#the poor little lady who owns the pub was so confused

[drowninginthoughts27]

Sirius and James would 1000% get the slightest bit tipsy and randomly start doing the Rasputin dance,,, it’s one of their many party tricks

[lady-hallowtide]

I’m going to tell you a story that I have never fully told to anyone before, but it is one of the only times I have ever felt proud of myself. Looking back it was incredibly risky, but I’m glad I did it.

When I was twenty I still lived on the old family farm. I was doing a degree by distance education and working full time. I had a little Australia Terrier since I was a child and she was getting on in years but she still followed me everywhere. Her name was Holly. It was near about Valentines Day, and I had recently ended a short lived relationship but it ended messy. Given the man in questions temperament when Holly went missing I immediately suspected him. When I got home and she wasn’t there to greet me I immediately knew something was wrong. I walked around the farm calling for her, a trail of cats curiously following in my wake. I checked the security cameras and saw Holly leave the front of the house and walking out of view of the camera. She looked like she was wandering and not being called so that was a relief at least. When they got home my family rang all the neighbours and one had received a visit by a woman travelling along the nearby busy highway who had found a dog on the side of the road. I have no idea how Holly got there. Holly didn’t have a collar, and my neighbour has never met my dog so she told this stranger she didn’t know who Holly’s family was. The stranger left her number, but when I rang it nobody answered.

I was distraught of course. This little dog had been my shadow for a decade. I printed missing flyers and stuck a poster on the gate of my families farm. I kept ringing the phone number and when nobody answered by nightfall I looked up the address and saw it was for a place a little over an hour away.

The next day I called in sick to work. I was determined to find my dog. There was a vet between my house and their’s so I stopped there hoping maybe the stranger had left Holly with them. No, but they were kind enough to put up one of my lost dog posters. Making the way to this mystery address I was pretty shaken, and when I showed up I probably looked an absolute fright because by this point I was crying nonstop. I drove down a long dirt driveway to this absolutely beautiful old manor, knocked on the closest door and frightened this poor young mother and her two baby toddlers in the kitchen. She was very sweet, and the first thing she asked was “are you lost honey?”. Poor lady was very patient when I blubbered how my dog had been picked up and the number the stranger gave was for this address. It wasn’t unfortunately, the stranger had wrote it wrong and had even mentioned to my neighbour she couldn’t remember her own landline. I asked if she knew anyone by the name of the stranger but the young mother didn’t know many people in the area. The young mother offered me tea, handed me some tissues and sent me off to the local hotel/pub.

Now I was a little less teary now, because I hadn’t wanted to scare the babies at the manor, but I was digging my nails into my hand as an old stress reaction so when I turned up at the pub I did get a few second looks. I’m still a little confused why it had so many people so early in the morning but this far out in the sticks you don’t ask questions of strange happenings. I explained to the old lady behind the bar I was looking for a woman who had picked up my dog, and if she knew anyone by that name. And my gods, she did. The bar lady said the farm was tricky to get to, and the owner mighty strange, but I was determined as hell despite her good natured worry.

So away I went. This was my last lead, and if this didn’t pan out I had no idea if I was ever going to see Holly again. This driveway was older, longer, and the bar lady was right because it was tricky to find and terrible to drive down. But when I got there guess who was there to greet me? Holly was dirty, and manic as all hell but it was damn obvious she was as glad to see me as I was her. The strange lady was kind of gobsmacked I found her actually. She was kind and even offered to let me use her landline to call home and let them know I was on my way back. Mobiles don’t work in the middle of literal nowhere. The strange lady confessed she thought Holly belonged to a little old lady, because Holly would look at you when you talked to her and was very attentive. Holly was covered in mud and sitting prim on my lap ruining my favourite doctor who shirt, and I couldn’t stop smiling.

I got home, and gave Holly a bath. The next day I got her a dog collar with my number on it with a little bell.

Holly was loved, kept safe and well fed until she was eighteen and she died of bladder cancer. She and my beloved cat Kovu accompanied me across an ocean, to an even remoter location at literally the edge of the world, until we moved to the city by the sea where we settled for good. They’re both deceased now and I miss them every day.

Ive never gone into specifics, and no one ever questioned why I was missing a whole day.

It was incredibly risky for a young female to drive into the heart of darkness. I was incredibly, incredibly lucky and am so, so thankful to the three women I met that day. It could have gone very badly. I could have never seen Holly again.

I am glad I did it.

[daydream-believin]

Never-Ending Roadtrip (Autumn in New York, pt 1)

Summary: (ch 1)  (ch 10) Reader joins Douxie in the quest for Nari’s safety. He’ll need company won’t he? - chapter 9) new york tourism and some relaxation for a stressed-out emo wizard

Warnings: Swearing, alcohol mention, implied nudity (just a bath)

Word Count: 3542

A/n: Go listen to ‘autumn in new york’ by ella fitzgerald and louis armstrong to set the mood for this chapter and the next lol. i do like lovecore i promise. also this was going to be it but ive split it up. enjoy

Douxie was very careful to take inventory. One head, two head, dragon head, his own head. All accounted for. Four heads, no more no less. Not even a pesky stowaway gnome. His family was together. Up in the air, on the ship, winding blowing through their hair. Douxie could see sky scrapers on the horizon.

The trolls had been cordial in their goodbyes, but made no effort in giving the impression that they wanted the wizard family to stay any longer than they had. In fact, it was discouraged if not outright. The trolls almost gave off an aura of relief when they faded from view of the settlement. But that was understandable. Douxie’s family had caused a bit of trouble during their stay.

Bagdwella was certain that Archie was a bad omen for her shop and would freak out whenever he tried to enter. Y/n had been a bit confused and tried to explain to her that black cats were in fact supposed to bring wealth, not financial ruin, but apparently Bagdwella had been thinking of an old trollish superstition about dragons instead. Y/n had no counter to that.

Nari had no real knowledge of how money worked, and was determined to make that Douxie’s problem. And the problem of all the trolls in the shops of the town. There was a bit of a problem with her “dining and dashing” in the pub, the one troll eatery in the still developing town. Poor thing had no idea food costs money. Someone had always been around to feed her. Douxie and Y/n almost couldn’t keep up with the demand of sweaty socks they had to produce in order to pay the annoyed barman. Turns out it was somewhat hard to make sweaty socks when you’re actually trying to. It was like their feet realized what was happening and couldn’t pass up an attempt to make their owner’s lives harder.

As much as dear Y/n prided herself on being tolerant, she and Dictatious were going round and round. It was easier to ignore the guy when she didn’t have to live in close quarters with him but that luxury was lost on this stay in Trollmarket. Y/n and Dic argued every time they were in close proximity. She couldn’t help it. The old troll had opinions, and those opinions were wrong. And don’t even get Y/n started on how sad and then angry he made Blinky feel with the whole dead, wait not dead just an evil traitor, wait now he’s okay somewhat, thing. And his personality was shit. Peace was never an option.

Needless to say the trolls were in fact happy to send off the wizards. Douxie was happy to no longer suddenly hear a clatter and then instantly get a headache knowing it was probably one of his problems. They had only been in Trollmarket a few days. Okay so a week, they had stayed there a week. It was only seven days. Eight actually. So to say, they hadn’t been there long enough to cause any real problems. And now they were headed to New York. New York New York.

Douxie was ready to get some quality romance in with his wife. Autumn in New York was perfect for that. The city streets glowed with life. A nice stroll down the sidewalks painted in golden light, arm in arm, carrying the warmth in their hearts and bodies with them, was just what they needed. There were lots of sights to see, and Y/n loved to see them. And it was heavily populated, which would make it safer. Safe was something greatly needed.

For some reason, ever since that one night in the forest, Doux had felt like watching his back. It was tiresome, always being on edge. Of course, he had been this whole trip. But recently it had been amplified. Douxie didn’t know if he was sensing the Order’s presence or if being wed had turned up his protective instincts up to an eleven, but it really would be fantastic to be in a safer environment. He was crossing his fingers New York was one.

Just outside of city limits, the boat was shrunken into a little toy and placed back inside of it’s bottle. The little bottle fit neatly in the backpack that Y/n was wearing. Everything fit neatly into the backpack that Y/n was wearing. It was charmed. Doux would rather it be in hers than his, just as a peace of mind. A quick getaway for her lest they ever be separated. He wasn’t too worried about himself. Nari clung to her side, so it would also be best to keep it with her in order to protect Nari. Yeah, that was totally the reason.

They hailed a cabbie and took it into the bustling city. Douxie had pulled a couple strings with his old buddies, and managed to get them an apartment to stay in. The owner wouldn’t be back for a few weeks, and was happy to have someone to house sit for her. Douxie was happy to have a roof over his family’s head he didn’t have to pay for. It was a win-win.

Y/n never stopped looking out the window the entire cab ride. Douxie thought her excitement was adorable. She had her arm stretched over Nari in the middle to be able to hold his hand. The veggie lady didn’t mind. She was also focused on the view out the windows, fascinated by the sheer number of cars and the heights of the tall buildings. Douxie could feel Y/n’s wedding ring as she squeezed his hand. It helped calm him.

This apartment was owned by a starlet. It was huge, for New York standards. It was really high up, which made Douxie a wee bit nervous. Eleventh floor. It was eccentrically decorated, with bright colors. There was a wall in the living space that was a floor-to-ceiling window, covered by pale pink curtains and strings of heart-shaped beads. The other walls had a wallpaper that was white with red rose motifs. The couch was bright cherry red, furry, and oddly shaped. The kitchen cabinets were painted hot pink, with frosted glass doors that bore a rose pattern. The refrigerator was also cherry red, with white and pink heart-shaped stickers stuck onto it. Everything was fucking red, white, or pink. It looked like Saint Valentine himself threw up. Douxie was afraid to see what the bedroom looked like.

Douxie checked the fridge. Yeah, it was empty, apart from the box of takeaway from who knows when and the three bottles of wine. To be expected, of a single young up-and-comer, one supposes. They would have to go get groceries. Archie was making biscuits on the fluffy surface of the couch. It was probably very soft, Douxie had yet to touch it himself. He was kind of afraid of it, to be honest. Nari seemed to also like it, and was spread out on the top, limbs hanging over the back of the couch. Y/n opened the curtains a bit and was staring out the window. Doux headed for the bedroom, to go see what they were working with.

The bedroom was not in any way tamer than the open living space, but at least it wasn’t as bad as Douxie was expecting with the ah, love theme this place had going. It could have been worse. It was fluffy, pink, and glittery, but at least it was rated PG. Apart from the heart-shaped bed, it looked like it could have been a dressing room. There was a vanity with lights ringing the mirror and one of those dressing screens in the corner with several feather boas hanging over it like some kind of cliché movie set. Douxie was setting his backpack down, as he sat on the side of the bed turned away from the door, when he heard someone go into the en suite. And then he heard various noises of,, happy surprise? Sounded like Y/n.

“DEWDROP! THERES A HEART-SHAPED TUB. A FUCKING HEART-SHAPED TUB. COME LOOK.”

Bleeding balroths. Douxie rolled his eyes as he stood up from the comfy feather mattress to go see what she was shouting at him about. The tiles that covered the bathroom were annoyingly pink. The air smelled like something he could only describe as pink. Sure enough, there was a heart-shaped tub like someone’s cheesy honeymoon suite, and his wife was already in it, despite it not having any water. She wore an all too familiar cheshire cat grin on her face. He had one word for this.

“No.”

“Whatever.” Y/n stuck her tongue out childishly. “You’ll change your mind tonight. You will join me in the incredibly fragrant heart-shaped bubble bath, Dewdrop. Mark my words.”

~ ~ ~ As a first stop on the itinerary, they decided on Central park. Some greenery for Nari. And for Y/n too. Trees were good for the soul and one should never spend too much time on concrete. Gave Archie something to scratch that was not the couch that they did not own. It was fine when he did it in Arcadia, their sofa was old and tattered anyways, but not here in the apartment they were housesitting.

