe I’ve already posted 10 chapters of this book but heres to many more! 🎊 This chapter focuses on Negan’s lineup and who he kills, Molly’s life at the Sanctuary and her encounter with Negan after he returns. Hope you enjoy and chapter 11 will be released on Sunday 😊 ~

Whether or not Molly knew it, this would be the point where Molly would change forever. Everything she knew, or thought she knew would be dissolved and the man she saw something in would be estranged to her. But she would not know this until later.

The war had begun. Molly knew this, but she had no idea of the scale of it. Who she would lose.

At Alexandria, after Rick's meeting and subsequent letting go of Dwight on the premise that he would help us, Carol was starting to spiral again.

As much as Daryl tried to help her, she could only find comfort in Morgan who also wanted to stop killing.

Carol had made lists and lists of all the people she had killed and vowed she couldn't do it anymore, at least not at Alexandria.

As much as she wanted to say goodbye to Daryl, she knew that he would try and make her stay so she fled in the night with Morgan by her side.

They didn't know where they were going, but they both needed somewhere where they wouldn't be reminded so much of death and the desensitisation that came with it.

She had left a note so Rick and Daryl wouldn't worry or come after her, just to let them know that she was okay and would be so long as she took a break from the place.

They had taken a car and were on the road for a good few hours before being stopped at a small village by a blockage of cars in the road.

At least four men were inside. They jumped out of the car while the men demanded that they give over their weapons for Negan.

Saviours, of course. Negan really was everywhere.

Carol had hidden a pistol in her coat sleeve while she gave over her knives and other gun.

Morgan passed over his stick.

They asked them to turn back and provide more goods for them just as Carol decided to shoot one of them.

He was dead instantly.

This started a shootout with both Carol and Morgan running behind their car while Carol slid out a gun that was hidden in the car and passed it to Morgan.

Both hesitant, not wanting to kill any one else, they took a moment before Morgan shot the next one.

With only two left, they crept round to see where they were.

But, while Carol's back was turned, Morgan was taken by one of the guys and held in a chokehold with a gun to his head.

'Listen you bitch! You're gonna regret that, give us your shit or your buddy here dies'.

Carol regretfully opened the boot where they had stuffed all the supplies they would need for their trip and as he was taking them out, there was a gun shot.

The man taking out the supplies was dead, when Carol and Morgan turned around they saw a woman wearing armour and a spike in one hand and a gun in the other.

She shot the other man shortly after saying he had to die even though he backed down.

Carol was sobbing into Morgan's arms before she came over and said 'your welcome, come, your friend needs to rest' she said speaking to Morgan.

'Who are you?' Carol asked.

She smiled saying 'I'm Dianne, please, let me escort you to the Kingdom'.

Carol and Morgan looked at each other suspiciously.

'The what?', she chuckled, 'we get that a lot, it's this way, you could follow me on horseback if you prefer? The Kingdom is our home, we're a community, we have farms and a school'.

'Okay, we will stop for water, that's it' Carol said sternly.

'As you wish' Dianne answered smirking.

Rick’s Group//

Daryl upon finding Carol's letter was heartbroken, as was Rick.

But this was their chance, Dwight had cut down trees to block the Saviour's path which they saw in the distance but they had to make it to Hilltop, for Maggie.

Maggie was sick, worse than before and with the pregnancy, she needed Dr Carson.

So everyone set off in the RV, Maggie, Glenn, Rick, Michonne, Abraham, Sasha, Eugene, Carl, Daryl, Jesus, Aaron and Rosita.

The plan was that once they got to Hilltop, they would stay a while to make sure Maggie would be okay.

Then they would go back to Alexandria, hoping that the people left there would have handed over their supplies to the Saviours without bother.

This would not be the case.

With the outpost, the guys Molly had exploded, the ones Carol and Dianne had killed, Negan was pissed and they had crossed a line.

At every turn, they were intercepted by a small group of Saviours, which gradually got bigger at every stop.

There was no way out, they were surrounded.

A large booming voice came from the trees, alongside many whistles which seemed to surround them and gradually get louder and louder.

'Alright pricks, you've had your fun, now it's time for you to take your punishment' said a man with a large moustache.

'It's time to meet Negan' he said while forcing them out of the RV and lining them up one by one in front of another RV.

It was almost midnight, the only light coming from the Saviour's motorcycles which surrounded them.

'Let's meet the man' he said while knocking on the RV door.

As soon as everyone was lined up, out came Negan.

'We pissing our pants yet?' he said smiling sinisterly.

He sauntered over to them, 'boy do I have a feeling we're getting close', swinging Lucille over his shoulder as he scanned over each one of them.

'Its gonna be pee pee pants city here real soon. Which one of you pricks is the leader?' he pointed at all of them questioningly.

'It's this one. He's the guy' a Saviour called out from behind Rick and pointed at him.

Negan turned to face Rick, smiling down at him.

He sighed.

'Hi, you're Rick right, I'm Negan and I do not appreciate you killing my men. Also when I sent my people to kill your people for killing my people, you killed more of my people! Not cool, not fucking cool. You have no idea how not cool that shit is. But, I think you're gonna be up to speed shortly' Negan said smirking.

Negan took in a deep breath while Rick quivered on the gravel.

'You are so gonna regret crossing me in a few minutes. Yes, you are!'.

He smiled.

'You see Rick, whatever you do, no matter what, you don't mess with the New World Order and the New World Order is this and it's really very simple. So even if you're stupid which you very may well be, you can understand it. You ready? Here goes, pay attention' Negan boomed.

He swung Lucille down beside Rick's face and said 'give me your shit or I will kill you. Today was career day, we invested a lot so you would know who I am and what I can do. You work for me now, you have shit, you give it to me. That's your job. Now I know there is a mighty big nasty pill to swallow, but swallow it you most certainly mother fucking shall!'.

He bent down, hovering over Rick before saying 'you ruled the roost, you built something, you thought you were safe, I get it. But, the word is out, you are not safe, not even close. In fact you are fucked, more fucked if you don't do what I want and what I want is half your shit. If that's too much you can make, find or steal more and it'll even out sooner or later'.

He stepped back, 'you understand?' Negan asked.

Rick was silent.

'What? no answer?' Negan said leaning down.

Negan scoffed before saying, 'you don't really think that you were gonna get through this without being punished, now did ya? I don't wanna kill you people, just wanna make that clear from the get-go. I want you guys to work for me and you can't do that if you're dead now can you? I'm not growing a garden, but, you killed my people. A whole fucking lot of them, more than I'm comfortable with and for that, for that you gotta pay. So now, I'm gonna beat the holy hell outta one of you'.

He brought his bat closer to Rick's face again, 'this, this is Lucille and she is awesome. All of this, is just so we can pick out which one of you gets the honour'.

He walked over to Abraham, seeing his moustache he said 'huh, I gotta shave this shit. I'm tryna impress a girl. Always the way aint it?'.

Rosita looked at him and scowled, knowing exactly what he meant.

He strolled over to Carl next.

'You, got one of our guns, you got a lot of our guns. Shit, kid. Lighten up, at least cry a little' Negan said kneeling in front of Carl.

Carl looked at him, like he would kill him right then and there which made Negan chuckle.

He strolled over to Maggie next, 'Je-sus, you look shitty. I should just put you outta your misery right now'.

He held up Lucille, hovering over Maggie's head before Glenn shouted, 'NO!' and lunged for Negan.

Saviours dragged him back beating him up in the process, 'stop it!' Maggie screamed.

'Nope, get him back in line' Negan said in frustration.

'Gahhh, don't! don't!' Glenn shouted pleadingly.

Negan smiled before sighing, 'Alright listen, don't any of you do that again. I will shut that shit down, no exceptions. First one's free, it's an emotional moment. I get it'.

He turned to Rick again, this time the smile had vanished off of his face, 'sucks don't it, moment you realise you don't know shit'.

He looked at Carl, smiling.

'He's your kid right? This is definitely your kid!' Negan said excitedly.

'Just stop this!' Rick screamed.

'Hey! do not make me kill the little future serial killer, don't make it easy on me! I gotta pick somebody. I simply cannot decide'.

He suddenly became wide eyed and grinned.

'I got an idea! Eeny, meany, miny, moe, catch, a, tiger, by, it's, toe, if, he, hollers, let him go! My mother, told me, pick, the, very, best, one, and, you, are, it' Negan said moving along the line, until his bat fell on Abraham.

'Anyone says anything cut the boys other eye out and feed it to his father and then we'll start. You can breathe, you can blink, you can cry. Hell, you're all gonna be doing that!' Negan shouted.

He cracked down Lucille onto Abraham's head, blood spilling down his face.

Everyone screamed in reaction.

'Wow! would you look at that. Taking it like a champ!' Negan said admiring his work.

Abraham rose, saying 'suck. my. nuts'.

He swung at Abraham again, this time he was dead.

'Did you hear that? He said suck my nuts!' Negan said chuckling to himself.

'Oh my goodness! Look at this, look at my dirty girl!' Negan said swinging his bat, splashing Abraham's blood everywhere.

He walked over to Rosita, saying 'sweetheart, lay your eyes on this! Oh damn, were you together? That sucks. But if you we're you should know there was a reason for all this. Red? Hell he was, is and will forever be red. He just took one or six or seven for the team! So take. A. Damn. Look. Take a damn look!'.

At that Daryl rose up and punched Negan in the face.

He was instantly tackled to the ground and held there.

‘That! oh my! that is a no no, not one bit of that shit flies' Negan said stumbling back up.

'Do you want me to do it? Right here!' Dwight said holding Daryl's crossbow to his head.

'No you don't kill that. Not until you try a little. I already told you people, first one's free, then what did I say? I said I would shut that shit down. No exceptions. So, back to it!' Negan said hovering the bat near Glenn.

With that he swung Lucille down onto Glenn.

Maggie screamed a blood curdling scream.

'Buddy are you still in there? I just don't know! It seems like you're trying to speak. But you just took a hell of a hit, I just popped your skull so hard, your eyeball just popped out!' Negan said leaning towards Glenn.

'Mmm-aggie, I will find you' Glenn managed to say before Negan finished him off.

'Ah hell, I can see this is hard on you guys. I am sorry, I truly am. But I did say, no exceptions!'.

Negan took another swing.

He was dead now.

'I'm just getting started!' he said swinging Lucille repeatedly over the pool of blood and flesh that was now Glenn.

'Lucille is thirsty! She is a vampire bat!' Negan said as he splattered Glenn's blood all over the gravel.

