#ignore the absurd amount of tags i felt silly

[microwave20001]

"slipping through my fingers all the time" but its henry and mercedes looking at their two beautiful boys

[keelywolfe]

FIC: The Rose and the Thorn: Chapter 5 (Mafia AU)

Summary:   So where was Blue while Rus was off getting kidnapped and how did he end up with Red, anyway?

Tags: Spicyhoney, Mafia AU, Flower Shop AU, Violence, First Meetings

Warnings: Some violence. A wee bit of unwanted touching and some innuendo.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

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It was barely afternoon and Blue was already tired. He’d spent the morning coaxing a variety of flowers in their garden into bloom, gently forcing them to quickly travel through their growth cycles until they were ready to be cut and added to a bouquet.

Normally, their garden had a rigid schedule to keep from pushing the plants too much; stimulated growth could only go so far, after all. But losing most of their stock was forcing Blue to abandon it. Using so much magic in such a short amount of time was exhausting and when Blue parked in their assigned spot, the elderly van wheezing to a stop, he took a moment to sit in the sagging driver’s seat, ignoring the spring pushing through the cheap vinyl to poke at his coccyx as he closed his sockets for just a moment.

There really wasn’t time for a rest. Papy was waiting on these flowers, likely working hard since this morning readying the baskets for Blue’s delivery. There were funerary floral arrangements to be made, birthday gifts, romantic gestures, and every one of them added desperately needed profits back into their coffers.

Rest would have to wait. Instead, Blue pawed through the glove box, past the yellowed owner’s manual and an odd collection of fast food napkins to find a granola bar in its depths. Tastelessly stale, the chocolate chips cast in a white haze and Blue ate it anyway, chewing without tasting. It would help revive his magic and he’d be able to paste on his sunniest smile for Papyrus when he got inside.

His little brother was working so terribly hard, so many long hours on his own. Blue’s soul was so tight with pride, it felt as if it were ready to explode and shower his Papy with it, even as he kept the underling guilt hidden away, tucked back where his brother wouldn’t have to deal with it.

This was his fault. Papy shouldn’t have to deal with the brunt of the stress. He’d abandoned his own faint hopes for college to help Blue with the business, worked hard without a fuss. He learned to make flower arrangements from bouquets to corsages, how to run the registers, how to smile and charm their customers into buying more than they intended. This was Blue’s dream, not his, but he’d thrown himself in entirely, and Blue didn’t want him to know about the bills rubberstamped in red ‘past due’ ink. He didn’t want Papy to worry about their dwindling savings.

The insurance money would help, quite a bit if the representative he spoke to yesterday was correct, and they only needed to last the few weeks until it came.

A little hard work hadn’t dusted him yet, Blue told himself as he got out of the van and retrieved the first heavy bucket of cut flowers; lilies, for the funeral arrangements. A few weeks more wasn’t going to do any harm.

When he got to the shop door, for a moment Blue didn’t understand why it wouldn’t push open. Then he realized the open sign was off, the door was locked tight. The shop was closed, on a Friday afternoon when all the lovesick swains got their paychecks and were ready to pick up flowers in hopes of a romantic weekend and they’d be purchasing their bouquets elsewhere because his shop was closed.

Later, Blue would be ashamed his first instinct was largely irritated; had his silly brother forgotten to leave the door open for customers, they did have some stock! But that was not for more than a startled second, long enough for him to see the broken mug scattered across the stoop.

He leaned down to pick up a shard of the plastic, absently noting the tremble in his hand. It had been his brother’s favorite travel mug, a silly thing he’d gotten it at the thrift shop, leftover from some Halloween or another. The skeletons that danced around it would dance no more, the piece Blue held had lost its legs, and he took very little comfort in the fact there was no dust on the broken pieces because there was a single splotch of redness, a near-perfect circle of dried marrow.

Someone had hurt his brother, Humans, perhaps the same ones from yesterday and how had he ever believed in his naiveté that Humans would welcome them to the surface with open arms.

“now thems some pretty flowers you got there.”

Startled, Blue turned towards that voice, ready to tell them with as much forced politeness as he could muster that they were currently closed, and would the police even come if he called them, would they even care, who else could he possibly—

Then he caught sight of who spoke, and his soul felt as if it froze right in his rib cage, icy fingers digging in and oh, his little brother was in far worse trouble than Blue could have ever guessed.