Y/n claimed the walk through nature was necessary to restore the energy lost on the trip into the city. The walkways were paved, and Douxie had to really keep an eye on both Nari and Y/n, who should know better, from wandering off the path. Maybe he should get two baby leashes when they were to shop later. Occasionally they would pass by a café. Douxie was glad he was not working in one of those. This trip was a much-needed vacation, as stressful as it was.

A little ways in and they came across a pond, with a cute little bridge that the walkway went under. Douxie rubbed his hand over the stones as they walked through. It was worn, as many hands had also done so over the decades. This bridge, as old as the park itself, was still younger than him. And it had met so many more people than he could even fathom. Doux himself had met so many people over the years. He had been touched by many too, like this little bridge. And just like the people who touched this bridge, none of them quite knew the impact they would be leaving. What they were wearing down. He heard a happy squeal as Y/n and Nari made a sudden sprint ahead of him. Apparently, there were ducks in this pond.

The Met was just a few minutes’ walk from where they exited the park. Douxie was happy with the idea of a quiet art museum trip, that sounded peaceful and relaxing. He needed all the peaceful and relaxing he could get right now. Y/n was actually really excited about this one despite it being not that exciting of an activity. She was trying to psych up Nari. “It’ll be fun, we can pretend we’re a gang of art thieves and we’re doing recon for a heist.” The veggie lady had no idea what any of those words meant.

There were lots of paintings in the Met gallery. It contained multitudes. One painting, they passed as they walked down the corridors, Y/n stopped, transfixed, stared at the painting for a few minutes, and then carried on like nothing happened. She didn’t look particularly sad, or happy, just confused, like she was processing something. Douxie made a mental note to ask her about it later.

Next stop was a walk down Fifth Avenue. It’s not like they could afford to shop, but it was a must-do in NYC so they must-did. They walked holding hands with Nari in the middle like their child. She liked looking in all the window displays. Every so often she would stop to stare and they would tug her along. The trees lining the sidewalks presented their autumn colors. The oranges and golds gave the streets a cheery vibe.

They passed a few food trucks. The trucks were filling the air with various delicious aromas. Douxie’s stomach growled loudly. Y/n giggled and suggested they pick a truck for lunch. Douxie had his eye on a fish and chips truck. It didn’t make ‘em quite like you could get in London but it was trying. A for effort. Y/n thought it was fantastic. Douxie was just spoiled.

They made their way over to the Rockefeller Center, just around the corner. A short walk and Y/n had spotted a coffee shop. So now they were going to a coffee shop. Douxie couldn’t help it, she looked at him with such big eyes. What was he supposed to do, say no?

The coffee shop was warm, and much appreciated relief from the autumn chill that had taken over. And a nice warm drink was sorely needed. Y/n found a nice couch in the back of the shop. Douxie sunk in, deeper than he expected to be able to sink in, but it was an old couch sunk into by many people. It was cozy. The love of thousands made it the sofa the way that it was. Love had made it squishy, love had made it comfy. Speaking of love and squishy and comfy, Doux pulled his dear wife Y/n to his side in an embrace. Low-key cuddling on the coffee shop couch was the best part of Douxie’s day. Nice, relaxing, he needed this. He pressed a kiss to the top of Y/n’s hair.

The Top of the Rock is an observatory deck in Rockefeller Center. Very high up in the air, one can see a great view of the city skyline and get a peek at that famous empire state building. Archie didn’t really care about it, he could get aerial sights any time he wanted, so he took this time to take a nap. Y/n leaned close to the glass, amazed and getting slightly wooed by the city. Douxie slung his arm around her, and, under the guise of affection, pulled her a few steps back. She really was hell-bent on stopping his fragile heart. And then Nari just straight up put her hands, paws, on the glass and put her body weight on the window. Nope. Douxie made sure to ask her to step away from the glass nicely, lest he frighten her, but still tried to convey that what she was doing was something he saw as dangerous and it worried him. Doux was very happy when they were back on the ground.

Douxie liked people watching. So did Y/n. It was one of the things the used to do on weekends in Arcadia, strangely enough. It wasn’t weird. All those people, they all had lives of their own. They all had stories they were living, and it was interesting to glimpse just a small insignificant piece of it. Or sometimes even significant. It was always hard to tell as an outsider, whether or not an ordinary moment was really the turning point of someone’s life. NYC’s famous Times Square was perfect for people watching.

There was something odd about it. The square itself felt wrong. A hundred neon advertisements all at one time. Not an inch of surface didn’t bare the name of a brand. There was something profoundly sad about it. One might even go as far as say disgusting. And there were many, many signs and people. Douxie tried not to attempt to take it all in at once, lest he risk sensory overload. The sun had already set, the brightly lit signs were brighter than ever. There were so many people around them. There were some buskers, some even playing at the same time, so the music clashed. Perhaps there was too much life here. It was loud, and Doux liked loud, but he liked harmonious loud, like music and excitement, not the chaotic loud that surrounded him. He made sure he could see Nari, that she was close to them. Douxie squeezed Y/n’s hand. He thought maybe he should just pay attention to her, tune out everything else. The lights made a brilliant halo around her gorgeous face as she turned to him. The beautiful goddess he called his wife’s eyes searched his, and she noticed he was not so comfy.

“C’mon, let’s go get some dinner.”

They walked away from the square for a few minutes, putting some distance between them and it’s light, before coming across a pizza place for dinner. It was good. The classic, New York slice. And it was pizza. Y/n would admit, it wasn’t special. She actually liked the pizza from the local pizza place in Arcadia Oaks way better. Douxie and Archie agreed with her. But don’t tell any New Yorker’s that. The main thing is that they got a nice dinner, and it helped Douxie calm down. There were only a few other people in the restaurant. The booth they were in was off to the side, away from everything. Y/n stroked Douxie’s palm with her thumb. Archie sat in his lap and purred. He appreciated them.

They’d had a long day. It was best to get home. Once opening up the cherry red door the valentine’s day décor assaulted their eyes once again. This would be okay for the time being but Douxie had no idea how someone could dwell here full time. As he plopped down on the furry couch, he noticed for the first time the numerous little cherub figurines that littered every available surface. It might be interesting to meet this starlet one day. She seemed to have a cupid schtick going. She probably looked the part too.

As soon as they crossed the threshold, Y/n had made a sneaky beeline for the bathroom and that honeymoon suite style tub. Douxie rolled his eyes fondly and scoffed from his place on the sofa when he heard the water turn on. Of course. He supposed he could use some extra relaxing. But she’d feel like she won. Y/n was gonna make a big deal out of this, he could feel it.

Miss starlet had an unhealthy amount of soap bottles filling the storage space in the bathroom. A dragon hoard of fancy scented soaps. As fun as pouring some various vividly colored, strong and flowery goops into the tub and pretending it was a potion would be, and it would be, Y/n opted to find some more calming aromas for poor Doux. Lavender, lemongrass, and jasmine, were what she was on the hunt for. She managed to find both lavender and jasmine soaps, and a lavender candle. No lemongrass. But Y/n wouldn’t have held her breath on that one. It wasn’t exactly glamorous or glittery.

With the water hot, bubbles high, candles lit, Y/n had crafted a very romantic and relaxing evening. She stood back to admire her work for a moment before going to go get Douxie. He was laying across the couch, using his crossed arms as a pillow, with Archie snoozing on his chest, when she found him.

“Sorry Arch. Find a different pillow for the night?” The dragon-cat understood. That didn’t stop him from throwing a look at the two as he settled back down into the couch’s fluff.

Ignoring Archie, Y/n took Douxie by the hand as she led him back into the room she had set up. The air smelled very strongly of lavender. The pink of the tiles was muted in the dim light, which Douxie was thankful for. Then he noticed the giant fucking mountain of bubbles Y/n had turned the bath into. He supposed she wanted him to get in that. Somehow. They’d have to be careful not to accidentally choke on any bubbles.

Douxie let out a little groan as he slid into the bath. The hot water felt great on his tense muscles, he had to admit. He was feeling better, and more relaxed. He certainly wasn’t anywhere near as stressed as he was in time square anymore, but the tension of this strange combination vacation/flee-for-their-lives-trip was taking its toll on the master wizard. He wouldn’t put it past his hair to start greying soon. A wizard was only ever as old as they felt, after all. And boy, did Douxie’s bones feel old. He laid his head back and closed his eyes. No worries right now. He was safe, Nari was safe, Archie was safe, Y/n was safe. Y/n was right beside him, so extra safe too.

“So, how’s it going.” Y/n laughed at Douxie getting a little lost in the hot water sauce.

“Nuclear.” Douxie opened his eyes to take in his wife’s pretty face he just knew was smiling, he could hear it in her voice. Doux pulled Y/n into his embrace and against his chest. She rested her head on his shoulder. “Thanks. I- I guess I sort of maybe needed this.”

Y/n snickered. “Of course you did. Remember, I’ll always be here to take care of you.” She brought his hand up and kissed his knuckles. “Always, Mr. Casperan.”

“And that goes the same for you, I’ll always take care of you, Mrs. Casperan.”

[fluffykitty1999-blog]

Dog of the Military- Chapter 25

Chapter 25- Edward Elric, the BAMF

This chapter proves Edward Elric is a squishy puppy at times, and that it doesn’t matter the size of the dog in the fight, but the amount of fight in the dog.

It was either very, very late at night, or very, very early in the morning. Roy wasn't exactly sure which.

None of his team had shown up at the hospital yet. That both worried and intrigued him. normally he'd at least have called him by now.

But right now his priority was Edward- his reckless major.

Ed had been relocated to a hospital room at some point- and Roy, exhausted as he was, had trudged alongside and waited as the boy was settled into his gurney, still comfortably sleeping.

Roy alternated from leaning back and dozing in his hard-backed chair beside the boy's bed and watching the kid sleep.

Every now and then Ed would snuffle or shift a little in his sleep, and Roy found himself holding his breath, watching the moonlight dance across the boy's peaceful expression and the medicine drip, drip, dripping of medicine into the IV line tucked into the boy's pale hand that rested dazedly on the sheets.

Every now and then Roy would reach over, blinking tiredly and brushing the boy's blond bands from his face, enjoying the fact that Ed was still there and in front of him, real as could be, and almost as unharmed as he could be, given the circumstances.

"Mr. Elric?"

Roy looked up. Framed in the light from the hospital hallway, a young nurse with auburn hair that made her look ethereal when she was framed in the light like that.

"Yeah?" he was too tired to bother with the formalities right now, and too entrenched in his duty as Ed's "father" to consider flirting with him.

"Is Edward still resting comfortably?"

"Huh... um, yeah."

"That's great. I have a few more forms that need to be signed- Edward's doing fine but his platelet count is a little low, the doctors wanted to give him a transfusion before they discharge him in the morning. We just need a few more signatures on the documents. And perhaps a cup of coffee? I know we have some in the staff room."

Roy must've looked more haggard than he thought.

"That... sounds good." he admitted sluggishly, getting to his feet.

He cast one last glance behind him at Ed, making sure the boy was sleeping peacefully, before he was following the nurse into the staff room.

Two cups of surprisingly well brewed coffee later, he'd read through and finished off the last of the paperwork surrounding Ed's care. The nurse who'd escorted him there had drifted off- that wasn't surprising, though, considering there were relatively few staff on the night shift. They were probably needed.

He was ambling back towards Ed's hospital room when a muffled cry caught his attention.

"Sharon! Sharon!"

He couldn't help himself. He paused outside the closed hospital room, palming the door open to the hospital room to see two nurses- the one from earlier, and a brunette he didn;t recognizze, standing before the impossibly small bathroom each hospital room was equipped with.

"Mr. Waters, please calm down- you'll wake the other patients!" the dark haired nurse tried to soothe.

Looking past them, Roy could see Mr. Waters- a rather large man, in his late forties, probably, at least two hundred and fifty pounds- not a fat fellow, just built like a bull- with broad shoulders and well-muscled arms, as well as a thick bandage wrapped around his head.