He strolled back over to Rick, smiling to himself.

'What? was the joke that bad?' Negan asked, still smiling.

Rick took a moment before whispering 'I'm gonna kill you'.

'What was that?' Negan asked, testing Rick.

'Im gonna kill you. Not today, not tomorrow, but I am gonna kill you' Rick added.

Negan kissed his teeth before whispering 'jesus. Simon, what'd he have a knife?'.

'He had a hatchet', Simon replied.

Negan looked like he was about to laugh, 'a hatchet?'.

'An axe' Simon corrected as Negan chuckled.

'Simon's my right hand man. Having one of those is important. I'm guessing Molly was yours right?' Negan taunted him.

Rick looked up at Negan again, as did Rosita.

'I mean what do you have left without them? A whole lot of work' Negan said smirking at Rick's distress.

'Gimme his axe' Negan ordered Simon.

Negan took it and put it in his belt before dragging Rick into the RV.

Rick barely remembered what happened after he went into the RV.

It was all a blur after losing Glenn and Abraham.

But when he got back, Negan had told Rick to cut off Carl's arm as punishment for threatening him.

Just when Rick was about to swing the axe, tears flowing down his face.

Negan stopped him. It had been a test.

But they hadn't passed.

Negan told Dwight to take Daryl and put him in the truck. He said he was useful to them.

They then told Rick they would be back in a week to collect.

Leaving them in the early morning light with Glenn and Abraham's bodies lying there.

They had taken pictures before they left.

Molly's POV//

I had woken up restless like every other morning, though this one felt different. I kept wondering whether Rick or Rosita would be working on a plan to get me out of here, but to no avail.

Fat Joey came to let me out, Negan was still hell bent on recruiting me so he had decided to give me a little freedom. Give me a taste of a Saviour's life.

But he wasn't at the Sanctuary last night or this morning, neither was Dwight or Simon.

I just suspected at the time that they were on a supply run.

Negan had given orders before he left that I was to be allowed to walk around the main hall but that was all, then I was to return to my cell in the evening.

I had hardly spoken to anyone at the Sanctuary, but I was intrigued and I wanted to take the time to understand these people.

As Fat Joey guided me to the main hall, I reached for his hand.

He didn't resist, but just smiled thinking I was genuinely into him.

When I got to the main hall I smiled at Joey before winking and saying 'thanks joey, see you soon'.

He stuttered before going red and saying 's-see you, Molly!'.

I smiled to myself, it wouldn't be long now before he would be my bitch.

I walked around the room, people stared at me.

Eyes burning into the back of my head, men whistled as I went by.

I shot them a look, that said I'll kill you assholes.

I was about to go over to the food market when I spotted a little girl sitting alone at a bench.

I walked slowly over to her, wondering why she was by herself.

'Hi, I'm Molly. What are you doing by yourself?' I said warmly.

She looked up slowly, all the while holding onto her teddy bear.

'My mom is working at the moment, so we can eat later' she said quietly.

'So you guys are going hungry, huh?' I said sadly, sitting down next to her.

'Not anymore, Negan saved me and my mommy' she said quietly and smiled genuinely.

I frowned, 'but your mommy has to leave you alone during the day?'.

She looked down at her teddy.

'We were hungry before, now we survive. Together' she said.

I looked at her, smiled slightly before saying 'thank you, you've helped me a lot'.

She smiled back and asked 'will you stay and play a game with me?'.

'Sure' I said happily.

'My name is Grace, this is Buddy' she said pointing to her teddy.

'Will you join us for a tea party?' she said in her most sophisticated voice.

I smiled, almost chuckled, 'why thank you Grace'.

She pretended to pour tea into empty cups.

Saviours watched, frowning but trying not to smile.

So much death and destruction had passed through my life, I forgot what it was like to have genuine fun like this.

Without even realising it, Grace had shown me what it was like to save people, bring safety and joy to people's lives, to keep families together and bring back order.

I pondered over the idea of becoming a Saviour as Joey told me it was time to go back to my cell.

'Excuse me Molly, sorry to interrupt but it's time to go. Sorry' Joey said awkwardly hovering over our tea party.

I smiled at him while the other Saviours scowled at his weakness.

They laughed thinking something was going on between us. So, I shot them a glare before getting up to leave.

Grace shouted 'wait!' before running to hug me and asking me to hug Buddy as well.

I smiled before saying 'see you around'.

She smiled before running back over to her table, her mom coming over to her after work and running to hug her.

As we walked away, I could see Grace talking to her mom about me, she was smiling before she waved at me.

I waved back with a smile.

Once we got to my cell door, I asked Joey if he could do something for me.

'A-Anything!' he said.

He actually seemed like a nice guy so I was starting to hate to manipulate him like this.

But it was way too easy and I needed someone on my side in here.

'Do you have a pillow and a blanket? It gets real cold at night'.

I touched my own skin seductively as I talked watching his eyes linger over my fingers.

'I-I Yes! of course, yes I will. Don't tell Negan' he replied before running to go get them.

'I won't! promise' I said sweetly, with a fake smile.

~flashforward~

Meanwhile, Negan had just returned from Rick's group.

I didn't know this then but that was the reason why Joey had asked me to leave the main hall when he did.

Negan was back and wanted to address his people without me knowing or hearing.

He had made a speech about how the Saviours had gone out and fought the dead again, destroying the enemies in Rick's band of pricks as he called them.

Dwight was the only one who knew Glenn and Abraham's names whereas the other Saviours just passed around the rumour that Negan had killed two of Rick's group but didn't know who.

Either way, Negan told his people that under no circumstances was I to know about this and if I found out he would kill whoever was responsible.

This scared everyone into silence on that topic when ever I was around, they would instead talk about something completely unrelated.

To all the other Saviours, me finding out about what Negan had done wasn't worth dying over but for Dwight, every time he talked to me I could sense he wanted to say more than he did.

Negan had said that he didn't want me knowing because I could turn on them and he wanted to recruit me.

He just didn't want me to hate him, and he knew that I would.

Present day...

With Joey occupied getting me what I wanted, I planned on just waiting in Negan's room but seeing him walk down the hallway, he stopped and smiled slightly.

He looked exhausted from being out all night.

'Hi darlin, who let you out?' he said walking slowly towards me, almost warily.

'You need better guards. I want to talk to you' I replied softly.

He rolled his eyes, obviously agreeing with my statement he smiled, 'what about doll?'.

He was now standing close to me, no one else around us.

I took a second, looking into his auburn eyes, lit with fire.

'I get it now and I want to help' I said hesitantly.

His smirk turned into a sceptical grin.

'Really? What's affected this change?' he asked amusedly.

'Well, I'm not going anywhere anytime soon thanks to you. So, I want to at least be useful. I want to save people' I said half in annoyance, half joy.

At this he knew I was serious, the smile shifted to a genuine soft smirk.

He said softly and whispered 'okay, if that's what you want'.

He was about to turn away before I stopped him by grabbing gently on his arm.

He flinched slightly, before turning back around.

'This doesn't mean that I want to be Saviour. I never will be. But, I believe in this' I said while gesturing around me.

'I want to help people here, but I can't betray Rick, you know I can't' I said softly.

His smirk turned to a frown when I mentioned Rick.

He almost looked saddened by my speech. He looked me over again as I gently took my hand from his arm.

I had never touched him before, It felt strangely comforting despite thinking I knew what he was capable of.

So naive.

He nodded slowly before he said 'never say never darlin' and walked away swinging Lucille back over his shoulder.

I watched him as he walked away.

When he stopped at his door, he looked down before turning to look at me one last time before walking in.

Why did I feel like this?

For someone like that? I blame this fucked up world.

~flashforward~

Meanwhile, Daryl was being dragged through the Sanctuary, through the opposite side of the building Molly was living in.

Daryl was covered in dirt and cuts all over barely conscious before he was thrown into a cell.

Then it started.

'We're on easy street and it feels so sweet!'

[sheeptiefstolemyheart]

Katabasis

A Mechanisms fanfiction based on the Ulysses Dies At Dawn album and the extra information on their website. A small crack idea about how the Persephone myth would turn out in that universe, and an excuse for writing morally grey characters. 

Warnings for: bad people doing fucked up things including mass murder, arson, and small mentions of incest and forced prostitution to fund a drug addiction. It’s the Mechanisms.

-

Persephone lives a life that many would call “confined to a golden cage”. That’s the ‘benefit’ of being an Olympian. An endless youth leads to an endless line of parties and dresses and friends and boring, boring days. It’s awful. The city far below churns and grinds and she lives and lives and her mother indulges her and her family continues to be awful. They fight and steal and kill and cling to civility by the skin of their teeth and it’s so tedious and awful. Until one day something - someone? a group of someones - arrives in the city. The first murmurings are of a few someones causing a mass bar brawl that turns into a massacre. The next is when Dionysis introduces his new therapist, a strange man who calls himself a Baron and wears clothes of a type Persephone swears are several hundred centuries old. The final is when someone takes control of the Acheron, calling themselves Hades. The “actual fucking Acheron who the fuck would do that who the fuck has that much power how the fuck did this happen” Zeus rants and raves in a family meeting, throwing his pad against the wall. Persephone ducks her head and looks at her fingers and thinks about her plants at home until Zeus is saying her name and everything else is quiet.

Her head shoots up. Everyone is looking at her. Her mother looks terrified and worried and Persephone can’t help stuttering in the face of her uncle’s cold gaze. “Y-Yes Uncle? I’m sorry…” She doesn’t want to say ‘I wasn’t listening to you’ but it gets through and across the table Hera snorts. There’s a brief flash of anger across Zeus’ face but he tempers it, surprisingly. “What would you say about getting married?” Persephone blinks dumbly and thinks about what they were just talking about. Slowly she connects the dots. “To Hades?” Zeus nods, like nodding to a child, and Persephone just shrugs. She doesn’t know where it comes from. Marriage was not what she expected this morning but it sounds exciting. Marriage to a new God sounds exciting. More exciting than her golden cage and the same day in and out. She nods properly and there is a look of honest surprise on Zeus’ face. He claps his hands together and grins at her wide as a shark. “So, that’s settled. My sweet niece will be sent to Hades as a wife and hopefully we will be in their good books and we can continue on without too much trouble.” The rest of the Olympians are chattering and whispering and giving her approving glances or surprised ones and Hera nods demurely to her. Persephone feels like an adult all of a sudden.