He’d never met the Fells, neither on the Surface or below it. The Underground was a big place and the madscrabble life they’d grown accustomed to in Ebott did not lend itself to making new acquaintances. Not that Blue frequented the sorts of places where one might meet the Fells. No, he’d never met them, but he knew them by reputation. Thugs, whispered along the gossip-line, loan sharks, racketeers, even murderers said the quietest rumors, though not for very long.

This one could only be the older brother, Red. He stood only a bit taller than Blue and nearly twice as broad, with little resemblance past the fact they were both skeleton Monsters. His teeth curved into a jagged, shark grin, unlike Blue’s blunted smile and his eye lights were the burning crimson of an ember. His dark expensive suit with its rich scarlet shirt boasted of handsewn silks, and the fingers holding his cigar were circled with gold rings whose stones were too garishly large to be anything but real. His other hand was tucked into his pocket, oddly threatening for its nonchalance. Flanking him were two large Dog monsters, white on white ties and shirts, and Blue was suddenly struck by the absurdity of it all.

His little flower shop along with his brother had somehow been transported into some ridiculous Godfather-esque alternate, only proved by Red exhaling a billowing cloud of smoke as he said, “but it looks t’me like you’ve got a lil’ trouble bloomin’. lose somethin’? or mebbe someone.”

Inappropriate laughter bubble up, choked away, and Blue heard himself say, “I suppose I did.”

Red nodded as if Blue had offered not a stream of wisdom, but an entire glistening fountain. He started pulling his hand out of his pocket and Blue tensed, angel-only knew what thoughts about guns or knives shooting through his mind. But that hand was empty and Red only plucked one of the lilies from the bucket, running a razor-tipped finger along the satiny petals.

“Are you here to help with that? My…my missing person?” Blue asked at last. Not that he wanted to, he didn’t, but his options were few, any choices dwindled away. There was no one else to ask and with every second that went by, the danger his brother was in could only be growing. This had something to do with yesterday, Blue was sure of it, and he couldn’t even imagine what sort of trouble his sweet, funny brother had gotten into to cause all this.

Rumor had it Red never broke his word, that he had a twisted way of keeping it, a monkey’s paw wish. But for his brother, Blue would have bargained with the devil incarnate.

He wondered if he was.

“could be,” Red said idly. He twirled the flower stem between his fingers. ��you got quite the green thumb, dontcha.”

“Yes?” Blue agreed, warily. He’d heard that before when they’d first come to the Surface, and his refusal to grow drugs had been a costly one, losing him possible allies. He wondered dismally what conundrum he was about to be balanced on for his brother’s safety.

“hm.” Red gave the lily a considering sniff, “might have to see if we can drive your posy sales a lil’ better, after we get past this oopsie daisy.”

Blue didn’t know what that meant but he was sure he wouldn’t like it.

“tell ya what,” Red gave him a conspiratorial wink and a finger gun, as if they were close pals and not a known criminal chatting with a simple florist, “me and the neighborhood watchdogs here, we’ll take care of it. you hang tight and we’ll get your bro back to you.”

Blue didn’t ask how they knew it was his brother. He didn’t ask a thing. He simply crossed his arms over his chest and said, “No, I don’t think so. I’m coming with you.”

That earned him a deep frown, “baby blue, i think mebbe you didn’t hear me so good.”

“I heard you perfectly well,” Blue told him and didn’t bother with any astonishment over what this…this person might know or not know about him. Nicknames and whatnot were not important. Papy was. “And I don’t care. I’m coming with you and I’m staying until I see my brother.”

A low growl came from one of the Dogs, silenced instantly when Red held out a hand. Those jagged teeth curved into an unpleasantly wide grin, “you think so, eh. and if i say no?”

It was not particularly difficult to work up some tears, they’d been hovering thickly beneath the surface the moment Blue found that broken coffee mug. He let them loose now, wailing as loudly as he could, “How can you leave me like this!” Fat droplets rolled down his cheeks, huge sobs gasped out, “and with a baby on the way?”