"Sharon! I can't get up!" the man cried out again, paying the nurses no heed.

"Leah, help me with him." both nurses moved to try and help the man- he seemed to have managed to stand himself up and buckle his pants, only to lose his balance and end up flat on his back, wedged in the impossibly small space between the toilet and the wall. He was stuck so that he had no room to get his hands or legs under him and right himself.

"Where's Sharon!? I can't have other women in the house, you're not my wife!" the man only yelled louder.

The nurses stopped trying to lift the man, winded and frustrated. "He's too heavy for us. We'll have to see if Dr. Linder is in the next ward..."

"Sharon! I don't know these women Sharon, you're my one and only!" the man was still looking agitated and confused at his predicament.

It was then Roy decided to make his presence known. "Need a hand?"

"Mr. Elric." the auburn haired nurse looked relieved, and Roy stepped forward cautiously, crouching down to see where the man was situated.

"Hey there buddy. You seem to have gotten yourself in quite a predicament here."

"I sure have. I don't know who these strange ladies are, but Sharon will have my head if she finds them in our house. I'm a one woman kinda guy, you know..."

"I'm sure you are, Mr. Waters." Roy reassured him, looking to the nurse, who nodded her permission.

Roy stepped closer. "Would you mind if I gave you a hand and helped you get back to bed?"

"I can stand on my own! They dropped a brick on my head, my legs work just fine!" the man protested, reminding Roy of Ed for a moment.

Roy smiled. "I'm sure you can. It's not your legs that are the problem- it's the position that you're stuck in. You can't get your feet under you. If you were to let me pick you up, you'd be able to get your legs under you and stand."

"I bet you're right." Mr. Waters conceded.

"Well that settles it then." Roy stepped forward, one knee on the ground, and settled his arm beneath the man's bent knees and the crook of his back. "On three. One, two, three."

Roy took a breath and heaved- the man wasn't as heavy as he looked, and Roy managed to get the man into the air- the man managed to rest his palms on the wall and Roy tilted, letting the man get his feet under him.

As soon as the man looked relatively steady, Roy slung the man's arm over his shoulder. "This isn't the first time I've done this, you know." he admitted as he walked the man towards his empty bed. "But this is the first time I haven't been to the pub first."

The man barked a laugh, shakily settling himself on the bed. "I'll have to buy you a few sometime." he conceded.

"No trouble at all." Roy waved over his shoulder, ducking out of the room. The dark haired nurse had already begun fussing over the man, tucking in his blankets, and Roy found himself striding next to the auburn-haired nurse back towards Ed's room.

"Thank you for your help. There's just two nurses on the night shift, we have a hard time with the heavy lifting. Mr. Waters is a kind man, jsut gets confused- he's a construction worker, got hit in the head with a falling brick, poor man. You're very helpful."

Roy shrugged, hands, in his pockets as he strode along. "No trouble. It's the least I could do, with you taking such good care of my Ed."

They both stopped walking for a moment.

"You really are something, Mr. Elric."

"Thanks. But the name's not Elric. It's Mustang. Roy Mustang."

"But Edward..." the woman looked up at him, blue eyes full of confusion.

"Is my subordinate. A prodigy, I'm his commanding office. He's... he's like my..."

"Son?" the nurse finished for him.

Roy closed his mouth but nodded solemnly, and the nurse beamed.

"And to think, I thought Ed just got his looks from his mother. I was going to ask you about your wife, but I didn't want to bring up painful memories."

Roy chuckled. "No, actually- the position of 'wife of Roy Mustang' is still, in fact, open. You never told me your name either, Nurse...?"

"Aubrey. Aubrey Chance." the nurse said bashfully.

Roy nearly drowned in her blue eyes for a moment. And her skirt- it was just above her knees, but it was white, so clean and pristine...

He was torn out of his thoughts by a clang in the distance.

They both jumped at the sudden noise, Aubrey looking behind them in alarm.

"Mr. Waters?" she looked back cautiously.

Roy was already striding forward. "No, it came from over here..." closer to Ed's room...

A blood curdling scream split the air, and Roy was running. "Ed!"

There was another metallic clang- metal on metal- Roy fumbled into the doorway, the nurse hot on his heels, only to turn on the light and find Ed flailing on the ground and blood on the floor.

LINEBREAK LINEBREAK LINEBREAK LINEBREAK LINEBREAK

He'd been sleeping. And Mustang had been with him, just like he'd promised. He hadn't left. And sometimes, if Ed made a funny face and scrunched up his nose- Roy would reach over and pet his hair. He didn't know why, but it made him feel warm inside when Roy did that. So sometimes he'd make a funny face even when he was mostly awake, just to steal those little touches of affection he was too prideful to ask for while he was fully conscious.

But mostly, he slept. He was warm under his blankets- the medicine made him feel nice and fuzzy, and sleep came easy to him, so he let it.

He woke up to someone hugging him. Only it wasn't a nice hug- whoever was holding him didn't smell like Roy. He'd expected the scent of bourbon and leather and old alchemy books that was Colonel Mustang.

But before he'd even opened his eyes, he knew the smell was wrong- the rough fabric he was held against, the smell of cheap alcohol, cigarettes, and the acetone tang of cheap aftershave. And the hold he was in wasn't right either- the hands were too rough and careless. Whenever he'd been carried before, he'd always been handled carefully. There hands were rough and careless, grabbing him tightly enough to leave bruises.

Still, all his addled mind could manage was a "Mmmm... whazzat?" as his sleepy brain turned back on.

"Molchi, Mal'chik." a harsh voice rasped sharply.

A large hand grabbed his wounded arm rather roughly and squeezed, and he cried out in pain and surprise.

"Ctop! Bud Yeschche!"

He was already struggling, because though he was still too asleep to understand what was going on, he knew it wasn't right.

He was thrown roughly over someone's shoulder like a sack of potatoes- he started to kick and flail, his automail leg managing to strike the man in a tender spot in the torso, earning a sharp exclamation from his handler.

Get away. Get away. He's trying to take you- fight!

He slammed his automail fist down on the back of the man and was roughly dropped- he nearly lost his footing, still drowsy disoriented, and he was able to see his assailant in the moonlight.

Dark, curly hair and silver eyes danced in the moonlight, and rough, black clothes- a uniform of some type- made Ed's stomach drop. There was a prickling in the back of his mind- the man grabbed for him...

Ed ducked to the side, running on pure instinct. He punched- his automail fist found the man's jaw, and the man staggered back a few steps, hissing a curse, before he looked up, silver eyes burning with rage.

He dove forward, tackling Ed- Ed fell back into the metal IV stand, and it fell over with a clang, the IV tearing from his arm with a sting.

They were wrestling on the ground- the man was much larger than Ed, but Ed grabbed the metal pole on the ground, bludgeoning the massive man on top of him and forcing him back enough so that he could get up.

They were both on their feet, facing off...

The man backhanded Ed with a meaty fist- Ed's head snapped to the side, his makeshift weapon of the IV pole slipping from his grasp and clanging into the metal of the hospital bed rails.

Ed stumbled back, and the man had him in a headlock- static crept into his head, and Ed panicked, flailing and trying to scream but not having the air to.

The man hissing a series of commands in a language Ed couldn't understand. Ed's basest instincts took over- he bit down on the meaty forearm holding him in a headlock, sinking his teeth into the flesh as far as he could. Warm blood flooded his mouth, the man was beating him on the head with his other hand, but Ed didn't release until his teeth hit the rock hard bone.

The man barked something at him, but he hadn't let go, only loosened his grip, and so Ed bit him again, sinking his teeth into the man's arm and feeling the headlock dissolve and the hand stop tearing at his hair. He finally let go, dropping to the floor in a boneless heap.

It was only as he sat on the ground, spitting out blood that wasn't his own, that he managed to grasp the situation fully and find his voice.

"Don't touch me!"

A hand had grabbed his hair again, but he lunged, flailing and kicking and screaming wildly. "Let me go let me go let me go! You bastard! Mustang- help me!"

All at once, the hold on him vanished. The sound of booted feet on the tile faded into nothing, and a moment later the room exploded into activity as a familiar blue clad figure and someone else rushed into his room, throwing on the lights.

"Edward!"

That voice. Ed knew that voice. "Roy!"

Roy had burst into the room - he wasn't sure what he'd find, but it most certainly hadn't been this.

Edward was sitting on the floor- his IV pole was discarded and dripping saline onto the floor from the discarded line. Ed's bed was as a crocked angle from where it'd been knocked aside. The sheets had been discarded in a ball on the floor, and were smeared with crimson. There was blood on the floor, smeared on the bed rails, and it was all around Ed's mouth...

Ed only had eyes for one thing, though. He threw himself at Roy, grabbing onto the man like a drowning cat in a rainstorm and clinging to him.

"Edward? What happened? Are you alright?"

Ed said nothing, just holding him and trembling.

"Ed? Sweetie? Did you have a nightmare? Oh Roy- I think he bit his tongue, his mouth is all blood..." Aubrey said sadly.

The other nurse had come running, and she and Aubrey were both taking in the scene in shock.

"Ed. What happened?"

"He was going to take me." Ed managed, pulling back and looking up at Roy. "He almost got me. I was asleep, but I realized it wasn't you- I had to fight."

The nurses looked at them both with pity.

"He was so angry. He was speaking a language I couldn't understand..."

Roy nodded, simply pulling Ed closer to him and holding him tightly as he took in the chaos of the room and the blood smeared on the tiles.

"Does he always have such vivid nightmares, Mr. Mustang? Maybe I should page the doctor for a stronger sedative..." Aubrey spoke up.

But as she spoke, a chill wind blew into the room from the open window, rustling the curtains and sheets on the floor and startling everyone, and Roy knew with a sinking feeling Ed really had almost been taken.

"No! I can't sleep- he almost got me!" Ed burst out.

Roy looked over at Aubrey and shook his head, nodding toward the window. "Someone was here. He wasn't dreaming."

The dark-haired nurse gasped, and Aubrey rushed over the shut the open window, looking surprised. "But Mr. Mustang, we're on the second floor? How is that possible?"

Roy ignored her. He was peeling Ed off of him now- Ed kept his hands firmly gripping Mustang's shoulders and turned, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the tiles.

"Did he hurt you anywhere?" Roy asked, charcoal eyes searching the boy up and down for injuries.

Ed shook his head.

"But all this blood..." the dark haired nurse looked around in shock.

"It's not mine." Ed said simply.

"Roy. He tore out his IV and he had a night terror, it looks like..." Aubrey spoke up, reaching towards them. Roy could see the blood on Ed's hand from where he'd torn out his IV, but he ignored the nurses again, looking back at Ed wand cupping the boy's chin in his hand, scrutinizing him.

"What happened to your mouth, Ed?"

"It looks like you bit your tongue pretty badly." the dark haired nurse piped up.

"I wasn't asking you." Roy said stiffly, not even glancing at her. He looked to Ed for an answer.

Ed spit again- he hated the metallic taste in his mouth. "He had me in a choke hold- I couldn't get out- so I bit him. And then I bit him again. He finally let me go and I started screaming."

Roy nodded, grabbing the discarded bedsheets from the floor and using them to wipe away the excess blood and saliva from Ed's mouth.

"You said he spoke a different language? Do you remember anything about it?"

"It was short and clippy. He sorta just barked stuff out at me. I've never heard it before, I didn't understand it..."

Roy's mind was already working a mile a minute. Ed wasn't a linguistics major, but he was a smart kid. Someone broke into his room on the second floor and tried to abduct him, speaking a harsh, choppy foreign language. Edward had nearly been taken by a Drachman operative.

"Isn't this a little bit of an extreme reaction to a night terror?" the dark haired nurse asked, looking at Ed tentatively as she steeped forward. "Let's get Edward back to bed..."