Zeus turns to leave and Demeter springs up to follow him, giving Persephone an incredulous look. “You can’t do this to her! She’s a child! You can’t just marry-” Zeus’ hand collides with her mother’s cheek and the room goes silent. Demeter doesn’t say a word, only cradles her cheek as Zeus moves past her and takes Persephone’s hands in his. His power is absolute. “I’m very proud of you Persephone my dear. You’re becoming a proper Olympian.” She nods shakily and tries not to hyperventilate. This is the closest he’s been to her in years. He’s terrifying. He moves away and Hera cups her face and smiles and then follows her husband. Other Olympians nod to her in passing, touch her shoulders or arms, murmur praise and reassurances, and then she’s alone with her mother who is looking at her with cold fury. Demeter leaves without a word and Persephone feels strangely proud. She’s been 19 for centuries. She has to grow up sometime.

As much as it’s her wedding, it doesn’t much concern her. Persephone stays in her room and looks at wedding gowns and talks about flowers and thinks about where she’s going to live, deep underground, and packs her plants up and tries to imagine what her new spouse will be like. Her mother and her uncle and her family arrange everything else. It turns out that there won’t be a wedding. Instead, she will simply go to live with Hades and then everything will be fine. Persephone suspects that none of them have actually confirmed the details with Hades themselves. So when the day comes and everything Persephone owns is packed up and put into a little shuttle it’s fair to say she’s more than a little nervous. Her mother hugs her tight and cries into her hair until she squirms away to save the nice makeup and hair job Hera had done for her, a nice treat considering hera hates her and her mother for the obvious reason. Zeus gives her a tight hug and as she is enveloped he whispers in her ear. “Don’t fuck this up. Don’t be stupid like your mother.” She looks him in the eye as she pulls away. Her mother thinks her a silly child. She is far more. “I’ll make you proud uncle.” She thinks she sees approval as he guides her to the shuttle but then he closes the door and the shuttle starts to move and she clutches her little purse with white knuckles. She can’t fuck this up.

The shuttle takes her down through the upper city first, then the decent roads of the lower city, then the ground opens up and she’s in the undercity. Further and further down she goes, staring out at areas she’s never seen. She’d never truly understood the true scale of the city. Soon they’re truly underground, nothing but LEDs to light their way, and she feels herself wilting. What has she done? After hours of travel they pull up in front of a club, red and black and sleek. She is helped out by the driver and greeted by a curious bouncer who scans her wrist code and frowns. They make a call then signal for her to wait and disappear into the doors, music trickling out from the open door. A high, mournful voice singing about the city. Persephone clutches her bag and waits, chills creeping up her spine. What time is it here? Even with the fluorescents it’s so dark and so cold. Eventually the bouncer returns and guides her in without another word, something like a smile on their face. They weave her through the bar through crowds of people, past a band, up a set of winding stairs at the back, and behind a red door. They go down a long red corridor and knock on a final red door at the end. The cheers and raucous shouting from behind it stop and a smoky, smooth voice calls out “Enter.” Persephone can barely catch her breath before the bouncer opens the door and propels her in. She stumbles as she gets her bearings as the door shuts silently behind her.

It’s a cards room. A huge table in the middle, a strange assortment of people clustered around it. There’s a woman with what look like wings, talking to a woman with a book whilst a nymph with a moustache listens curiously. Two men with goggles are trying to outdrink a man with a wild look in his lightning scarred eyes. Persephone thinks she sees the Baron there, talking to a lady in a military coat and a ponytail who looks bored shitless by him. At the head of the table sits Hades. She’s seen that face on video calls with her uncle. They stare at her with a curious look, raising one eyebrow as they shuffle a pack of cards. “Yes? What do you want?” For a second, Persephone can’t speak. She remembers the wrath of Zeus. She straightens up and looks Hades dead in the eyes. “I’m Persephone?” She’s not sure if it’s a question but Hades still looks confused. The Baron makes a happy noise and gets up to greet her, effusing a near insincere joy at seeing her. “Persephone! Little darling, how are you? What brings you down here, so far from your mother’s cage?” He takes her hands and kisses it and she curtseys the way she’s been taught, and behind them she hears a few fed up groans.

The Baron moves back to his seat, smug. He avoids the slap around the head that the woman with the ponytail moves to give him, and winks at Persephone. She knows that she blushes. From the head of the table Hades sighs, deep and long and tired. “Yes? You’re an Olympian, right? Zeus’…” “Niece.” The Baron fills in. Hades barely acknowledges him. “Why has Zeus sent his lovely niece all the way down here to see me?” After Persephone gets over the descriptor of “lovely”, she frowns. Oh dear. It hadn’t been confirmed. “I’m… Your wife?”

Her words hang in the air like bricks. She seems to have almost stunned them all. The man with the scarred eyes starts to laugh like a maniac and Hade’s arms shoots out. They smash the man’s face into the table and he lifts a finger in a swear, still cackling. The rest of the table are watching as well, a few of the women with their heads in their hands, the Baron staring at her curiously. Hades slowly opens their mouth and speaks. “My wife? What the…” Realisation seems to hit them. “You cannot be serious. I thought that was a- Fuck.” Perspehone nods shyly, trying to ignore how intently some of them are staring at her now. Hades sighs, finally removing their hand from the scarred man’s neck.

Persephone suddenly feels very, very small as the various people around the table assess her. Hades lifts their hands up in a placating manner. “I didn’t think he was serious.” The women with the book chips in, sarcasm colouring her voice. “So you just accidentally married a girl Ashes?” Hades glares at her and Persephone feels a chill up her spine. Ashes. Hades real name is Ashes. Hades scowls and looks at Persephone, at her pink dress and green hairpieces in this red underworld, and they point at the door. “Go home. I did not want this. Give my regards to your uncle and go.” They sit back down and focus on the cards, the others going back to their drinks and talks. Persephone cannot. She will not go home a failure. She will not suffer her uncle’s wrath. She walks over to the table and sits down in a chair. Slowly, the amused gazes of those around the table turn to her. “No.” Hades raises their head. Sighs. Places the cards deliberately down. “I’m sorry?” “No. I’m not leaving. I’m not going back to Zeus a failure.”

The Baron nods in understanding. “She’s right Ashes. That man will kill her for failing. He kills his own children like they are little bugs. Almost admirable but still very messy.” Around the table eyebrows are raised but Hades continues to stare at Persephone. Out of the corner of her eye, the mustachioed nymph offers her a drink. It gets a scolding from Hades but she still takes it. She sculls it down, makes a face at the burn, and slams the glass back on the table to approval from the group. The scarred man nods. “You could do worse.” Hades slaps him round the head. “You won’t go? I will make you leave.” “I’m not going. You know what my uncle will do to me, to my mother. I am not going to leave. You’re married now, hi. Congratulations.” Hades sucks a breath in. “This is not… This is not how marriage works. You know that right?”

“I’m not a child.” The laughter from around the table is sarcastic, and Persephone bristles. “I’m not!” “You’re how old? 19?” The winged woman asks, hiding a snort in her drink. “I’m 233, actually.” That tempers them a little but one of the men with the goggles still laughs, counting drunkenly on his fingers. “Not too bad. Been up in your golden cage though, all your life. What makes you think you could cut it down here?” The woman with the ponytail asks, something like recognition in her eyes. Persephone knows she has an answer to that. “Because I’m an Olympian. My family is a family of near-immortal fucked up shits who murder people indiscriminately. This entire city is just a playground for murderers and monsters and I’ve lived amongst them for 233 years ” She has everyone’s attention, especially Hades. Slowly they put down their cards and look at her, and she knows they’re seeing her in a new light. She was right. She knows exactly who these people are. They’re the chaos makers. Looking for trouble, looking to destroy. She wants that.

She looks Hades right in their eyes. “I don’t want to live up there anymore. I’ll do whatever you want but I want to live here. Not up there.” There’s a few giggles from the group but Hades keeps their eyes on her. They lay down their cards in a pattern she’s never seen before, and the scarred man drunkenly points at one. Hades doesn’t look away as they turn it over. Queen of Hearts. Hades frowns. “Okay. You,” they point to Persephone. “Leave the room. I need to talk with my crew.” The scarred man lifts his head, and as Persephone leaves the room she hears him say “Your crew? My crew you mean I’m the cap-” “Shut the fuck up Jonny.”

Persephone finds herself with her ear pressed against the door, trying to catch anything being said inside. The conversation swells in a raucous manner towards the end she catches snippets.

“She’s a child!” “233…” “Compared to any of us, that’s a child!” “She’s a posh little idiot.” “Like you when we met you Nastya?” “I will kill you Tim.” “She’s useful. Clever. Got that look about her. Not one of us, but she’s more than them.” “Something fun to play with Ashes? We don’t usually get to play with the mortals like this.” “She’s here now. Might as well see how useful she can be.”

Persephone has enough sense to dart backwards at the finality in Hades voice. The door swings open and the nymph is standing there, smiling very wide. “Please come in!” She follows it in, ready to fight to the death if Hades somehow decides to send her back by force. They are sitting at the head, shuffling cards as the other people - crew members - start to pack up. One by one they file out past Persephone, some ignoring her, some smiling, some giving her scrutinising looks. The scarred man, Jonny, slaps Ashes on the back and as he goes his eyes trace all over Persephone. It’s not perverted, more assessing, but she meets his eyes. In his eyes is the same maddened bloodlust as Zeus and it takes everything for Persephone not to flinch and look away. A smile quirks his lips and he closes the door with a slam as he leaves, leaving Persephone alone with her new partner.

A chair slides out next to Hades and Persephone takes the hint. Closer and closer she comes until she can see the now interested light in Hades eyes. She sits primly and tries not to feel terrified. This is the person who took control of the Acheron. Their friends have killed thousands of people, caused so much damage, hurt so many people. Something in her heart beats a little faster. She thinks it’s excitement. Hades sighs, and runs their hands through their hair, and looks at her expectantly. “I’m not happy about this, you know? But your uncle is right, this will help me work with him. I am not your… dream husband. I am not someone you want to be married to. I will not be your husband in anything more than name.” Something like relief loosens in Persephone’s chest. She’d never seen the point of uncle Dionysis’ drunken orgies, all that sex and those bodies. It was never for her. She shrugs, and they nod.