Red froze, his cigar drooping in his teeth as his grin fell away so abruptly Blue half-expected it to shatter on the stoop with the remains of Papy’s coffee mug. All around them the people on the sidewalk who’d been previously been looking discreetly away were abruptly watching with avid interest, aghast and greedily outraged as Blue wept loudly, one hand pressed against his apron to his belly over their nonexistent child. A few people were shuffling their feet as if considering playing the hero, weighing their odds against a cruel wealthy ex-boyfriend and his friends casting aside a tiny pregnant clerk.

“get in the fucking car,” Red muttered. He tossed the lily on the ground, trodding on it as he turned to do the same. Blue tried not to see the mangled flower as a metaphor and followed, hopping through the open door that one of the Dogs closed firmly behind him.

He settled into the enormous leather seat, buckling his seatbelt to at least make it more difficult if Red decided it might well be easier to simply shove him out of the car on the next block.

Not that Red seemed to be considering it. He was rummaging through a small bar installed in the side door, pouring a finger’s worth of what was probably very expensive whiskey into a crystal glass, knocking it back in a single gulp. He poured another then settled back in his seat with it, crimson eye lights targeting Blue.

“you got some balls, kid,” he grumbled. It almost sounded grudgingly admiring but there wasn’t time to worry about that.

“Can you promise me you’ll get my brother back to me? Safe and sound,” Blue hastened to add.

“sure, toots. we’ll get your bro back in mostly one piece,” Red said. He grinned again, all jaggedly sharp teeth as Blue’s gorge rose, purring out, “nah, he’ll be all safe and sound. got someone on it right now, and not one of the usual mutts, neither. he’ll get your bro. meantime, we got some things we can discuss, you and me.”

Blue lifted his chin defiantly. He’d known what he was getting into. If there was a price to be paid for saving his brother, Blue would offer his own soul on a silver platter. But there was no reason for Papy to know. “I’m sure we do, so long as it’s a private discussion between us.”

Those crimson eye lights gleamed and Blue could very nearly hear the invisible chains of fate closing around him. “good boy. now, let’s talk about you, baby blue. how’s business?”

-fin

Read Next Chapter

[avengerofyourheart]

Flour Girl {2} (Bucky x reader AU)

Characters: reader, Bucky (Jimmy), Clint, Wanda.

Summary: Discovering the cute guy you just flirted with is the heir of a rival bakery, you suddenly find yourself running into him all over the city. Can your small boutique bakery compete? And how do you deal with the guy who seems determined to make your life a living hell? Luckily you’re distracted by a secret admirer…But who is he? (Inspired by “You’ve Got Mail”, Enemies to Lovers)

Warnings: none! Mild swearing?

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: Aahh!!! I’m so grateful and elated that you all loved part one!! This baking fic is kind of my heart and soul and I’m so glad you’re loving it and love the idea of it. There’s so much more to come and a lot of snarky banter mixed with sweetness! I love you all. Please let me know your thoughts! I love to hear from you!! :) 

<<Part One   Part Two   Part Three>> 

Flour Girl Series Masterlist

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The drive back to your bakery was a blur after your interactions with Clint and Jimmy. How could a regular morning take such a sharp turn for the worst? Parking in your designated spot in front of your building, you walked through the store front and offered a smile to a few customers being helped by Wanda. Setting down your coat and bag on the chair in your tiny back office where you did paperwork, you then rolled your shoulders and neck to release tension that had gathered there.

Somehow you had finished your morning baking, done your deliveries, discovered that the competition was moving into the neighborhood, and flirted badly with a cute guy who happened to work for the rival bakery. It wasn’t even 9am.

A deep breath and a few more stretches later, you decided to shake off this morning and get your hands in some some dough. That’s when you were most comfortable and in control, when you were baking. Tying an apron around your waist and washing your hands, you punched down the growing yeast dough one more time before dumping it out onto the floured wooden surface.

It all became muscle memory then, rolling out the dough and spreading your special cinnamon filling over the whole surface. Sprinkling a few chopped pecans on top, you then rolled the dough into one long log and began to cut the dough evenly before placing each roll on a cookie sheet. Your cinnamon rolls were one of our top sellers, so you made them fresh almost every day. You also received special orders where customers would asked for a dozen at a time.

You were just cleaning off your table when Wanda hollered back that she needed a few different types of cookies. Reaching into the two-door freezer, you placed the cookie dough balls on sheet pans and slid them into the oven. It was more efficient to make a large amount of dough at a time and freeze it to be baked fresh when needed.