Roy bristled, and had to actively bite back the urge to explode at the nurses. They were nice, they'd given him coffee, and they really did mean well. But as far as Edward was concerned, he was in charge.

"Ed's not staying in this room tonight. A Drachman operative tried to abduct him- they may come back. We're going to need a new room..."

"Roy. Is this really necessary?" Aubrey spoke up. "I know this is a bit frightening, but Edward's still a child, he was just shot, it wouldn't be unheard of for him to have a night terror..."

"I'm a Lieutenant Colonel. Edward Elric may be a child, but he is a State Alchemist and he holds the rank of Major in the amestrian military. I'm much more inclined to believe my Major. Either we get a different room or I'm moving him to a more secure location tonight."

Roy rose to his full height- Ed didn't miss the opportunity to cling to the man, burying his face in his uniform. This was the smell of safety- of bourbon, leather, and old alchemy books. Ed inhaled it greedily.

"Okay. Alright, Roy, if you say so, we can do that. Ed needs to be int he hospital for now, we both know that's what's best for him." Aubrey said.

"I want him to stay here, but you have to understand- Ed's not just a child. He's a valuable asset to the military. I take his word seriously, and so should you. Don't write him off because of his age. He's seen worse than most adult soldiers."

Roy absently stroked the messy head of blond hair, looking down at the tired form and sighing.

"I know you're tired, Ed."

Ed mumbled something so muffled into Roy's coat that nobody could understand it. Roy sighed. "You have to come out from my coat if you want me to be able to understand you, Ed."

Ed pulled back to look up at him, childlike fear and exhaustion on his face. "I said that creep is going to come find me again!"

Roy's eyes darkened. "Let him come. I'm with you, Ed- I have my gloves. You need to rest."

Ed nodded, seeming to relax at Roy's statement, leaning more heavily on the man.

The dark haired nurse had already left, presumably to get a new hospital room ready for them, and Aubrey busied herself picking up the bent IV pole and straightening out the room, which had been fairly torn apart.

The only thing that was really left intact was Roy's uncomfortable plastic chair, and he sat, pulling Ed into his lap and letting the boy lean against him while they waited for the new room to be made ready.

Aubrey tried not to watch the two- Edward had an automail fistful of Roy's coat and seemed to be fighting the pull of sleep, and Roy didn't seem to mind the exhausted teenager in his lap at all- rather, he watched Aubrey like a hawk as she moved about the room, cleaning things up.

"I'm sorry if I seemed harsh and unreasonable, Aubrey. but Edward's safety is of the utmost importance."

"I understand, Mr. Mustang." Aubrey said simply, continuing to clean. "We all see him as a child- you're the only one who can see the soldier in him right now."

The remark stung slightly, but Roy took it without complaint. He had to play it safe- had to believe Ed- because his Edward was nearly always right.

"I need one more favor, Aubrey."

"Yes, Mr. Mustang?" Aubrey was looking thoroughly unamused at him.

"This hospital has a laboratory, I'm assuming. I want swabs taken of every blood smear in this room and sent there to be typed."

Aubrey sighed. "I'm trying to be patient here Mr. Mustang, but I really don't understand you."

"I'm a military man, Aubrey." Roy looked down at the child in his lap, brushing some of Ed's golden hair from his face. Aubrey softened slightly at the gesture. Here he was, feared Lieutenant Colonel, giving out unweildly orders while his subordinate slept in his lap.

"I run off of facts and information. Edward was fighting for his life in this room- you don't know Edward. But I do. I want every blood sample run and typed in your medical laboratory- because trust me, most of the blood in this hospital room isn't Edward's."

Obligatory ko-fi link https://ko-fi.com/fluffykitty12 

[wouldpollyapprove]

I’m Not Like Her

Summary: Y/n never thought she’d take a job as a barmaid, but she had to do what she had to do. Fleeing from a mob in Aberdeen, she was willing to do anything to live a peaceful life. And if that meant working for the Shelby’s then so be it. Life was normal until the mob decided to make an appearance in Birmingham, leading Tommy start to believe Y/n wasn’t exactly who she said she was.

Request: 17 from humor and 4 from misc? With tommy please 🥺❤️

Requested by @jenepleurepasbaby

Thomas Shelby x Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: Language, alcohol, violence, angst 

A/N: This is barely edited b/c I have no paitence for that, but I really like how this turned out. Oh, and the cocktail I mentioned is from the 1920s but I’m not sure if it was popular in the UK or not. Anyway, I hope you guys like it and sorry for the angst, I couldn’t help myself.

Part Two

Masterlist

The noise filled the air, keeping people focused on what they were doing. It was too loud for anyone to notice much more than what was in front of them due to the alcohol in their system. It was always like that in the Garrison on a Friday night. Men clocked out of work, grabbed a girl, and headed for the pub. That’s how it always went.

Y/n had no time to think about anything but cocktail recipes as she filled orders. The men of Small Heath ordered everything straight out of the bottle. Whether it be whiskey, gin, or rum, it was always served either plain or on the rocks with a splash of water. It all came down to how much they wanted to stumble when they walked out of the door. The woman that tagged along were the ones that wanted to drink something fancy. They wanted to be more than some dirt poor girl from the wrong side of town. A lady in a countryside manor or a duchess in a French Château is what they wanted to be.

And that is what Y/n tried her best to do, give them a piece of a reality that would never be theirs.

She was too busy filling orders to notice the men that had entered the bar. Their appearance was almost identical to that of the Peaky Blinders that frequented the streets. They all wore neatly pressed suits, bulky overcoats covering their suit. No suspicion would have been drawn if it weren’t for the hats that sat upon their heads. 

Handing over the fifth Sidecar she’d made in the last fifteen minutes, Y/n wiped her hands off on her apron. “Good Lord, is it ever gonna slow down?” 

Edith shook her head from beside her. “I fuckin’ wish. I’m sick of this Irish beer Arthur ordered. Everyones to pissed to realize it’s shit.”

Y/n chuckled, “That they are.” Her eyes wandered around the packed bar, landing in bursts on the drunks that stumbled around. Just as she was about to turn back to her work, her eyes landed on three well-dressed men at the door. All the blood drained from her face, turning it ash white. The tammies they wore picking them out of the crowd

“Are you alright?” Edith asked, turning from pouring another glass of whiskey on the rocks. 

Her coworker nodded, before glancing at the clock on the wall above them. “Yeah, yeah, I’m alright. I’m off in five-” Mary passed behind her, on time for her shift for once. “-and Mary’s here so I think I’m going to head home.”

She wasn’t given a second glance as she stripped her apron off and fetched her coat from the back room. Eyes followed her like a hawk until she reached the door. Y/n didn’t bother to look at the three men that stood in front of the door, she shoved past them, knowing they wouldn’t make a scene. 

With the door to the Shelby’s private room open, Tommy kept his eye trained on the men while he kept up with the conversation he was having with Michael. The grip on his glass tightened when Y/n appeared and shoved passed two of them. He would have thought that by the time Y/n got off the men would have ordered a drink and found a table, but the stood near the door like statues. Only moved, turning on their heels, when Y/n shoved them out of her way and followed a few feet behind her. 

It was odd. Everything about it was odd. The men that had entered the bar ten minutes before were odd. Tommy could have sworn he’d seen the men once before. London came to mind when he thought of them and how they’d dressed. But no one in London would be caught dead dressing like that. And the man found it odd how Y/n shoved passed them, something he knew she would never do.

Tommy and Y/n had an interesting relationship.

Tommy was in love with her, there was no way he could deny it. He could ignore it, though. After what happened with Grace two years before, he wasn’t sure he was ready to wear his heart on his sleeve. Every once and a while, a sharp pain would overtake his heart and make him remember why he was afraid to love so openly again. He tried though. He tried to do as much as he could for her with what he had. Tommy did his best to protect and behind closed doors, he showed her his heart.

But that could never be aired out in the open.

Thomas Shelby couldn’t have people seeing him weak over a woman. He couldn’t be seen once more being destroyed by the touched of a woman who’d betrayed him.

Y/n was much different than her lover. She was as loyal as they came and would never betray him, not when he owned her heart. Not one to love as few had ever shown her such a thing, she had no problem giving Tommy the love he deserved. She didn’t care about the blood on his hands or the damage caused by the war. She saw past his outward appearance and his tough exterior, loving who he was before and after damage had been done to his heart and soul.

Though he was concerned, there was business to be done and it couldn’t wait. No longer a believer, Tommy prayed to God that he wasn’t making a mistake for not following after her.

Stepping out onto the dirt-covered cobblestones, the cold air bit at her exposed skin as Y/n waited for the men to exit behind her. She turned when the door creaked open, more light pouring out onto the street.

The tallest of the three linked his arm with her’s, dragging her down the street, her protests drowned out by the sound of the other men lighting their cigars. Once he believed them to be far enough from prying eyes, in front of a factory that was closed for the night, he stopped and swung the girl in front of him. “Didn’t think I’d fin ya, did ya?”

“You fuckin’ bastard,” Y/n spat, pulling her arm out of his grasp. “What the fuck are you doing here, Roger?”

It had been ages since the two had last seen each other, parting onto a hill that overlooked Aberdeen, blood and tears on both their faces. They’d shared some good times, getting into all the trouble they could. They ran from the law in Edinburgh, jumping a train with a bottle of whiskey in their bag. Y/n stayed by his side when his father put him in charge of his family’s company and she watched him turn into a hungry monster, out for money and blood.

A laugh vibrated his chest, he leaned forward, moving a piece of curly hair out of her face. How he’d missed those curls of her’s. “I’ve come to ask for your help, love.”

Swatting his hand away from her face, she pushed him away, wishing to create distance between them. The men beside him, supposed to be his body guards, did nothing, believing she held no power. She rolled her eyes at their dismissals, Ed and Jim had never been very good at keeping their boss out of danger. “No fucking way will I ever help you.”

“Ya used to help with everything. There was nothin’ ya wouldn’t do fer me.”

“That was before you killed Charlie-” Y/n folded her arms across her chest, wrapping her coat around her tighter. “He was my friend, Roger.”

The man rolled his eyes. He never cared about what he had to do to keep his business running. “He was taking you from me.”

“Your brutish behavior was taking me away from you. Don’t confuse the two.” Y/n reached into her pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. She waltzed around the men as she dug around for a lighter, knowing the men in front of her weren’t gentlemen and would never offer over their lighters. 

Before she could get her cigarette lite, a crash from the alley across from them caught everyone’s attention. Roger, Ed, and Jim reached under their coats for their weapons. Y/n turned to see a couple of Peaky boys walk out of the alley. She’d seen them before, they normally helped in the betting shop and had accompanied their boss to London a time or two. “Roger, don’t shoot them,” she demanded, trying to step in his way. 

The Peaky Blinders drew their own weapons, ready to fire if they had to. 

Y/n rolled her eyes. Why were men the way they were? Instead of staying and watching blood spill, she turned her back to the group of men. “Don’t do anything too stupid, Roger. No one here will save you arse,” she warned him, walking into the darkness of Small Heath.

*~~*~~*

The two Peaky Blinders that escaped unscathed from their encounter with Roger Flint, which was a relief. One of the men knew exactly who Roger was as he came from Scotland. He also knew how rare it was for Roger to let someone live in a firefight. 

With ragged breaths, the two men rushed into the Garrison and wasted no time to find Tommy. Their boss was still where he was when Y/n had left, leaning in his chair, cigarette between his lips and glass of whiskey in his hand. 

The Shelby’s all turned when Ricky entered the private room panting like a dog. “What the fuck happened to you?” John asked, a little laugh ending his sentence. 

“W-we were out… out by the factory,” he started, clutching his side. “And Roger Flint was out there with some of his men.”

“Y/n was there with ‘em,” the man beside him added.

The mention of her name forced Tommy to his feet, his glass shattered to the floor. “Was she hurt?”

Ricky shook his head. “No, no-” He took a deep breath, trying to expand his lungs. “She seemed to know him. Personally.”