“You know I’m not a good person, right? Those people are my crew, my family. We kill people. We cause chaos. It’s what we were made for and I won’t be here long, just passing through, having fun. Understand the cards you’re being dealt?” Persephone looks them in the eye. “The city I live in runs on the tortured half-living brains of the dead. My uncle has killed every single one of his bastard commoner children so far save one, and that one he arranged the death of his entire family to keep him in debt. I had 17 different nannies because my father kept sleeping with them and his wife kept killing them. Oh yeah, my father is my uncle and everyone knows it but we don’t talk about it. I’m 233 years old because my family sucks the life force from children and uses it to live longer and longer. The person that discovered it, they set him up to kill his own father and marry his own mother. They had children together. Then they set it up for everyone to find out. I haven’t once gone against anything they have done. I’m not a good person either.” It’s the longest bad thing about her family she’s ever said. Hades raises an eyebrow and for the first time since they met, Persephone sees a smirk on their face. “Well. Let’s take you home then.”

Their mouth twists at the word home, but they do offer their arm to Persephone as they lead her out of the room and to the upper levels of the club. The apartment is nice. There’s two layers to it: the bottom layer which is Hades business area and leads into Hades Acheron offices, and the upper part of it where they live. It’s a sleek fancy apartment, with huge bedrooms and offices and when the club is in full swing Persephone can hear the music through the floors and the vents. Hades likes the club, and Persephone likes it as well. It’s a fun place to hang out. Her bedroom is nice as well, pull of plants that she keeps in perfect condition. The business area is more… Business. It’s where people come to ask Hades for favours, for forgiveness, for aid. She likes to sit on the sidelines sometimes, watch her spouse work, watch how they weave their plans and schemes, how they make people indebted to them. Gods, the city is a desperate heaving mess. One day she sits in on a meeting Hades is having with a person: tall, dark, broken. Like so many of them. She doesn’t pay much attention to their begging, but Hades takes an interest in them. As they leave they give her a look that pierces to her soul. That night she finds Hades and she lies down beside them in their bed, just to be close to someone.

Time carries steadily on. Her mother calls her. Zeus checks in occasionally. Persephone feels no need to return to the surface, to mingle with her family. She has far more interesting friends now. Hades friends, who call them Ashes, are a wild bunch. They all call themselves The Mechanisms, and Persephone suspects that’s not the name of their group. That’s what they are.  Murders and thieves, vagabonds and outlaws. Machines and humans. Not even human anymore. Something new. Something awful. Something hideous. They are incredible to know. She slowly finds her way into the outskirts of their little group, as Ashes wife. They mostly allow it because it gives them a chance to mock Ashes mercilessly. Jonny d’Ville, first mate (captain) and psychopath who thinks nothing of killing 36 men in a bar brawl. He takes her on one, and when they stumble out to the street soaked in other people’s blood Persephone thinks she understands why the city is the way it is. Killing is so exhilarating. Drumbot Brian is a fun night out. Give him a plan and a justification for it and he takes her through three city districts in a hijacked shuttle. She sticks her head from the roof window and screams sheer bloody delight. Gunpowder Tim shows her the beauty of weapons, from the simple pistol all the way up to his favourites. She takes out one of her uncle’s smaller clubs with five barrels of explosives and a lighter Ashes lent her, and they watch as it burns with ash on their faces. The smell of gunpowder in Persephone’s clothes for days after.

Raphaella is aloof but highly interested in Persephone’s mother’s business: poisons natural and unnatural. Persephone tells her everything she’s learnt at her mother’s side and lets Raphaella inject her with one of the scientists own concoctions. In the minutes before Ashes rescues her she writhes on the floor in blissful agony and she swears she sees and feels the entire universe through every nerve of her body that is on fire. Marius tends to her afterwards. He tells her everything going up in her family home, and she tells him everything about her life. He doesn’t even blink when she tells him about Zeus. He writes it all down and promises it’s for a good cause. She catches his talking to Ashes with the notebook out and she only grins. Nastya introduces her to the Aurora, their ship, her lover. She shows her around and Persephone looks at the way Nastya looks at the Aurora and feels overwhelmed. What a big thing. Nastya also teaches her how to sabotage any machinery she comes into contact with and how to hotwire shuttles. They go for drives around the city together. Ivy is always happy to learn. She picks Persephone’s brain when she hasn’t plugged herself straight into the Acheron like an addict with a needle. She hooks Persephone up once but it’s too much. Persephone wonders how empty Ivy’s mind has to be to keep all that information and not go crazy. The Toy Soldier, still a nymph, still mustachioed, shows her how to shoot like a soldier. It corrects her posture with an accent she’s never heard before, and offers her tea after every shot she gets right.

One game night Jonny makes a joke about her and Ashes and Persephone doesn’t hesitate when she pulls the nice new sidearm ashes helped her buy. She shoots Jonny through the throat and stands over him with the barrel at his head when he regenerates and looks up at her with wild delighted eyes. The Mechanisms applaud and cheer and toast her, and Persephone has never felt so proud of herself. When he pulls himself up Jonny grins wide and pours her an extra shot. She feels like she belongs. Then she catches Ashes looking at her with a frown on their face and she remembers that no, she doesn’t. She’s a fun past time, an entertainment. They’ll move on soon. Whenever they’ve caused the havoc they want they’ll up and go and Persephone won’t go with them. It’s not her ship to travel on. She’s not a Mechanism. She’s only married to one. Ashes still takes care of her. They teach her everything they know about business and gambling and people and tell her that they know she will make the right decisions in the future. Tells her that something big is coming but she can be ready.

A few months later it’s her cousin Heracles begging her partner for aid. Cousin, brother, whatever. He doesn’t notice her, thankfully. He would probably try and kill her, just to get revenge on their father. Again, he wants his freedom. Again, her spouse offers a different plan. Someone out there has a job, and Ashes is slowly funnelling people their way. She sips her drink and wonders. Finally it is Orpheus who comes to Ashes. Persphone loves Orpheus, loves his music and his voice and she’d been so happy to see him happy with his fiancee and not trapped in Dionysus club sleeping with rich women for lotus petals. It’s so sad to see him like this: chewed up and spat out by the city. She knows what he asks for is not a good idea. To take someone out of the Acheron means they don’t come back right but the poor thing is so desperate she pleads with Ashes from across the bar. They send him away, to that Job they won’t talk about, and she smiles sweetly at him.

A few weeks later Persephone wakes in the morning and the whole crew are in her kitchen talking. When she comes out they look at her with a wild hunger mirrored in every eye and Persephone knows something has happened. Something is going to happen. Something big. “You’re leaving.” She says to Ashes and Ashes nods. “What are you leaving behind?” Ashes tells her. Persephone doesn’t faint, although she does have to find a seat. She looks into the drink the Toy Soldier slides to her and knows that this is how it was always going to end. A city like this will only ever cannibalise itself. It just needs a little help. She finishes her drink in one and goes to pack up. She only takes what she can carry, what she can fit into the little shuttle that Nastya has adapted specially for her. Ashes hands her a chip and when she scans it she realises that it has every credit that has ever passed through the club. She gives them a smile and flips it just the way they taught her.

The Mechanisms leave one by one. Soon she’s alone with ashes and she can’t stop the way she feels scared. Like a child again. Ashes puts their hands on her shoulders and from their waistcoat they pull out a lighter. “Burn the motherfuckers.” She nods and puts it in her pocket and then they leave and she’s alone in the apartment. They didn’t need to be so nice to her. Maybe they’ll come back some time, see how she’s climbed over the bodies they’ve left behind. She sits and waits and waits and waits and then the power goes out. It’s happened. Somewhere deep below, the Mechanisms have set fire to the Acheron. The city is burning from the inside. She grins. The screaming starts not soon afterwards, and she makes her way to the shuttle. She flies her way up through the city, retraces the steps she took so long ago. She bursts into the surface where she can already see riots forming. She finds her way up to her uncle’s penthouse and when she lands on the private shuttlepad she sees her family clustered around her uncle, terror on all of their faces, begging for information and reassurances. Everything is falling apart. How good that she’s learnt how to keep stable footing.

All of them turn to watch her shuttle land, the only shuttle still flying. She opens the door and steps out, walks with all the confidence of someone who learnt how to fly from immortals. They watch her with open mouths as she pushes open the doors and walks through the parting crowd. Zeus hasn’t seen her yet and is ignoring Hera’s tugging on his suit, shouting at Dionysus about something or other, panic on his face. Persephone feels a thrill in her stomach. Her uncle had always prided himself on being hard to kill, but hard isn’t impossible. He forgot that sometimes those closest to you are the most dangerous. Persephone pulls out her gun and walks towards destiny.

[halfusek]

You Left Me in a Heartbeat

I wrote a fic about my interpretation of how things were between Joey and Henry: from before founding the studio to the moment they split up and a bit more. Also it includes a certain theory I would like to discuss in a seperate post some other time. Hope you enjoy! Huge thanks to @pipesflowforeverandever for beta reading and helping me with getting this thing readable! <3 Warning: ...violence.

✪ ✪ ✪

There is nothing wrong with dreaming. Excitement filled his head and buzzing thoughts were running million miles per hour through that brain hidden under dark hair. Although none of that amount of thinking was focused on the real world. At least not yet. Which is why the owner of fancy looking (but actually really cheap, he was just a broke student with nothing but dreams and 60 cents in his pocket, well, at least for the rest of the month) black shoes didn't even notice his feet were constantly switching being attached to the ground between toes and heels. His sight seemed to be focused on a certain covered in lights sign which was hung way above the cogitating head, at the top of an entrance. He was standing close to the gate with the cinema's ticket booth in the middle, his pointy nose pointed at the sky, expression peaceful, shoulders relaxed, and body slightly bending back and forth.

Oh, no, surely nothing wrong with dreaming, especially dreaming big, but who is to say those smaller ones cannot be fulfilled as well? Even those silly ones.

The cinema was showing an animated production tonight. And he had just enough money to see it and only slightly starve for the next week!

He arrived way too early for the show, but he couldn't just sit at home! So he went out for a long walk, well dressed, which wasn't most comfortable, but God, did he feel good!

To be fair it wasn't just the show his mind was currently so occupied with. Oh, it surely is fun doing alone, but what an experience it must be with a company!

He heard his name being shout out from across the street. The man turned around on his heel and sent the best grin the mouth under the pencil moustache was able to make.

Especially good company!

Henry was with some woman.

Joey stood still.

When the pair finally approached him, he whistled under his nose and then bowed. Both of his arms moved right away, one behind his back, and the other one in front of him, reaching for her hand.

"What a pleasure meeting you, my lady,” she giggled and Henry couldn't help but roll his eyes, though his lips twitched, forming a smile, "Can I know your name?”

"Linda,” they exchanged an energetic handshake, "You must be Joey?”