Later you brought the cookies up front and Wanda restocked the case filled with baked goods. You checked that the self-serve coffee pots were filled and creamers were still cold. Restocking a few of the sweeteners, you then took one last look around, satisfied that everything was in its place.

“Wanda, I’ll be in the office if you need me,” you told the long-haired brunette.

“You got it, boss,” Wanda smiled.

Wanda had been with you from the very beginning. It had only been a year since you had turned in your business proposal and were approved for a loan, allowing you to open the bakery. Renting retail space in New York City was ridiculously expensive, but you did have one saving grace. Your landlord was willing to lower the rent slightly because it was also the building you lived in, up one floor. You had agreed to serve as superintendent, since he lived outside the city. It was a lot to take on with your business and also getting random calls in the middle of the night about broken thermostats and clogged toilets, but somehow you made it work.

You had just taken a seat in your office with coffee and a muffin when your phone chirped. Fishing it out of your apron, you saw a text message and swiped to open it.

Hey dillweed, you messed up our order again. That’s the third time this month, dude. Get back here and fix it.

B.

Staring down at your phone, you blinked a few times and read the words once more. Well, clearly that message wasn’t meant for you. Normally, you’d just ignore it, but it seemed important, so drafted a message and hit send.

Excuse me? I think you have the wrong number. I am not a dude. And what kind of insult is dillweed anyway?

FG

Three dots appeared as the other person was typing and seconds later another message arrived.

Oh, I’m sorry. I must have typed the number in wrong. My mistake. Sorry to bother you. Also dillweed is a perfectly acceptable insult, thank you very much.

B.

The response made you laugh. You were about to delete the messages and forget all about the exchange when you changed your mind and started typing. After this morning, you could use a little harmless entertainment.

FG: You typed in the number? What’re you, 90? If you know someone well enough to insult them, wouldn’t they be saved in your contacts?

A few more seconds later, you saw their response.

B: Well, Ms. Judge-y Stranger, if you must know, I have a bad track record with cell phones and rarely have them for long so I memorize most numbers or keep them in a notebook. Happy?

Another snort before you responded.

FG: Ecstatic. You’re right, I don’t know you at all and have no right to judge. It’s impressive that you can memorize numbers. My generation has completely lost the ability.

B: How do you know we’re not the same generation?

Grinning, you shot back a quick reply.

FG: You never refuted my claims that you were 90.

B: Oh. Well, I’m not. I’m 24, for your information. And you?

You hesitated then, unsure about telling a stranger anything about yourself. This was just harmless fun. After thinking a moment, you sent out a vague reply.

FG: I’m somewhere around there.

B: What’s your name?

That was a hard stop right there. Nope.

FG: I think that’s enough chatting with a random stranger for today. I’ll keep my personal info to myself, thank you.

B: Well, I might know more about you than you might think. I know you are not a dude and from the area code, I know you’re a New Yorker.

Huh. Well, he wasn’t wrong. Before you could reply another message appeared.

B: I’ve already offered more info than you have, but I’m a giver. I am, in fact, a dude and also a New Yorker. See? Not that difficult.

Another laugh escaped your lips. You then noticed the clock and felt foolish to spend so much precious time on this silly conversation, entertaining as it was.

FG: Well, dude. I have to get back to work. Nice chatting with you.

B: Oh? What do you do? Is FG your initials? Fiona Gale? Franny George?

You couldn’t help yourself and sent a laughing emoji with tears.

FG: Nice try. Later, dude.

Back at work, you couldn’t help but think about that absurd text conversation. It was probably just a one-time thing, but it definitely turned your whole day around. Pulling out the ingredients to make tart dough, you couldn’t help but hum to yourself. Thank you, dude.  

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Part 3>> 

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Oooooh, intrigue!!! Who’s this mysterious texter??  Also, cinnamon rolls. *drools* I’d apologize about making you all hungry, but I’m kind of not sorry. :D Mondays and Thursdays might just be days we all give up on our diets. ha!! Would you have texted back? Do you think she’s smart to keep her information to herself? Never can be too careful!! I hope you’re excited for part 3 on Monday!! I’d love to hear what you think of this chapter!! I adore you all. Thank you for reading. 

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