Was that worse than being caught with a copper? The mobster hadn’t the faintest clue, but he didn’t like the sound of it. “Where is she now?”

The two men exchanged glances, surprised that they hadn’t been chewed out for leaving her. “Don know. She left, I think she went home.”

Dragging his hand over his face, Tommy sat back down. How did Y/n know Roger Flint? That wasn’t a man anyone knew casually. A sigh escaped his lips as he took Arthur’s drink. The alcohol burned his throat as he emptied the glass. He thought Y/n was nothing but honest with him, but that was clearly a lie. 

So there Tommy sat, his family exchanging worried glances from around the room, while all his fears washed over him like a raging river.

*~~*~~*

Y/n slept like a baby, Roger easily faded from her memory as she slept. He was never much to remember. The man was nothing but an overgrown baby trying to make a name for himself as a mobster. It was pathetic. All that went through her mind as she dressed for work was the amount of glasses she’d have to clean off of tables and the shattered glass that would need to be swept off the floor. 

As she did every morning, Y/n stopped by the small cafe around the corner from her house. She was never one for cooking and her kitchen didn’t permit more than a sandwich to be made. It always seemed to bring her joy, stopping in to get a scone, and chatting with the owner. It was the start she needed for what she knew would be a long day.

Once she was feed, Y/n wasted no time walking to work. Dodging children, who ran through the street like monkeys, and women gossiping as they headed to the market, she finally arrived at the doors of the Garrison. Fetching the key out of her purse, she dropped it back in when she found the door unlocked.

The Shelbys had obviously arrived before her.

A smile tugged at her lips upon entering the pub, memories from the night before playing in her mind. Though the place was a mess, she was happy to be at work then to be helping Roger. Anything was better than being in the same room as him. Her smile faltered when she caught a glimpse of Tommy behind the bar. His muscles were tight and there was fire in his eyes. He looked up at her and all Y/n could see was boiling anger. 

She did her best to send him a smile as she tugged off her coat, placing it on the bar. “Good morning, love.”

His knuckles turned white against the bottle of whiskey he’d grabbed off the shelf. “Don’t bother, Y/n,” he growled. 

The smile dropped to the floor along with her eyes. Roger clearly hadn’t killed the Blinders, damn. It would have been much easier to pretend that her time with the Scottish mobster never happened then to ever have to explain it to the man she loved. “What’s wrong, Tommy?” she asked, deciding it would be easier to play dumb. 

It was a long shot, but there was a chance she could get the man to believe her word over that of his men.

Tommy shot her a dangerous look. A warning that stated he wouldn’t believe a thing she said. “Who were you with after work last night?”

“No one.”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not,” she snapped. 

There was a pause, making Y/n nervous, as Tommy opened the bottle of whiskey and poured it into the glass in front of him. The pub was silent while he sipped at it before he placed it back on the bar. “Let’s not play this game. I know a liar when I see one, Y/n, because I’m a liar.”

Y/n rolled her eyes at his words. “What do you want me to say? That I was with someone that wasn’t you?”

“Don’t play dumb, Y/n. Flint is the fucking enemy! And there you were waltzing’ around with him! How fuckin’ loyal!” he yelled and in a fit of rage grabbed his glass and threw it at the wall beside him. “I thought you were better than her, turns out you’re the same type of snake.”

His words burned against Y/n’s ear, causing her heart to shrivel up in pain. “Bite me,” she seethed. Before any more damage could be done, she reached for her coat and ran out the door., shouting, “I quiet,” on her way out.

How fucking stupid could she be, thinking she outrun away from Roger? He would always come back to haunt her. 

The door slammed behind her and once her feet hit cobblestone, she ran like a freight train, dropping her coat as she gained speed. She needed to create as much distance between her and Thomas Shelby as she could. God, she hoped to never see his face again.

Running along the streets of Small Heath, people shot her confused looks and moved out of her way as they saw nothing would stop her. Y/n ran, one foot in front of the other until her legs gave way and she tumbled to the ground. She pushed herself off the ground, sobs racked her body as she wandered into an alley, sliding down the wall of the brick building beside her.

“I’m not like her,” she muttered to herself between sobs. “I’m not like her.”

What Tommy didn’t know, was Roger was a no one to her. He had been nothing for a long time and she never planned on allowing him back in her life, not after all the pain he caused. But it was too late to explain that now. She had been labeled a traitor and there was no way to scrub that off.

The words tattooed across her forehead and the pain in her heart were nothing compared to the pain she felt for hurting Tommy as she did. He trusted her and, slowly, he was starting to recover from what Grace had done to him only for it to happen once more.

It killed her to think that she had done then one thing she swore to never do.

*~~*~~*

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[nerdyfangirl67]

Once Upon A Time (part 2) - Criminal Minds Reader Insert

PART 2

Pairing: Aaron x reader (previous), Will x reader (current)

Warnings: angst, rebound relationship

Word count: 2245

A/N: This part was a bit harder for me to write because I felt that I’m doing poor Will wrong in this chapter/story. I have decided that I will have one ending, the “angst” ending, that will be Will’s ending and one ending, the “fluff” ending, be Aaron’s as this is supposed to be a reader x Aaron story.

YOUR POV

Detective Will LaMontagne. He was easy to talk to and certainly attractive. You especially liked his southern accent. He made you laugh, but most importantly he helped to take your mind off of Aaron.

Aaron still avoided you and on the rare occasion he spoke directly to you, it wasn’t more than two or three sentences. You had tried to corner him alone in the conference room to talk but he just spit out some excuse and rushed out of the room. So, whenever you had a few minutes to yourself, you found yourself talking to Will. Maybe it was because he wasn’t ignoring you, as Aaron currently was, or because you could see that your moments with Will were getting to Aaron. Either way, you had gotten comfortable around Will in the time you had known him for the case.

The case dragged on, with the unsub killing two more victims before the team was able to identify and pinpoint his location. The takedown went smoothly and as a celebration Will had invited the whole team out to a traditional New Orleans pub for a drink.

You were sitting next to Reid, who was currently enthusiastically talking to two women about physics in TV shows, nursing your second beer when you felt a person approach you on the left. You shift your attention towards them, a thrill of happiness shooting through you when you see it’s Aaron.

“Aaron.” You whisper, figuring he won’t even hear you over the music and the crowd. You realize you were wrong though, when his head turns to you.

The bar lighting makes his eyes a warm, whiskey brown and all you want to do is spend the night getting lost in them. For the first time in days, his stoic, cold mask slips off, revealing the kind, gentle man you love.

You lift your hand, running it softly down his cheek and he leans slightly into your touch. You don’t move, for fear of breaking this delicate moment but the bartender returns, setting down the drinks Aaron ordered, effectively popping the bubble around the two of you.

Aaron pushes away from your hand and from you. All emotion washes away from his face before he says, “We can’t do this. Especially not here.” He is gone, almost as quickly as he had appeared, ripping the hole in your heart even bigger.

You push away from the bar, leaving your beer, and head outside. You are hoping some fresh air and quiet will help ease the hurt seizing your heart.

You are unsure of how long you sat outside, watching people walk past and listening to the jazz floating down the street, before a voice caught your attention.

“Why is a beautiful lady like yourself out here all alone?” Will’s accent makes his words deep and sultry.

You blush at his words but stay facing forward. He may not be a profiler but he has been able to read you like a book since the case started. He sits beside you at the small outdoor table in front of the pub.

The two of you sit in comfortable silence for a while before Will speaks in a low voice. “Whatever happened between you two doesn’t have to affect the two of us.”

You whip your head around towards him, eyes wide in a mix of shock and confusion. “I saw you two at the bar. And you were watching him a lot whenever we talked back at the precinct so I figured something was going on between the two of you.”

You nod slowly, either in agreement to his first words or an acknowledgement of his second ones, you aren’t entirely sure. 

“We can just have fun together Y/N. It doesn’t have to be anything serious. I like spending time with you and I’m guessing you enjoy it as well.” He has turned to look at you at this point so as you turn your attention to him, you give him another nod.

“How about we start with exchanging numbers then first, and we can go from there.” He suggests, earning a hum of agreement from you. He gives you a wide smile, which you return shyly as the two of you trade phones to put in each other’s numbers. 

That night, as you fell asleep to the sound of Reid’s snoring from the other bed, you think that this case may be the start of something new with someone new. 

-ONE YEAR LATER -

 A whole year had passed since that case in New Orleans, the one which had brought Will into your life. After that night at the pub, when the two of you had exchanged numbers, you had become fast friends. It was less than a month into your friendship when you had taken your first vacation days in two years to go visit him in New Orleans. And it was just the next weekend when he came to visit you in Virginia. After that weekend, you went from being friends to being something more.

The two of you never outright discussed this shift in the relationship. Rather, the two of you let the relationship progress on its own. After six months of visiting each other as often as possible, Will told you he loved you. And as much as you liked Will, you really, really did, you couldn’t find yourself to say it to him. You showed him how much you cared for him with little things like breakfast in bed, sweet notes on the fridge, and feel good email blasts when he’s working a tough case because you could never find it in you to say those three words.

It was natural with Will. You felt almost normal around him. Almost.

There was that lingering part of you that was solely devoted to Aaron, even after a year. It was so hard for you to give that part of yourself up. It may have been easier had Aaron treated you the way he did right after he broke things off. But a few months into your growing relationship with Will, you noticed a change in him. 

He no longer ignored you or treated you coldly. Rather, he lingered close to you after giving you an order. In slow moments during a case you would find him staring at you, his whiskey brown eyes soft and inviting. On days you were late to the office, you would find a cup of coffee sitting on your desk, in your favorite mug, made just the way you liked it. No one would tell you who did this, but the morning it had first happened, you had inquired about it and JJ had looked back at Hotch’s office. But it wasn’t just the little things he did. The one thing he did that really got you was the phone calls.

There were those particularly rough cases, the ones that involved children or the ones where the team hadn’t been fast enough and more victims suffered, that got to him. Those affected him in a way that only you saw. On the first night back from cases like these, when you had finally got into bed, your phone would ring. 

The first time it happened you had thought something horrible had happened. Aaron was not only calling you but he was calling you in the wee hours of the morning. You had answered right away, demanding that he tell you what was wrong.

He was quiet for a moment before he had answered with “Can you just talk? About anything, I don’t care.” As shocked as you were you had done what he asked.

It had happened often enough since then, that all he needed to do was call you and you would talk to him. It went as an unspoken rule that you wouldn’t speak of Will. And that part of you that was still stuck on Aaron was okay with that because that part of you didn’t want to break the magical spell of these moments. Some nights you spent hours talking to him and others you only needed to talk for twenty minutes. He never said much during these calls, as you had learned early on that all he really needed to hear was your voice. And as much as these phone calls took from you emotionally, and caused your heart to ache, you still answered every single one because deep down inside there was that part of you that loved him still.

You clear your thoughts of Aaron as you see Will walking away from his arrival gate and towards you in the busy airport.  He had on gray slacks and a baby blue button up that you knew, from where you were, made his eyes stand out even more. You give a small wave as his eyes scan over where you are waiting and a smile breaks out on his face when he locates you in the crowd.

You move quickly toward him, ready for his arms to be around you. When you reach him he pulls you in tight. The masculine spice of his cologne and unique scent fill your nose as you press your face into his chest.

“I missed you.” He murmurs, his voice thick and low. You lift your head to look him in the eyes as you say, “And I missed you.” He presses a kiss on first one cheek, then the other before kissing you gently on the lips.

You walk together out to your car, which you use to take you to your apartment. Arriving at your apartment, Will heads to the shower and you start on dinner. The night continues in a domestic routine that the two of you have gotten used to when visiting each other.

The weekend passes quickly and on Sunday afternoon it is time for Will to leave. You lean into his side as you sit next to him at his departure gate. You are drawing patterns on his thigh when you feel him look at you. 

Smiling, you bring your eyes to his. “What?” You question quietly.