Said man gasped and put his hands on his chest in disbelief.

"Wow! Well...” he pouted comically and put his finger on his chin, other hand resting on his hip, "It is a possibility.”

Linda snorted.

"You know,” she took Henry by his arm and turned her head to him, cascade of blond hair flowing with that movement, "When you said it's just some cartoon I had second thoughts about going... but it might be fun after all,” she bit her lip as she turned back to Joey.

"Oh?” Drew asked, his mind completely ignoring the compliment, "You don't like cartoons?”

"I mean... I never really tried watching any... who knows, maybe it's fun. I know a fella or two who seem to enjoy it," she showed her teeth in a beautiful smile.

Joey noticed with how much affection Henry looked at her face. His eyebrows frowned a tiny bit.

"Let's try making it a three then," Henry beamed and pulled his girlfriend after him to buy the tickets. He did it in such an adventurous way, she couldn't help but laugh.

Joey watched them from behind. He couldn't move his feet. This was stupid.

He was stupid.

He wanted to pay for them. Only the two of them. He didn't expect-

His body shaked for a second. Only now he noticed how cold it was outside. Or...

He took the first step.

They won't last.

He took another step.

They will break up soon and he will never see or hear of Linda ever again.

He came up to the gate and bought a single ticket, then followed his company for tonight.

He won't lose just like that.

After the seance, Linda’s love for toons started and was growing ever since. She couldn't draw a straight line, but was interested in her partner's passion.

He can't lose.

Few years from this night they are planning to get married.

✪

Music was so loud as if the world was ending and it was the last opportunity to dance ever. Wonderful combination of bodies moving to the wild rhythms, people shouting as long as they had air in their lungs, liters and liters of alcohol and pure happiness – truly the most humane form of insanity. Everyone was dressed in their most expensive clothes they should take care of and nobody cared as they waved their arms and legs, drowning in the ocean of sweat and panting breaths.

They owned the place tonight, newcomers could either join or stay being outsiders which ended for all of them in leaving. Judging by how, hm, unusual the party was, it effectively scared away those who could have something against some of its rules. One woman entered looking for someone to make love to, but went out scoffing as her moves resulted in nothing because she aimed at a wrong pal, currently making his own moves towards another pal. How weird!

Oh, those artists. Such deviants!

Joey was forcibly pulling Henry away from the table, despite all of the yet-to-come-animator's protests.

"Come ooooon!” tall man’s voice sounded lower and slowed down. Also very demanding at the moment, "Don't tell me you're not gonna dance at a celebration of YOUR OWN show!”

They finally both ended up in the middle of the chaos which was the said celebration. They were like two pales standing still in a storming sea. Now they either drown or move. Henry didn’t seem up for swimming.

He doesn't like dancing. Joey only knew he performed a few slow ones with Linda, but she wasn't there to get him out of his comfort zone this time.

Obviously Joey was obligated to step in.

"I-I don't know what to do, I feel weird everytime I do this, I-"

"Don't think about it, just do it!” they had to yell in each others ears to make anything out of their conversation.

"I can't. I can't!” light reflected in Henry’s glasses as he looked back at the table.

"It's like slow dancing! But faster!” Henry didn't need to turn again to his friend to see that big grin of his, but he did it anyway just to send him a mildly annoyed look.

"It's not!”

"It is! I'm gonna... fucking... show you!” Joey grabbed his hands and pulled, which took Henry by surprise.

"What the-"

"Think of waltz! But don't be strict! Use some instinct, for crying out loud you're the one with a girl!”

And so they took few first steps like in a classic waltz, which didn't go well with everyone else's tempo but Joey didn't care. Henry got more nervous.

"I told you I-"

"Shut up! Keep! Trying!”

Drew can be really exhausting with his motivational attitude and never-giving-up speeches, but Henry decided to listen to him. After all, he was usually right.

They took their steps faster. Then Joey started leading them into slightly different ones, and with time and occurrence those differences started increasing.

Henry found himself catching up and they both noticed that.

When they achieved a somewhat satisfying pace and didn't bump into others as much, Joey suddenly pulled Henry closer and whispered to his ear something the shorter man couldn't quite catch but it surely included the words "dancing demon" and he bursted out laughing.

Sillyvision pitched their idea.

Way later that night two figures struggled with walking down the street, both clinging to each other. They were trying hard to keep their balance yet still ended up moving between both sides of the road. Luckily for them it was quite a quiet neighborhood, no cars in the sight. There was only one cyclist who tried their best to avoid them with the accompanying sounds of the bike’s horn.

Their long walk was completed at a construction field. Not a recommended place for the drunk, but things were about to start happening here in a few days, only several materials have been gathered for building.

Joey wants to stand on his own but Henry didn’t let him – he knew that would end in the tall man laying face down on the dirt – so instead of making a majestic spin in the middle of the place with his hand pointed at the surroundings, he did an awkward turn-around, which almost knocked Henry off his own feet.

"Look. At. This!” words were pouring out of his mouth in a bulky mutter, "This will be ours. This IS ours.”

"Yeah,” Henry simply replied but then decided to elaborate a bit, "It’s… it feels amazing.”

"Yes! It does,” dark hair fluttered as the head it was on nodded. He kept doing that as he responded, "I think I’m gonna return today’s alcoholic be… be-ve… rages.”

"Ew. Let go of me then. And not on our future floor.”

"Imagine s-someone will be, like, sitting there, like, drawing, and then, I’ll like come to them from behind and be like-"

"Oh, Jesus.”

"Sir.”

"God.”

"You’re sitting on my barf.”

Henry didn’t let this low level joke make him giggle. He made an excessively serious face.

"You’ll be the worst employer.”

"I’ll be an amazing employer. So honest.”

"Please, don’t.”

"Yeah, no, I’ll lie on occasions.”

"I meant don’t puke on our legacy.”

"Oh.”

They took a sit on a stack of desks and breathed in silence for a while. Their shoulders were touching.

"I think I’m better now.”

"Good.”

"I’m so happy,” Drew’s voice broke as tears rolled down his cheeks.

"It sure doesn’t sound like it,” Henry made an awful joke attempt as his own tone hit a higher pitch and he felt a sudden urge to blink more.

Both men raised hands to wipe their eyes- only to be interrupted by their own bursting, bubbling laughter. Cartoonists put their arms around each other and they wobbled, they laughed, and they cried.

They were tired but it was the best kind of tired. The kind you feel after successfully achieving something, so you can rest a bit and let that accomplishment bring some joy into your life.

Henry rested his head on his best friend’s shoulder.

It was so warm. The night was cold and the alcohol wouldn’t help them keep a decent temperature for long, but they simply had each other.

At that moment, Joey could swear he was burning.

His hand found its place on Henry’s hip, long, thin fingers were trembling. He took in a deep, shaky breath.

Henry felt the chest he was almost laying on shiver and for a short moment there was a sensation grabbing his face by the hot hands of confusion. It lasted a few seconds until Joey stood up and took three steps forward. Henry, not expecting this, ended up falling on his elbow, so he was in a kind of semi-recumbent position, his mouth slightly opened. He watched Joey put his hands on his sides, and turn back to him. Shorter man almost expected some sort of negative expression, but the other surprised him with a smile which could only be described as a smile of a dreamer.

Henry forgot to remind him of being careful, because he knew his friend had something important to say. So he listened to the man of ideas.

"This,” he threw one hand in the air, "This will be great.”

His hand fell back on his hip.

"But it’s just the beginning. It will be greater.”

Henry raised his eyebrows and blinked.

"We will expand!” Joey suddenly released an excited shout and lifted both arms to the sky as if he wanted to grab all the stars.

At that moment Henry was almost certain he did. He got up and approached him.

"What do you mean?”

"We’re gonna make it big! Literally!” Joey let out a laughter before he explained, "The grounds were so cheap because most of them are located above a huuuge cave found many feets underground! Of course we won’t start building above that part, but later we could easily use it for building something…” he made a pause and put an emphasis on the next word, "under!”

"Oh, my,” Henry mumbled, genuinely surprised. This lack of knowledge didn’t bother him much. Not now, "That’s… that does sound great… although it will take a lot of hard work before we’ll be actually able to use something… something like that.”

“Yes. Hard,” he grinned widely, "and happy.”

Eyes behind the glasses rolled.

Joey noticed this is how Henry tries to mask his lack of confidence. He patted his friend’s shoulder.

Back then he used his observations for motivation instead of manipulation.

It’s funny how things change over time.

"We’ll make it,” corners of his mouth fell down a bit so the smile appeared to be more gentle, "You just have to believe.”

"Yeah, yeah,” Henry sighed and closed his eyes for a second, before looking up at his pal and reaching his hand to the one resting on his shoulder to grab it in a reacourging grasp, "Thanks, I will try my best. We will try our best. Right?”

Joey turned to look at the foundations of their workshop and released his hand from the touch. He repeated quietly but undoubtedly, "Right.”

Henry didn’t seem to notice weird reactions on his friend’s side and Joey was both relieved and disappointed by that.

He could have tried to make a move on Henry. Well, in fact, he has been trying. His crush already was in a few relationships before and he always waited them out and they always eventually passed.

(He had a bad feeling about this one.)

He didn’t want to interfere. He wanted Henry to be happy the way Henry wanted to be happy. It was the only fair way. But he didn’t see any dangers in his current one. Linda wasn’t… a threat.

(This time he didn’t have a girl just because of social pressures.)

He could try lying to himself, but in reality he was scared of rejection.

(Henry really loves her.)

What if that dream does not happen?

He closed his eyes for a moment. When they opened again, green irises shined with determination.

They will make it. Belief is all they had before and it’s all they need. It’s all he needs.

They will make their dreams come true.

It’s a funny thing.

How so much can fall apart so fast.

✪

He stretched his back and let out a silent groan. No, he needed to stand up, even for a few seconds. And so he did, all his limbs tried to go as far away from his torso as possible. Brain automatically got filled with air. That felt refreshing. He twisted and bent his body before sitting down again. Just as he was finished adjusting his chair, he heard steps coming from the closest room. He peeked his head to the corridor.

A tall figure approached a long table that Henry could only see a small fraction of from this position. The other person wore a black, long jacket, which shoulders were covered in snow, that also was slowly melting on the dark hair making it a bit wet. Joey put some bags in the middle of the table and came back where Henry's sight could reach him. He took off his gloves and threw them next to - how Henry suspected knowing his friend - some warm food he bought for both of them. Cold, currently slightly red hands, rubbed each other energetically and the man grinned.