His bright eyes search yours for a moment before he simply says, “Marry me.”

You are too shocked to speak so you stand up from your seat. Will rises right after you, grabbing your hands in his and pulling you close.

“Y/N, I love you. I know it’s soon but I wouldn’t want to spend the rest of my life with someone else.” His words make your heart jump in your throat because there is that nagging part of you that’s telling you of someone else you would spend the rest of your life with. Someone who isn’t Will. But knowing that someone doesn’t feel the same has you saying, “Yes. I’ll marry you.” As the words leave your mouth, you vow to devote yourself, your whole self, to Will here and now.

He laughs loudly, causing a few people to turn and look, as he wraps you in his arms. You hold tight to him, giving him as much of yourself as you can without saying the words you saved for Aaron. 

Will pulls back and reaches into his pocket, bringing out a ring box. He opens it and delicately removes the ring, a simple ring with star-like diamonds set in the band. As he slips the ring on your finger, he reaches forward and presses his lips to yours.

“Last call for boarding flight 462 to New Orleans, Louisiana.” Calls over the intercom, breaking the two of you apart. He presses a few more chaste kisses to your lips before pulling away. You watch as he hurries through the boarding gate, turning and giving you a wave which you return.

The rest of the day passes quickly with you cleaning your apartment and getting things ready for work tomorrow. You spend an hour talking to Will on the phone before turning in for the night. When your alarm rings the next morning, you quickly jump into your morning routine, stopping only to send a quick text to Will before heading out the door to work.

The first person you see when you enter the bullpen is Reid. He is bent over his desk, focused on his paperwork. “Hey Spence.” You call as you set your bag down at your desk, noticing the steaming cup of coffee on your desktop.

His head snaps up and he straightens in his chair, giving you a smile. “Everyone else is in the debriefing room. We got a case.” You nod, grabbing the coffee and following Reid to the round table. As you enter the room, the team greets the two of you. You smile and give a small wave, flinching when Penelope lets out a squeal.

“Damn mama, what was that for?” Morgan asks, turning towards Penelope. 

“Y/N! She has an engagement ring! He finally asked you?” She rambles out, rushing towards you and pulling you in a tight hug. You are passed around by the team members, receiving hugs as you go until you are standing in front of Aaron. His face is twisted with confusion and pain, causing your heart to squeeze tight with distress but he pulls you forward into a hug regardless. 

You are so distracted by the fact he is hugging you that you almost miss the words he whispers in your ear. “Don’t do it. Don’t marry him.”

ONCE UPON A TIME tags:

@evans-dejong

@a-dorky-book-keeper

@omglindsay

[hear-me-growl]

Ambrosia | Ksj | Chapter VI (final)

ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ Aᴏ3 || Dɪᴏɴʏsᴜs ·ᴘᴜʙ· ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀᴘᴏsᴛ || ↻ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

> ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut, humor, fluff, angst | s2l > ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: millionaire!Seokjin x bartender!, nyotaimori model!Reader > ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: mature [+18]; strong language and explicit sex > ᴡᴏʀᴅᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 5.9k

sᴇʀɪᴇs ɪɴᴅᴇx ||  ⟵ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴠ

💙 ᴀ/ɴ: can’t believe this beast is finally done (though I might post a bonus epilogue, we’ll see 😉). Thank you so, so much for reading and leaving likes. Not gonna lie, it’s been a hard one to write, but also extremely fun. As my first story in English (and also my first BTS fic), it holds a special place in my heart. Also I may or may not be a sucker for this Jin. Now that it’s over, don’t be shy to let me know your thoughts. It’s important for creators that you give feedback, even if just a few words or a keyboard smash. You can make someone (not only me) very happy.

Ambrosia brought a lot of people to my blog and I’m super thankful for you all and very excited to write many more stories you’ll enjoy too. Once again, thank you for all the love and support. 

Psst! Keep an eye out for the next update on the Dionysus ·pub· series. Did someone say Hobi?

“Thanks, you fuckers! We love you!”

The growl in the frontman’s voice raised screams and whistles that rumbled through Dionysus. Sweaty, ethereal and devilishly handsome, Taehyung bowed for the crowd chanting his band’s name. Everytime their signature purple bunny posters covered the beaten bricks of the pub, a mass of people flooded the establishment. V’s Moon Rabbits caused a frenzy wherever they played, waking the masses with their sound like a rockslide. The rock, jazzy melodies paired with the singer’s looks skyrocketed their popularity in underground Seoul.

However, no matter how many concerts and jam sessions were scheduled, they always came back to Dionysus —the pub that gave them a chance when nobody did.

After the performance, they usually hung out at the bar until they found a fan desperate for a chance to share the night with their idols. Doe eyes and sultry smiles in every corner, the boys never went home alone.

Tonight you didn’t work behind the bar, though. You just sat on a barstool, keeping your best friend entertained on her shift, ready to jump to her rescue if she felt overwhelmed. Not that she needed it, she handled the crowd with a big smile on her face. Beer in hand, you chatted animatedly with the blonde singer and Namjoon, the drummer, since the others had already found someone to drag to the bathrooms for an intimate rendezvous.

“You broke your drumstick. Again. You owe me 30.000.”

“I distinctly remember you mentioning both of them, so I’m not paying a single won.”

“C’mon, man. Don’t be a pussy,” Taehyung nudged his bandmate’s side as he took a sip of his beer. “Next time don’t make it so easy for her to win.”

“Yeah, pay up, Joon,” you chimed, a taunting tone lingering on your lips.

“Sorry, love. The rules were clear.” 

The tall man leaned back on the bar and gave his signature jaw-dropping smile, flanked by two cute dimples. Who would’ve thought underneath all that there was the lady-killer of the century? You bent forward towards him, sniffing before wrinkling your nose.

“Does it smell like chicken over here?”

A snort came from your other side, Taehyung trying to conceal his laughter and you snickered along. Namjoon’s tattooed hands ran over his chin as he watched the both of you in amusement too before speaking.

“Tell you what it doesn’t smell like: money in your pocket. Now, if you excuse me,” he said, eyes fixed on a juicy target. His self-satisfied smirk turned sultry as his gaze darkened, “there’s a pretty doll over there not sucking my cock and I’d like to change that.”  

In a flash, the drummer finished the rest of his drink, attention solely on the woman at the other side of the bar. Still perched on the counter, he looked at you with a raised brow. “Unless you want to join her?”

“Go get your dick wet already,” you nudged with a groan, fully aware that he wasn’t entirely joking.

Like a panther, he stalked towards his newfound prey, mixing with the crowd. Taehyung and you chatted for a little while. He differed from his charismatic persona on stage. V’s goal was to attract people with mysterious looks and alluring smiles, but Taehyung was much more reserved, rude even, except around his close ones. At some point, you noticed the cute girl behind him. You recognised her immediately and smiled warmly, inviting her to talk to the singer.

“Hi, Tae,” she greeted quietly.

Hearing his name, he turned around to face his number one fan. Her face brightened up with the attention.

“Hey, baby girl. Just arrived?”

“Err— yeah, I’m sorry I missed the show.”

“You’ve been to all of them for the past two years, I think you can skip one, ” he sneered. After that an awkward silence settled between the two. When he started to turn back to you, ending the conversation, she was quick to keep his attention.

“Do you… umm… wanna dance with me?”

“Not now, I’m talking.”

“Oh, of course! I’m sorry I interrupted,” she apologized, looking at you with doe eyes.

“No worries, sweetie,” you intervened as you shot a murderous glare to the man, the second-hand embarrassment urging you to help the poor girl out. “Stay and chat with us. What do you drink?”

Her eyes jumped from you to Taehyung nervously, a flash of pain through them when he lazily checked his phone, clearly indiferent. She swallowed a sigh, shrinking in defeat.

“Thanks for the offer, but I think I’m going to… my friend should be here somewhere,” she grimaced at her own excuse, but bit her lips and cocked her head before speaking again. “See you later, Tae?”

“I don’t know my plans yet, baby girl.”

“Right,” she whispered, looking at his side like he’d shot just her. After a beat, she cleared her throat, eyes on the floor. “Bye, then.”

She walked away, hand on her face to hide from the overflowing crowd and ponytail shaking. The singer took a sip from his beer, still on the phone. He didn’t even bother to look her in the eye to reject her.

“One: that was actually painful to experience, and two: you are a major asshole. That poor girl follows you like a puppy with heart eyes and you know it. Do you have to be so rude?”

“Hey, she knows what she’s getting into,” he answered with a shrug.

That naive fool. What a terrible mistake she made falling for Taehyung. To him there was no point in lying, so he proudly waved the “I’ll never be your boyfriend ” flag before anything happened and then jumped to the next roll in the hay without sparing a glance. Never settling, never making false promises. He was upfront about his intentions, so it never bothered you before, despite how tactless he was. Tonight, however, you felt pity at the heartbroken look in her eyes. Love brought more pain than happiness, she’d learn sooner or later.

Suddenly, something bumped into the barstool and you stumbled forward. Taehyung catched you before you could hit your head on the counter. With a snarl on display, you turned and yelled at the culprit, who zigzagged towards the exit, probably to smoke or take a piss. You scoffed. He probably didn’t even hear you, given his unsteady walk. Just as the door opened, a tall, neatly dressed figure entered the bar, stepping aside just in time to dodge the tripping drunk. 

It took a second for you to register the tingle travelling across your skin like wildfire brought by the newcomer. You had felt it before, that twisted warm fuzzy feeling, a disease that spread and ruined people. All too familiar and foreign at the same time, like rewatching an old movie with new eyes. 

‘You felt something that night and you feel it still’. 

The words echoed in your memory, taking you a couple of weeks back. That night after the event was your last conversation with him and you thought you’d finally rid yourself of unnecessary trouble. Quite the opposite. You found yourself craving for something, no matter how much instant ramen you ate or how long you stayed at work to keep yourself busy. His silence was directly proportional to your uneasiness, but you refused to connect the dots.

Until tonight.

Faster than light, your head snapped back at the singer to avoid being seen. Reason overlapped panic as you assessed the damage. That mind-reading snake was right, you felt something beyond physical for him. At least now, fully aware of the issue, you could fix it. Keeping a cool head, you devised a plan of action. It was imperative to eliminate those thoughts before they infected your brain any further, to show both him and yourself that your interest was merely a passing malaise, like a cold or an indigestion. You just needed to find the right medicine for it.

“You okay there? You look like you either had an epiphany or smoked the worst weed in Seoul.”

Taehyung’s voice was low in your ear and you realised the lack of distance between the two. Feeling him chuckle, you looked up at him. You’d forgotten he was even there, hands still low on your waist. In a feeble attempt to regain some control over yourself, you grabbed the shirt over his taut stomach and swallowed hard. Half-lidded, he tongued the corner of his mouth revealing a smug smile. No wonder people lost their shit about him. He looked bewitching and fun, but most importantly, uncomplicated. The perfect remedy for your stupid, stupid heart.

“Kiss me,” you blurted, eyes locked on the mark at the edge of his lower lip.

“What?”

A quick glance back at the door and you frowned before closing the distance to press your mouth roughly on his. For a second, he seemed confused, but then responded eagerly to the kiss. When you pulled back, panting and determined, he tongued the corner of his mouth in amusement.

“Not complaining, but where did all that ‘I don’t make out with my buddies’ philosophy go?”

“As far as buddies go, you’re the shittiest one I have. Not much of a loss there,” you joked, shifting your weight impatiently. Now of all times, Tae had to grow friendship ethics. Although you should’ve praised his character development, right now was a rather inconvenient moment to be a gentleman. What you needed was a distraction in the form of an unapologetic fuckboy. Fast.

Luck on your side, Taehyung just grinned cheekily, happy to indulge your sudden neediness, and tipped his head towards the crowd. He let you guide him through Dionysus, to a dark spot where you’d fuse with the stench of sweat and bad ideas.

“Gimme a minute, ok? Don’t move!” Shortie greeted with a warm smile, waving above intoxicated laughs and the strings of an old song’s bass. 

Seokjin nodded and leaned on the counter, avoiding the alcohol spilt all over it. Dionysus was especially crowded that night, which only made scanning the multitude in hopes to find you harder. 

After your last conversation, he gave you some space, a chance to miss him. On paper, it was a good strategy. What he didn’t expect was his plan backfiring. After a couple of weeks of self-restraint, his will power ran out. He missed you. Instead of working on his next project as he should’ve, his car brought him across Seoul to you —his personal bittersweet pill. He couldn't help but smile, even when the air reeked of sweat and the sticky floor threatened to peel off the red of his soles. What wouldn’t one of those sensationalists that defamed him give to publicly gut him for his new-found addiction. Those ever-changing eyes that begged him to keep trying despite your constant rejection made quitting you impossible. Only if you would see it too.

“Now, I’m all yours. Sorry to make you wait,” said the petite bartender, already pouring his usual drink. “I’m happy to see you, it’s been a while.”

“Work has been busy lately. No help tonight?”

 “If you mean it in a ‘ is my hot-ass crush here? ’ kind of way, she is,” your friend said, catching his intentions easily. Not that he put any effort in masking them, constantly looking around the place for you. “I don’t know where she went, though. She was sitting over there just a moment a— what the...?”

Seokjin followed her gaze, fixed intently somewhere behind him. Your body pressed against someone’s, fingers buried in blonde hair. Unable to look away, he watched a mouth clash against yours before traveling down your neck.

“Oh, Jin, I’m sorry. This dumbhead, I don’t know what’s gotten into her. Taehyung? Really? He’s like her little brother.”

I’m pretty sure “little brothers” don’t stick their tongues down your throat . Shortie kept talking in the background, probably making excuses for you. To his surprise, the first thing he felt wasn’t anger or jealousy, but something close to satisfaction. An odd sense of pride filled his chest every time the blonde touched you where he had before, when he kissed over the skin he had marked as his already. 

The man turned the two of you around, giving Seokjin a perfect view of your backside. Long fingers travelled down your spine, cupping your delicious ass with a rough squeeze. The same ass he remembered perking back for more despite the leftover sting his palm left behind. He couldn’t shake the vibrant shade of red he created that night, nor the soft whines you sang for him. Pretty eyes clouded with lust as you came on top of him, now etched in his memory forever —along with the iciness you left behind on his sheets the morning after.

With a fist full of his leather jacket, you laughed. Seokjin could tell it didn’t quite reach your eyes. In fact, it seemed like the attention on the man in front of you was only half-hearted. 

Yes, he noticed the pink tint on your cheeks, the hips grinding on a thigh clad in ripped jeans and shortened breaths. But he was also aware of your eyes bouncing around the pub distractedly as your companion nipped your jaw. A smirk tugged on Seokjin’s lips. He’d seen withdrawal before, when his mother quit smoking. Gum could not replace a cigarette and a toyboy could not replace him.

Meanwhile, you kept trying to redirect your wandering thoughts to Taehyung, who locked lips once again, sucking on your lower one. Closing your eyes, you attempted to concentrate solely on his tongue on your mouth. The air was humid, too many bodies in one room. It stuck to your skin the same way it did at the club with Seokjin, but somehow thicker. Tae smelled rich and exotic, nothing like the subtle sweetness of his surely expensive cologne. You remember because it lingered on your skin the morning after, along with the marks he imprinted all over your body. You weren’t as excited for Taehyung to leave his.

Catching your train of thought, you emptied your mind and only allowed pleasure to invade it. You left out a sigh at the hot pressure running through your veins as his thigh flexed against your core just right. It was all you needed at that moment, a nice body against yours to fight the infection of Kim Seokjin. Large hands roamed your body, brushing your breasts on their way up to your hair and tangled there to deepen the kiss. Just when you had achieved the perfect balance between numbing everything around you and enjoying the feeling, the blonde whispered hotly in your ear. His low grumble shook you out of your blissed state, crumbling any prospect of eluding reality.

All of the sudden you found the spicy kisses bland. A light frown etched between your eyebrows when you studied his profile. It dawned on you that it was Taehyung who just told you to come all over his jeans. Taehyung. The same guy who sent you stupid memes while taking a shit because “he was bored”. Fuck, you even came close to orgasming in front of him. Because of him. You winced at the thought. What a genius idea, 15-minutes-ago you. Way to go.

About to detangle from his hold to apologise for the impromptu makeout session —a damn good one, true, but probably scarring for life— he beat you to it. Hands still around you, he arched an eyebrow over your shoulder. 

“Hey, man. Want something?” he rasped out.

“The lady and I need to talk.”

Great . Just fucking peachy. You took a steady breath before turning around, putting a bit of space between you and your friend. The first thing you noticed was Seokjin’s piercing gaze, squinting slightly from how intently he looked at you. 

“Do we now?” you questioned acidly, wearing your best unfazed visage.

Seokjin looked damn fine tonight. Hands casually in his pockets and the gleam of his silver watch just showing. In that position his shoulders squared further. The urge to bite along the curves leading up to his neck rose out of nowhere. You really needed a cold shower.

He smirked at your response, as if he knew your deepest, dirtiest secrets.

“Yes, we do,” a command more than anything else. Still, you recognised the glint of playfulness in the black coffee of his eyes. The one you foolishly claimed for yourself, even though he probably used it on other girls. “Leave the puppy behind and let’s go outside. It’s too loud in here.”

“Who the hell is this jerk again?” Tae enquired dryly, offended by the nickname. He placed a hand on your hip, squeezing slightly to regain your attention.

You jumped slightly at the contact. Seokjin’s eyes snapped up, acknowledging his presence behind you, still too close. The sharp edge of his jaw rolled in annoyance, almost imperceptibly, but he was quick to smooth it with light-hearted indifference.

“The only reason she’s making out with you, kid.”

Amidst the deafening ambiance, you heard a pin drop. There was a beat of silence, tension so high it took you both a moment to register. Then, Taehyung stepped forward, moving you aside. He was not a fighter, despite what one may think with that foul mouth and attitude of his, but he had no problem in punching a douchebag.

“The fuck did you say?”

“Tae,” you stopped, catching his arm. Seokjin remained unaffected, holding the younger’s glare with neutral expression. “Please, don’t. Just go, I’ll deal with the asshole.”

Brows still furrowed, he studied you for a moment with scepticism. “You sure?” 

“Yeah, look I—” You pulled him closer, so you could talk to him more privately. No need for Seokjin to hear anything that could be used against you later. “I’m sorry. About all of this, I mean. I shouldn’t have kissed you tonight when there’s other, um, stuff on my mind. I needed something to help me unwind and you were here so... ”

“Five more minutes and you might’ve ‘unwound’ all the way.”

Your face burned immediately, aware of his lingering taste and the stickiness between your thighs. Pure joy bloomed on his lips at your reaction.

“Back to the whole friend thing?”

“Sure,” he shrugged, “but you owe me a beer for the semi.” 

With that, he nodded at Seokjin in some sort of solemn bro code and the older reciprocated. Men’s short grudge-holding span was always fascinating to witness. He waved both of you goodbye, as if the awkward situation had never happened. Trust Taehyung not to really give a fuck. He was the best at it.

You eyed Seokjin up and down and snaked through the crowd towards the back exit without a word. He followed closely the trail you opened, people too distracted to care if their drinks spilled when you shoulder them. Not sure if you felt angry, relieved, mortified, confused,  scared shitless or all of the above, you avoided looking back to check if Seokjin was still there. How did a fun night out with your friends end up like this? You were at home and ready to order a nutritionist’s worst nightmare. You coming to Dio, right? The boys perform tonight. Pretty pleeeease?🥺 That cursed text was to blame. Whoever invented best friends should be sued.

The difference in temperature made you shiver when you stepped out of the pub. A single bulb illuminated the alley, rain puddles and broken glass reflecting its dim light. The night was calm. Not a single siren wailed, like they usually did. Only the constant boom of the bass drum could be heard now, noise muffled underwater, as the door closed behind Seokjin. Your own pulse followed the rhythm, feeling the vibrations deep in your chest.

“Why are you here?” you finally asked. “Just to ruin my night or did you make a sport of being a jerk?”

“Doing you a favour. It didn’t look like you were having a good time,” he answered, amused. You could almost see the ‘I know when you are’ itching to follow. 

“That’s not for you to decide. Go home.”

“Not without you.”

His wolfish smirk stretched as he threw a wink. A bit late to try to lift the mood, in your opinion. He seemed to forget that the world didn’t revolve around his stupid, handsome face. It happened at the nyotaimori event, and it happened tonight. Even if you would’ve ended up alone anyway, he had no right to come all the way to Dionysus to mess with your head and ruin your plans —said plans being to drink the embarrassment of almost fucking Taehyung away. Still, he shouldn’t have interfered. You shouldn’t have tried to relax your emotional cramp with Tae either, but it was his mistakes you wanted to focus on, not yours.

“I missed that frown of yours, sushi girl.”

Unaware that you’d been scowling, your arms crossed in self-defense.

“Listen, you can’t just barge in on my life every time you’re bored,” you chided. “Get a hobby, plant a tree or whatever. Didn’t you like fishing? Go do that. Just don’t bother me.”

His features softened slightly. “You remember.”

How could you forget the half an hour rant at the burger joint? Truth be told, you did disconnect half-way, but you recall his somewhat boyish excitement as he gave you a whole monograph on baits. Also the fish puns, those you recall with painful accuracy.

“Just because you are full of yourself enough to have your ears clogged doesn't mean that mine are.”

He shook his head and laughed at your comment. When he stood in front of you to brush a stray strand out of your face, you froze for a second. The tenderness of the gesture was suffocating, his gaze on yours too. No matter how hard you tried to keep distance, Seokjin always found a way to close it. You wanted to run.

His eyes fell on your lips for a moment, intense and wanting. Suddenly that sliver of fondness evaporated from them as something else caught his attention. A hand slid down to your neck and his thumb wiped there repeatedly as if he wanted to clean the spot. Once again, his jaw tensed and his stare grew jet black. Swallowing hard, you felt your cheeks reddening both at his touch and the admonishing tut he gave. He was glaring at what you assumed was a hickey left there by Taehyung. Irrefutable proof of your useless attempt to escape the itch that was Seokjin. Because he was exactly that —a maddening, unreachable itch that one cannot assuage. 

“Don’t you think it’s cruel to toy with that Kurt Cobain wannabe?” The tone remained teasing, but his hard, steel stare gave away his mood. He’d never felt jealousy before, and it tasted dry and sour. “He might get the idea that you’re interested.”

You held his gaze, puffing with cockiness to disguise any sign of guilt. “I wouldn’t worry about him, he gets what casual means. Ask him for pointers on that.”

“You think I don’t?” he chuckled airly, brow raising. “I’ve had plenty of that, believe me. But this? Us ? Nothing casual about it, sweet cheeks. I told you already: I like you. I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Perfect teeth on display, he smiled at you. Selfish bastard, airing those words so carelessly. He gave the impression of a teacher explaining the slowest student how to do simple math, not a man admitting his feelings. Yet, the confession sounded brutally sweet in the quiet back alley. Perhaps the beer still buzzing was to blame or the opiate smell of his cologne coating your senses, but you wondered if it would be that bad to believe him. Then reality poured on you like tar. Even if he did feel like he said, it wasn’t worth the risk. He’d grow tired eventually and leave, like everyone else. He’d ask why couldn’t you be sweet and shy like his exes. He’d tell you that he would never introduce someone like you to his parents. He’d text saying that he would come home late after work, night after night. He’d call you a slut because ‘don’t lie to me, I saw you flirting’ with someone’s panties in his back pocket still. Every time you were naive enough to catch feelings, you’d paid for your stupidity tenfold and ended up hurt and broken. You wouldn’t go through it all again.