"Want some coffee?”

"I want you to get your ass over here and help me," his smile was rather sour but shifted to a tired and calm one, "But sure. Just right after that – you stay there.”

"Right, right," Joey did a reassuring gesture and headed for the kettle. He wanted to get a proper break room someday, but Henry couldn't really see it right now. Irrelevant. For this room to have any use they would have to have proper breaks first. At that time everyone was working really hard.

Well they had to. But they wanted to.

Happily tired.

The animator sighed.

After a while his friend was in Henry's little corner with something to fill his stomach and give a little boost to his head. Henry muttered some thanks and tried not to consume everything at once.

It wasn’t the first time he forgot to eat during drawing. Always, even when he did this as a hobby, he since had that problem. This didn't strike anything alarming in regards to his job, though.

He hasn't become aware of his workaholism yet.

Even Linda wasn't concerned yet, they haven't seen each other since that whole thing started but they both tried their best to stay positive. Of course there will be challenges on the way, especially at the beginning. But they won't give up, no, sir.

Joey took a sit on the other chair present in the room, which he once brought in and never got out. It was its only use as no one really needed to come here except for them. Wally or Norman were coming every now and then, but those visits never really required sitting.

Joey let Henry eat in peace and before asking anything, he took a look on what the shorter man was working on. He crossed his legs and studied the frames.

"Aw, that's no fun. I can't even criticize you for anything. Those look perfect,” his tone was mostly playful but with bits of pure admiration. Henry fought the want to hide behind an exaggerated modesty by declining every compliment which dared to tickle his ego. He couldn't just take it though, so he responded with a teasing joke.

"I would introduce my foot to your crotch if you did after last Friday,” he found himself only half joking. He knew Joey well and he was aware of their problems with perfectionism, especially in his pal's case, but the first time it occurred to him as a bigger issue was the aforementioned Friday. Joey didn't accept that character model but he didn't have to reject all those frames Henry did with it...

Joey's lips slightly twitched.

"Sorry. I'll make up for it. No business trips for the whole week.” Joey put one hand on his chest and raised the other, at which his friend chuckled a bit. He meant it and that was enough for Henry. That's great when you have a friend as your boss. You know you can trust him.

"Well then, let's begin!” Henry beamed at him. They assigned what needed to be done by which one of them and set goals for today, each day and the whole week. Deadline was closing in but they still had loads of time. They could do this. Joey moved to the other room with such a strong aura, he wasn’t even taking normal steps, but made small leaps, which made Henry choke on his coffee.

At moments like this you could say they were getting high on believing.

✪

No.

The smiling devil was mocking him.

No.

He turned another paper sheet into a ball and threw to trash.

He let out a silent sigh when he put the pen back in action and his wrist sent a complaining sensation.

No, Henry, we can't go on like this.

She said.

Wrong again.

He tore the sheet apart.

No.

He couldn't work like this.

He had to.

He felt something hot and wet in his eyes.

No.

He needed to be better. He couldn't lose her.

He took the pen back in his fingers and it was at the moment his hand twitched and emitted hurtful spasms through his arm when the water broke through the barrier of his bottom eyelashes.

He grabbed his right hand with the left one. The pen fell on the wooden boards.

Defeated.

"No...”

"Henry...?”

He almost jumped in his seat. Glasses bent askew when he turned his head to the source of the voice.

Joey.

He started wiping of the tears. It wasn’t really effective since he didn't even bother to take the glasses off. He just didn't want his boss... his friend to see him like this.

Well. Too late for that now.

Joey leaned back on his desk. A few months have passed since they started it all and the second chair was moved out of here.

Surprisingly for both of them it didn't take much for Henry to start venting. He never realised how much he has been keeping to himself. How much has bothered him. How bad he felt.

How afraid he was of talking about it with anyone. And his best friend he used to talk with about everything... was a part of the problem.

Heavy thing clenching onto his heart disappeared as he felt relief after Joey's reaction.

Understanding.

He was almost afraid they wouldn't get along as they used to.

Many things weren't as they used to be.

"Linda will be so happy,” Henry sniffed for the last time and used the tissues to stop his face from looking like a mess, "And right now we need every bit of happiness we can get. We planned some big things but... I don't know, maybe they are too big for us...”

"Nonsense!”, Joey exclaimed before he bit his own tongue, "There is nothing on the way to your dreams, Henry. Nothing.”

"I start to feel as if this idea sounds nice only on paper," that's what the animator said, but Joey as an experienced leader and manager knew what his employer meant: convince me. Motivate me.

"Okay, listen to me, dear pal," he put his arm on Henry's shoulder and leaned in a bit so their heads were on the same level, "Of course the idea sounds easier on paper! All ya gotta do is write it! Now – action – is what requires more commitment. But what would you get from just that paper? Welp, nothing, nada, zero.”

"Alright, I get you, please-"

"Do you kind of want it or WANT IT WANT IT?!”

Henry let out a frustrated groan but muscles on his face betrayed him and he smiled and he hated it.

"I want it. I want her.”

"Then get the hell out and make your future wife happy.” he said it as an order but it was one Henry will one hundred percent willingly listen to.

This was a good moment. There has been a lot of stressful situations recently around the studio. Everyone knew what they wanted, everyone knew what to do to achieve what they wanted. It was just... hard. And they had to do their best to be happy.

Joey tried really hard to make it a happy workplace. He might have gotten a bit harsh sometimes but never let his guard of positivity down. Workers were fast to lose trust but slow to regain it. He was trying his damn best and hasn't realised he was pushing his best friend too hard.

He felt awful.

He had to do this, stuff needed to be done, but today? No, he couldn't.

Henry was crying. He had to let him go home, even if that meant he will spent time with his fiance instead of him. Or more like working for him.

But that would make him unhappy. Henry was unhappy for a longer time.

He sat back and lifted his chin up to look at the ceiling.

Most important person in his life was unhappy because of most important thing in his life.

Oh, dear.

Henry's spirit was definitely lifted up when Joey watched him exit the building. He felt an unpleasant feeling in his stomach when he noticed that – almost as if the workshop was some sort of prison. That just felt wrong. But he was glad for his friend. The animator needed rest anyway.

Anyway... what the hell was he doing? Drawing with a hurting hand? Did he really think Joey is some kind of monster that would make him-

No.

He realizes he clenched his fists. His fingers got released right away.

Well. Is he?

No. Calm down. Henry finds it hard to stand up for himself. He never complains! No wonder he just literally exploded from everything he kept inside! Joey never had any problems with giving him feedback or going on and on about what was going inside that idea-pumping head of his, but to be fair he didn't really have any serious issues himself.

(bullshit)

(liar)

The dark haired man shook his head.

They both felt the unpleasant breath of incoming deadline on their backs. Henry was probably too occupied with his mind today to, well, mind going home. But Joey was fully aware.

Oh, well! Who is supposed to make the impossible happen if not him?

He picked up the pen and then he picked up where Henry left off. He felt tired, but only physically (right?) which was something he surely could stand. Unfortunately he had to focus more on the business stuff but some time in the future he planned to hire an entire management department and join Henry in the art one. He could look for more animators first but...

His eyebrows frowned and he bit his bottom lip.

...he didn't want to. Later.

Why?

Oh, obviously because-

Because...

Bendy looked so off model, Joey just stared at the sketch in pure surprise.

Oh, right, he cheered himself up, after that time period some warm ups are necessary.

The amount of time he spent warming up to get the frame right was a bit disappointing, but he kept going.

He was so absorbed by the work, he didn't (want to think) hear the steps approaching him.

"Gee golly. Is that really you, sir?” the janitor's eyebrows instantly rose up as he reached the end of the hall.

Drew gave him an unfocused look and blinked a few times.

"What," he didn't even articulate the question.

"Um, uh, ya know, I'm just doin' the usual, haha,” Wally wasn't sure what to make out of his boss' tone, so his reply was kind of nervous, "Gotta clean up the place!”

The look on Franks face woke Joey up from that strange state of hyperfocusing.

"Oh!” without any reason to he stood up. Just a second after he realized, but didn't sit back, he approached the worker, stretching his back, "Can't you do this later, my boy?”

"It's already after hours, sir," the smile on Wally's face told Joey two things. First: get some rest, old man. Second: I better get overtime for this.

Oh, he heard that second one so often. Not today.

"Forget it. Go home, Wally.”

"Oh, no problemo, I can wait.”

"Wally.”

"Alright, alright," Franks reassured him to back out of his extra work plan by replying with the strongest accent he could pull off, which Joey couldn't help but find amusing. Such personality! Would make a great character trait.

"You can leave the mop here," as Joey continued Wally twisted his head to one side in curiosity. Kinda like a dog, "I will use it later.”

"Wow, mister Drew, you do Henry's job, now mine. When are ya goin’ to write a song?”

"Very funny, Franks.” Joey sent him a tired smile. "I mean – Wally. Quit the mister Drew, please.”

"You got it!” Joey half expected him to salute. Wally Franks might not be the sharpest tool in this shed, but he sure tries his best to be one and works both hard and happy. He would never regret hiring such a character. Good for the janitor, Joey never cared much about papers and qualifications. There were many things to hate this place for but also many things to appreciate. Maybe even love. Like this little comedy he knew he could expect from the boy always walking with his head in the clouds, "Good thing, I don't hafta go back to the closet! Phew! If I met Sammy down here, I wouldn't hear the end of it!”

"Keys?”

"Keys.”

Joey wasn't even slightly mad. That was just hilarious. Even though he was the one paying for a pair of new ones. Well, the studio was, but someone is responsible for it and is in its very name.

After Wally left, he kept working for a few more hours. He almost got the shot done when he felt a gentle touch on his shoulder.

He got up from the desk with a paper attached to his face. There were small spots of ink on his forehead and chin. He was really disoriented and looked at the person standing next to him with two cups of coffee with pure confusion.

Henry.

He was smiling but looked concerned.

"Damn me, I was afraid I will be too much behind so I got up earlier for work, but you..." he sounded genuinely touched, "Thanks.”

"You're welcome," Joey yawned and slowly got up, to which Henry responded by placing the cups on the desk and pushing him back to his place, "Wha-"

"You look like you're about to pass out,” despite his friend's tone, he could tell he wasn't really joking, "How long were you up?”

"Hell if I know," usually higher positioned shoulders now at a lower lever because of their owner's body being laid back in the chair shrugged, "What time is it?” he asked as he reached out for the cafeine.

"Eight.”

Joey took the cup to his hands and simply stared at the surface of what was inside of it. He smiled in an unsettling way.

"I have a meeting at half past nine.”

"Oh,” Henry gasped in that emotionless way of his but in the name of self-awareness added a more concerned: "Shit.”

"Yeah," a loud slorp could be heard.

"Is it important?”

"Yeah.”

"Are you gonna go there?”

"Yeah.”

"Do you want to?”

"Kinda.”

"Do you kind of want it, or-" Henry tried hard not to wheeze as Joey gave him an annoyed look, "want it, want it?”

There was a moment of silence.

"I don't.”

They both laughed hysterically.

Kinda.

✪

First year anniversary party managed to lift up everyone's moods a bit but not long after that event it faded away. They kept pushing but kept losing enthusiasm. It was even harder to stand that grin.

The one Bendy posters have.

The one Joey Drew has.

Said man entered the corridor to the left after coming through the entrance. He stood quietly and watched his only animator work.

He realized it's been some time since they had a normal conversation. He can't deny this feels wrong. He feels... awkward... out of place...

He hesitated to start speaking. It was Henry who sensed someone's presence and looked in his direction.

"Hi," he only slightly raised his eyebrows, "What do you want?”

"Oh? Is it forbidden to just come to see your pal now?” he tried hard to mask his stress and make the tone sound convincing. Henry's sad smile as a reply made him somewhat relieved.

"No. But I need to work on this if I want to get out of this place today," that used to be a joke.

Joey immediately run back to the previous room and returned with a chair.

"Move yo ass.”

"Come on, you don't have to-"

"It's been months since I used a pen for anything else than my signature or script writing. I. Want. To. Draw.” he really did, Henry was almost jealous of his friend's excitement towards drawing. It was only becoming less and less fun for the shorter man.

"Okay, then, here," he gave a folder to Joey and explained what needed to be done.

It was quite pleasant to have some company. Joey was working in the next room but they could shout things at each other. And they did.

Henry worked at a really fast paste. And very effectively on top of that. He didn't realise that himself but there has been quite some time since he heard an actual compliment about his work. He lacked motivation. Maybe that's why not long after Joey started, he went out of his hall and approached his friend's desk.

"Hey, I wanted to ask how you feel about those back-"

Joey has been scribbling circles.

Henry blinked.

This whole time.

"What the-"

"I can't get his stupid head. I'm so out of practice.”

"Are you serious?”

"I know I goof a lot, but not in the mood for it right now, Hen.”

"Ah," he was slightly taken aback by the nickname. It's been so long, "Maybe you want less Bendys and I'll give you some Borises instead? It's good to try different things.”

"Yeah, that does sound good”, Joey gave him a thankful smile.

Henry didn't dare to show him his backgrounds. He thought something but pushed it away.

No way it would demotivate Joey. Nothing was able to bring this man down. Right?

So they kept drawing.

Later, without anything to show this time, Henry came to him again to check how things were going.

Their little devil darling looked on model, just the way he should be.

When he glanced at the Boris Joey was sketching, he almost froze. He saw a mistake repeated on a few sketches already.

"You won't make me correct all the frames to give him a tail, will you?” he let out a nervous chuckle. Joey furrowed his brows as he studied what he made.

He gazed upon Henry who could see something shifting through his boss’/friend's face but couldn’t quite catch it.

"You're tired.”

"I'm tired.” Joey nodded slowly.

He muttered thanks for reminding him and went back to work. So did Henry. As the animator sat down on his own place, he wondered why did this little thing bother him so much.

Because? It's no big deal, right? Everyone makes mistakes.

After something around twenty minutes, Joey took careful steps while going to Henry's desk. He held some paper sheets and a pen. His face was covered by some undefined mask, so hard to guess what he felt at this moment.

Henry guesses he was... embarrassed? Afraid?

Why?

"Can you... show me how the details on Boris’ overalls look like?” his tone was so quiet, Henry got the impression it wasn’t even Joey speaking.

"Sure," he took out one of the concept arts he barely touched now since the designs of the characters were basically engraved on his memory. He smirked teasingly, "What kind of director doesn't know his own characters?”

That was supposed to be a joke.

Gritted teeth and pencil moustache pointed down told him someone didn't take it as one.

"You don't have to remind me about that," he hissed and pretty much threw all the stuff at the desk, "I'm done.”

"No, I didn't mean- Wait, what? What are you-"

"I'm done. I can't... do this anymore.”

"Um, hello? Are you listening to yourself?” Henry pulled out a nervous smile which was supposed to resemble his concern, "You just need-"

"Practice, yeah, no shit," Joey sighed heavily and crossed his arms, "But I don't have the goddamn time.”

Henry just blinked and stared at him. Joey finally realized what was coming out of his mouth.

"I... I'm sorry. I wanted to help you but-"

"No, it's fine. Don't worry ab-" Henry reached for his shoulder to lay a hand on it but Joey flinched back.

"I'm not worried. Of course it's fine. Now excuse me, I won't waste any more of our time-"

"Hey! No! It's... it's okay if it's not fine, we can talk about thi-"

"No need to. It's fine,” it was the first fake smile Henry remembered after finally quitting the studio.

"I don't believe that. Can you just... stop running away from talking about what's really bothering you?” he approached the tall man.

"I have no idea what you're talking about,” he turned away, planning to exit the room.

"It's okay to admit something is wrong!” Henry grabbed his arm.

Before he gets pushed with an unexpected force, he saw Joey in a completely new form. His friend's face was furious. Paper and pens fell from the desk on the ground. An ink well spilled out its content on a few pages by shattering on top of them. Henry hit the wooden structure with his back and the blue eyes watched the green ones in disbelief.

Joey's expression instantly changed. He looked at the other's face, not sure what to say. Seemed like he tried to state something but failed as his mouth opened and closed.

He exited the room in a hurry.

✪

Joey has been sitting in his office for quite a while now. Motionless. Staring at his desk. At an envelope laying on it to be precise.

He was away for a few days so he missed the biggest news going around the studio right now. On the way to this room he noticed some people gossiping and there was an unusual excited atmosphere.

Subconsciously, he knew what was inside of it. The thought just didn’t form inside of his head.

With a slightly shaking hand, he reached for the paper and cut it carefully with a letter opener.

He noticed the biggest word right away and lost his breath.

BEFORE THEY SAY

"I DO”

KINDLY JOIN US FOR THE

WEDDING

UNITING

LINDA & HENRY

After that there were written the date, the place and his own name but he paid no mind to those.

The invitation was put back down slowly, the fingers holding it twitching.

Tall, thin body was unusually still. Looked calm.

But wasn’t.

It’s over.

He stood up and a noise of something shattering could be heard. He felt a pain in his arm as he looked at it being stretched. He stared almost blindly at the wall and hardly noticed a big stain on it. Then his mind went back to focus. There was glass on the floor and on a chest of drawers which stood under the ink splatter. He remembered to breathe again, which he continued to do heavily, and then slowly approached the furniture to study what he’s done.

He appeared to just have thrown an inkwell.

Oh, what a mess.

Nothing like the one inside his head.

Joey pulled out the drawers. Various things ended up flying out of them. Documents, pens, stamps, keys, you name it. Falling wood made cracking sounds as it hit the ground.

He went around the room pulling his hair.

The man passed a wine rack which he pushed furiously. Alcohol spilled on the wood and the luxurious carpet covering it.

He stopped walking ending back again at the desk. With one swing of the long arm, he managed to push everything off it’s surface. There was something wet on his sleeve and he raised it up to his face with disgust, expecting to see ink.

But it was red.

And it hurt.

It must have been the letter opener.

He almost collapsed on his back, but the chair behind him broke the fall, so he ended up sliding down it. His legs were pointed at different directions, his body in general looked like an abandoned doll. The bleeding arm rose to the chest and was being hugged to it by the other one. It was now, when everything else went quiet, nothing was shattered or thrown, that he heard sounds which only a hurt animal could have made.

It slowly got through to him that he was sobbing uncontrollably.

His limbs slowly woke up from that weird apathetic state and along with head started coming together to one point – curled into a ball.

Hide.

Stop.

From what? Stop what?

What…?

He didn’t want to think.

He didn’t want anything.

Not anymore.

He…

He just can’t have it.

He can’t have him.

No matter what he does. Nothing really matters. He can’t succeed.

THIS ISN’T SUPPOSED TO BE LIKE THIS!

His whole body trembled.

This isn’t right, this isn’t fair, this can’t be like this, he has to… he… he just needs to…

He has always believed you can achieve anything if you try hard enough. If you believe. If you keep going. At some point that dream will come true.

He fell on his side and put a fist inside his mouth to silence his own scream.

LIES. LIES. LIES.

What was right is wrong. Nothing is the way it’s supposed to be.

He felt that… toxic… desire… to get what he wants.

But the problem was… he didn’t want something. He wanted someone.

Henry isn’t and can’t be your damn property, you stupid piece of garbage. How pathetic can you be?

Dreams are supposed to be your power…

He choked on his tears, but that didn’t stop him from laughing.

…but they can also be your downfall.

✪

This was not what he dreamt of. He run his hand through his brown hair with ending that movement on the neck to give it a small massage. It ached a bit, his back did as well. And his hand.

Henry sighed. He was so tired.

Why won’t Joey hire more animators? They should afford to do so, and even if it was risky, they would rather benefit from it in the future as there would be less dangers of not meeting the deadlines. He managed to do everything alone but at what cost…

A wrinkle appeared on his forehead.

Joey won’t even help him anymore. And his name is in the goddamn-

He released the breath he was holding.

Time passed and things only seemed to get worse.

He put his hands on the Bendy sketch he was working on. He grasped one of the fingers and studied it.

He designed the main character. Heck, two main characters.

He gently touched and twisted the golden ring.

Does he want to live in his shadow?

Does he live in it?

Should he quit? What would happen to them? What job would he look for?

He didn’t want to think about this.

They wanted to start a family. He couldn’t be absent in their children’s life.

He needed to think about this.

Blue eyes closed.

Should he quit…?

✪

There was an unpleasant silence in the office. Heavy atmosphere hanging in the air.

Old friends sat on opposing sides of Joey’s desk.

They couldn’t look each other in the eyes. No one wanted to start speaking.

Henry asked for talking about something. Something important. Privately.

Joey exhaled deeply and looked up at the other one’s face.

"What-"

"I quit.”

Dark haired man blinked. Corners of his mouth rose but the smile didn’t reach the green irises.

"Let’s take it slow from here, okay? Tell me what’s the problem.”

"What isn’t a problem, Joey?” Henry didn’t expect himself to raise his voice. At least not so early, "Short answer is: I’m not happy here.”

Drew folded his hands and put them on the countertop.

"Could you elaborate on that?” his voice didn’t show anything except for impatience.

The animator swallowed his saliva.

"I’m working alone and it’s just too much work for one person, it’s entirely consuming my life-"

"Well, it’s like this in this bus-"

"I’ve become a fucking workaholic, Joey.”

"I… I’m sorry to hear that…”

"Haven’t you noticed?”

"Noticed what? How am I supposed to know what’s going on inside your head? You never tell me anything, you just wait till it all bursts out in one moment, and look what it lead to now.”

"Oh, well I… thought you knew me a bit better and were aware of some changes. I’ve been lying to myself because I have an addiction. And everyone around me seemed to notice. Everyone but you.”

"I thought you liked drawing.”

"I love drawing.”

"What’s the matter then?”

"That I’m a goddamn wreck, maybe that’s what. I’m… sort of… miserable… because of it… If it wasn’t for Linda, I surely would drown the sorrows in alcohol. Almost added drinking to the list of my problems, but she-"

"Oh, thank God, Linda is here.”

Henry didn’t miss the sarcasm in Joey’s tone.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

"She’s convinced you to quit for her, hasn’t she?”

"What? No! Well, we did talk about it, but it’s not like… This is MY decision, I’m doing this for my own sake… Well ours too but…” he shook his head and continued more angrily, "Are you suggesting that she’s… she’s… I don’t know, sabotaging?”

Joey didn’t stop his shoulders from shrugging and Henry could feel his teeth grit.

"I’ll tell you what,” he stood up, "The only person sabotaging anything here is you…”

"Henry, please, sit down-"

"You manipulative asshole.”

His boss gave him a dead stare.

Silence came back for a plenty of seconds, even worse to handle than before.

"You took my designs. You always used pretty words and ideas to get around it but the truth is you stole it from me.”

Joey listened to the accusations without showing any emotions. His mouth only once twitched.

"I won’t let you steal anything else.”

As a confirmation of his words, he turned around and headed for the door. When he pressed the handle, a cold, empty tone reached his ears and sent a shiver down his spine.

"Don’t you dare leave.”

Henry ignored it and walked out of the room. He was aiming his steps at the exit.

He felt as if his head was burning.

This is all wrong. How did they end up like this. Why is it hap-

"WHY AREN’T YOU LISTENING TO ME?!”

Against his will, his body faced the man following him.

Green eyes emitted fury and Henry experienced an irrational fear.

Of course he was mad. This was a hard situation for both of them. But it had to be like this.

It shouldn’t have to.

"I’m leaving. You can’t change my mind.” he replied in apologetic tone, even though he knew he wasn’t the one owning the apologies.

"What the fuck did she put into your head?” Joey asked in a disappointed tone and raised his arms in confusion.

"Leave her out of this. She has nothing to do with-"

"Oh, yeah?! Well, everything was okay before she started putting her fucking nose in places it didn’t belong,” taller man approached the shorter one, who was backing out carefully.

"I just told you to not involve her,” Henry growled, "You don’t even realise you’re the problem, don’t you?”

"Ah, of course!” he shouted and hit his forehead with right hand, completely forgetting they were in the hall where anyone passing could witness this scene. Luckily for them no one was there to see it.

Or maybe unfortunately.

"I forgot that three is a crowd.”

"What…?”

Joey immediately stopped and went silent. He was standing right in front of Henry, who also was done moving. Both of them were panting.

Both angry like they’ve never been.

A realization hit Henry like a train. He opened his eyes wide.

He was wrong. Many years from that moment he understood what was actually… the case…

But for now…

"You’re fucking sick,” now he took a step forward, "Just how controlling can you get?”

"What is that now, huh? What else have I done?”, Joey muttered but his tone seemed to have lost some fury, the loss being replaced with… fear?

That came to Henry as nothing else but a conclusion. Guilty.

He grabbed his best friend by the collar.

"You want to pull me away from her,” he hissed and his voice wasn’t ever as dangerous as in that moment.

Joey didn’t reply but his expression revealed his bewilderment and that somehow made Henry’s blood boil with rage. He rapidly pushed him away, long legs almost tripping over each other.

"You’re fucked in the head.”

"Henry-"

"I can’t believe I let you waste so much of my time, my energy… my… my life…”

"Listen to me-"

"No,” he cut him off and pushed again along with letting out a furious cry: "What the hell were you thinking?!”

"It’s not like this!” Joey noticed Henry getting ready to push him once more and tried to somehow stop his hands.

"Then how, huh?!” he went straight past Joey’s weak arms and grabbed him again, "How is it?!”

"I was just… I-I…” now he was the one pushing, anger suddenly kicking in and increasing his strength, "I was doing what had to be done to achieve our dreams!”

"Our dreams?” then Joey was the one backing out, "Or just yours?”

"I… I thought those were the same,” voice coming out from under the pencil moustache cracked.

"Well… maybe they were…” the animator’s tone calms down a bit as they reached an intersection of corridors. Behind Joey’s back was a place under construction which was going to be a break room. It was kinda upsetting Henry won’t even get to experience it. Would be nice… but at his position he probably wouldn’t even have a chance, "But not anymore.”

He held Joey’s vest with only one hand. He was ready to let go but-

"THEY ARE! IT’S ALL BECAUSE OF THIS FUCKING SLUT!”

Something red covered Henry’s vision. He didn’t know what was happening until he heard a loud thud. He blinked.

There was a smell of blood. His hand hurt and was wet. Blood on his hand. But what was that-

Again. Thud.

His eyes followed the noise.

There was a small trace of red dots leading to the beginning of the stairs.

Thud.

His chest suddenly felt heavy.

If he had air in his lungs, he would scream his friend’s name.

But he didn’t.

There was only one sound.

Thud.

And then silence.

A few seconds have passed before Henry finally moved. To him it could have been as well years. His legs felt like they were made out of iron.

Joey never realized he fell down the stairs. He was unconscious before he even fully registered being punched in the face by the person he only ever cared about.

For some reason there was one thing he remembered from that accident. Very clearly.

A sign he saw while the world was upside down.

"WATCH YOUR STEP”

Henry’s eyes stung. Hot tears rolled down his cheek as he watched the body at the bottom of the stairs. He would have sworn to God, he didn’t see it breathing.

Someone was coming.

People.

They will know.

Everyone will know.

Henry whispered a voiceless "sorry”.

He left in a heartbeat.

✪

There’s not enough air. There’s not enough air. There’s not enough air. There’s not-

Henry.

There were flashes.

Joey woke up in cold sweat and wanted to sit but wasn’t able to and it hurt it hurt it hurt it hurt like hell.

There was light. Right above him.

And a face.

Henry?

It was a doctor.

The doctor told him many funny things.

Why was it funny?

Well, because it was a joke, of course! It just couldn’t be true! So it must have been a joke!

It! Was! So! Funny!

He was in a hospital. There were more people in the room, trying to calm him down.

They said he was having a hysteria attack.

How was that possible? It was not.

They’re joking!

They’re lying!

Isn’t joking just funny lying?

He didn’t feel his legs. He couldn’t use his arms properly.

They told him he had a spine injury. That he probably won’t be able to walk. Or at least not much, unless he’s really lucky. But they should focus on saving his arms.

They were so silly.

They said he won’t make it for too long. His body was so fragile right now, it was a matter of months until it shuts down completely.

So, so silly.

He asked for Henry.

Nobody told him anything except for that he had a concussion and shouldn’t have any visitors for a while.

Time passed. He barely noticed from all the drugs they gave him.

Then his head started to feel clearer.

He realized they weren’t lying.

He told them he didn’t remember what happened.

He was the one lying.

He was having visitors. Henry was not among them.

But there was the janitor.

The janitor…

Oh!

Franky!

Like a cute version of Frankenstein!

No, wait, it’s Wally!

Wally Franks. The janitor. A really important visitor.

Joey asked him for a favour.

✪

Wally looked around with confusion and scratched his head. He rang the bell again and held it for a longer while. Then he knocked and shouted out Henry’s name a few times.

Well, time to give up. He obviously wasn’t home. His car wasn’t even on the driveway.

Mister Drew just seemed… it just seemed really important to him. And he didn’t want to bring bad news to him, considering the situation his boss was in.

Speaking of the news, there was a stack of newspapers just laying on the pavement.

No one was there since a longer time.

The janitor didn’t need to count them to know the amount of days it took to deliver these was equal to the amount of days which passed since… the incident.

He even asked some people.

No one knew where Henry was. Same about Linda.

Something was telling Wally they were out of town.

Probably for good.

✪

He let out an unhealthy chuckle after he was done writing the letter.

Why does he keep doing it? No one even reads those. And never will.

Without knowing Henry’s current address, he just kept sending mail to his old one. No one lived in it anymore because it wasn’t for sale and it couldn’t be even considered a property belonging to the town, because they’ve got nothing on him.

That’s because Joey never made any statements about what happened. He faked a memory loss. Some people speculated about him remembering what happened, some tried talking to him about it, pointing out how his disappearance happened at the same time his accident did.

But he didn’t tell anyone.

Police would have to start looking for him. He could ruin his life.

And ruin what was left of his own life. But that would also take away his only achievement.

The studio. The characters they argued about amongst other things.

If he took out Henry’s trash, his old friend would probably return the favour.

He couldn’t move his legs at first but after some rehabilitation he managed to use crutches from time to time. On rare occasions he stood with a cane but didn’t really move with it.

His arms were really weak, but got stronger after he started using the wheelchair. Only the dominant left one was really usable though.

✪

The demon touches his glove with the uncovered right hand. His whole body is cold but this part seems almost comfortable.

✪

He sometimes was coming to the art department to watch the animators work. He has hired many after-

He never really paid attention to them though. The only desk he really looked at was the empty one outside the area they were working in.

Despite everything, he couldn’t bring himself to get rid of it.

✪

Old man pants heavily as he escapes inky black stains whirling all around him. He reaches a corridor without a proper floor, only wooden boards put together in hurry to make a provisional bridge.

He can hear the Ink Demon closing in.

Henry takes his steps carefully. Falling would probably cause him to break his spine in half.

He thinks of the vertebrae sticking out of the deformed Bendy’s back.

He notices a sign at the end of the hallway. It’s upside down.

"WATCH YOUR STEP”