“There’s no us ,” you reminded both him and you.

“We should change that, then,” he offered with a shrug. “I want us.”

The fucker knew how to play the strings of your heart, a master puppeteer with the cruelest intentions. Every word was a shiver of excitement that pooled in your uneasy stomach. It felt a lot like love and it was terrifying. Love always faded into ugly crying, ice-cream and vodka. Cornered against your own crumbling walls, you transformed your mixed feelings into bitterness.

“I don’t know what kind of spoiled-prince fantasy you live in, but in the real world people don’t always get what they want. Shocking, I know. Get a whisky to swallow that crazy fact and leave me alone.”

You shoved him away and walked back towards the door, desperate for Seokjin-less air. The pressure in your lungs was suffocating. 

“Don’t run away, let’s talk about this.”

“There’s nothing left to say, rich boy. I told you I don’t play couples anymore.” Seokjin snorted, surely about to make a quick retort, but you cut him. “Find someone else for your little rom-com attempt. Now, if you’ll excuse me I’m going back in to find a man who can fuck me and not catch feelings after the first kiss like a Disney princess.”

“I’m not sure if your goal is to hurt me or make me lose interest, sweet cheeks, but it’s not working,” he stated, low grit in his tone. “Push me away all you want, I’m not letting my perfect woman slip through my fingers. Not when I know you feel the same way I do.”

You should’ve left and forgotten about him, but you took the bait.

“Oh, please, enlighten me. How’s that exactly?”

“Restless. Every fucking second of the day. Wondering if I’d laugh at the joke I just told or if I’d enjoy the new restaurant you’re at. Tired and grumpy, because you want me lying next to you so bad that you can’t sleep at night. Frustrated, because the moment we kissed, I ruined everyone else for you.”

You snorted, amused both at the accuracy of his words and how much they irritated you. Hopefully he’d assume you were mocking him. It had to be some sort of superpower, there was no other way he could read you so effortlessly. With every layer of sarcasm he peeled you felt more naked, more vulnerable to his sharp sweet nothings. Falling for him felt inevitable and you were afraid of crash-landing.

“Maybe you didn’t see me making out with a guy literally 5 minutes ago.”

“Oh, I did, sweet cheeks,” he said slowly, taking a step towards you. His lips curled upwards and you swallowed hard at the sight. He was hypnotic, expensive clothes fitting like a second skin. What an awful moment for your legs to become butter. “I saw his sloppy tongue on your mouth and you not smiling at him like you do with me. I saw how you kissed him just to take me out of your head.”

Your retreat ended quickly when your back bumped into the door you had been so determined to walk through. Emergency exit now blocked, the only strategy left was to hold your ground. And you would’ve, but the beating of your heart drowned any coherent thought. He stopped when the tips of his shoes kissed yours. Lifting your chin up, you tried to swallow the sand in your throat to no avail. Seokjin propped his hands on each side of your head, the slow tempo of his movements almost theatrical. Spikes of anticipation raised all over your skin. As he caged you, his eyes leveled with yours. You saw a glimmer of triumph in them, lips stretched in a self-satisfied grin. Maybe you could bite it off, kiss him hard enough to erase it.

“Careful, your ego is showing.” 

“Your bluff too,” he countered.

The poorly lit alley stayed silent for hours in the little bubble your words created. Stray raindrops that slid from the rooftops hit the ground uncomfortably loud. Perhaps it was just your percepcion. Seokjin held your glare with blazing determination. It was useless, you couldn’t convince him to leave. Around him you felt made out of glass, he saw through every lie and every rejection. You were love-sick and you both knew. There was no miracle remedy, no snake oil to cure this heart infection —it spread too deep already. The further away you tried to stay out of love, the deeper you got in it. The poetic irony might just as well slap an ‘I was here’ sticker on your forehead. 

With a heavy sigh you accepted defeat. 

“What do you want from me, Jin?”

Your whisper came out as a plea. Arms went limp on your sides, exhausted. ‘ Please, be gentle ,’ you wanted to say. Even if the words never came out, Seokjin understood. Your features stiffened as you braced yourself for the blow, ready to take the hit. You looked too fragile, too beaten. He hated it. Seokjin felt the need to hold you and make all the promises he intended to keep. He’d be there to lull you to sleep if you cried, to share your smiles, to lift you when you fell, to say ‘sorry’ every time he’d fuck up and ‘it’s ok’ when you did. A four-letter word burned his throat like alcohol, but he wouldn’t voice it —he didn’t want to scare you away.

“Right now? I want to kiss you. I want to take you home and take my time eating you out to get whatever doubt you might have about me, about us, out of your system. I want to make you come while you scream my name and forget that stupid idiot and any other idiot before him. I want to fuck you slow to make you understand how much you want me and then hard to show you how much I need you.” He inched even closer, trapping your eyes with his so you could read his heart in them. “I want to find you beside me in the morning and make a routine out of it. I want you to laugh at my naked butt in an apron while I make breakfast and fuck you again and again in the kitchen until you to beg me to never let go.” 

He paused, lifting a hand to cup your cheek. His eyes fleeted down as his lips ghosted yours, tickling the skin with his breath, and then back up for his next words. 

“I want everything with you.”

You were desperate to close the distance in a kiss, drown in his words. Techno beat pounded in your chest so loud that you thought something might explode. Everything . You wanted that too.

“Jin, I…” as you talked, your lips graced his. He looked at you intently, pupils completely blown and a choked gasp escaped him at the brief contact. The hand on your face tensed, showing you his neediness. It only spurred yours. “I’ve tried this before and it never turns out well.” 

“Not with me, sweet cheeks.” 

“I’m scared. What if—?” 

“Don’t be,” he cut with a smile and a wink. “You’re stuck with me. I promise.”

Tired of fighting a lost battle, you gave in. Your body moved on its own and you closed the barely-existing space between you, sealing your mouth and his with a kiss. There was urgency in his response, as his tongue immediately asked for permission. He kissed you with a starved need that you were quickly to match. His kisses were ardent, numbing you from anything outside Seokjin. Every doubt and heartbreak died where he started. Eager to taste you, he bit your lips until they puffed. Although neither of you couldn’t get enough of it, there was something gentle in your passion. His arms encased you and brought you close enough to fuse with him. Muscle memory laced your fingers to his dark hair, disheveling its perfect shape into whatever you wanted, and your hips grounded his. You molded together in a frenzy of desire. It was satisfying to see every limb and kiss back in place, exactly where they were meant to be. Like one of those compilation videos, it was addicting. The only thing missing was his bare skin on yours to make the moment perfect.

As you got lost in him, his words filled your head, triggering a moan that Seokjin drank with devotion. Perhaps it was foolish, but you let yourself believe him. No flowers, no romantic music in the background, just sincerity in his eyes as he said them. He didn’t paint a movie-like romance where every day would be perfect. He didn’t swear a life of never-ending happiness or vowed to never hurt you. No, he made one promise: that he’d be there. The effortless conviction in that one promise told you that he’d stay and try, that he’d fight for you. He was stubborn and persistent enough for you to trust him. Besides, he always kept his promises before. 

Now that you allowed what you felt for him to flow freely, you couldn’t cointan it. He flipped your world upside down. You wanted to tell him what an irritating, fun, conceited, irresistible prick he was, that sometimes you would choke him and others you would kiss him until your lips drew blood, that with him you felt the barest you’ve ever been, but also the safest. Words weren’t enough to express all that, so you kissed him fervently and urged him closer, your heartbeat reverberating in his chest, to show him instead. He grunted, immersed in you and those words you didn’t speak. No need for it, he heard them in the way you moaned and pressed against his hardened cock, seeking desperately some kind of friction. Your hands roamed his shoulders, crinkling the material of his shirt. He felt so yearned for that he forgot to breathe. When his lungs couldn’t take it anymore, Seokjin broke the kiss, missing it the moment cold air hit his wet lips. You whined at the loss, but allowed yourself a moment to recover. Panting heavily, you both stared at each other. At that moment, he looked perfect. Dishevelled and void of that cold mask he wore most of the time, it was the final shot you could take —you were recklessly and catastrophically in love, with no hope of recovery. All that fight you put up, just to lose anyway. What a poor soldier you’d make. With a breathy laugh you rested your forehead on his chin, which brought a bright smile. Still trying to get some air, he kissed your hairline tenderly as he brushed back flyaway strands. Your fingers mimicked the intimate gesture, drawing circles on the nape of his long neck.

“By the way, I don’t beg,” you quipped suddenly, lifting your head so he could see the arch on your brow and a half bitten smirk. The moment was getting too soppy already.

“You look like you enjoy new experiences.”

A wink and a kiss and then you were in his arms again, hidden in your newfound shelter as it started to drizzle in the back alley of Dionysus.

ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛ: @aretha170

ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʀᴇᴘᴏsᴛ, ᴇᴅɪᴛ ᴏʀ ᴛʀᴀɴsʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ © hear-me-growl, October 2020 

[benaffleckofcrowdsurfing]

Lazerquest - part 5

Alex Turner x Reader

Chapter 5/?

Description: you are an impulsive bartender who recently moved to London after traveling across the United States and living on the road for a few years. You befriend Alex, a musician who recently got out of a long term relationship, and you show him the ways of your free-spirited lifestyle in an attempt to help him move on from his ex. However, you become more of a muse than a friend for Alex and all is revealed when he releases his band’s fourth studio album, “Suck it and See”.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: a bit of sexual harassment, nothing intense but it could definitely be uncomfortable

Tag list (msg me if you would like to be added):

@lolurnotmileskane @imagine-that-100 @babyhoneystvles

Updates whenever the heck I please (at least once a week) 

Author’s note: I’m sorry it’s been like a week I’ve been so uninspired but I feel a bit better now so woooooo hopefully I’ll be updating more.

**************

“Just go commando, Turner. It’s not my fault you don’t keep extra undergarments in your car.”

“Fuckin’ hell, and my trousers are sandy.”

“You’re being a massive pussy.”

“Well I’m sorry Ms. Spontaneous, I had no idea we would be swimming in our knickers and then going out to get pissed tonight. I would’ve brought a change of clothes.”

“Oh, shut up Alex. You know you enjoyed seeing me practically naked.”

“Never said I didn’t.”

You gave Alex a warning glare before turning into the bathroom of the seedy motel room the two of you had decided to rent for the night. After your little ocean underwear rendezvous, you both sat your soggy asses in the Porsche and drove back into a little village Alex knew about. On the way back you told him about the scheme you had been conjuring up for the rest of your night, and after you said the words “absolutely shitfaced”, he told you that he would find a hotel. 

Alex was thrilled to go to a bar and drink with you at first, but when he came to the realization that he would have to go in his street clothes, he became a bit more apprehensive. You, on the other hand, were thrilled that you had an excuse to wear your new dress. 

“Jesus Christ,” you mumbled. As fit as you looked in the dress, the lack of bra underneath made it look a tad bit slutty and you were getting nervous about not having anything to wear underneath. Before returning from the small bathroom, you did your best to fix your makeup and then dried your hair with the basically ancient blow dryer that resided next to the faded vanity mirror above the sink.

“Alright, Al. I’ve got a job for you,” you announced after exiting the bathroom and going to sit next to Alex on the old queen bed that inhabited the hotel room. 

“Sure, what’s up?”

“Make sure I don’t flash the entire pub tonight.”

Alex shook his head in disappointment and chuckled. He was stood by the door in the same thing he had been wearing previously, putting on his shoes. “You know, you could just wear the clothes you had on this morning.”

“What’s the fun in that?” you frowned. He was right, shorts would be a much safer choice, especially considering the fact that your only objective tonight was to get faded. You just thought your new dress looked really good on you, and you’d have been lying to yourself if you said you didn’t want a little male attention. Not from Alex, of course, you had plans to get him a bit of a one night stand tonight. (it would be good for him, you thought. Help him take his mind off of Alexa some more.)

Alex rolled his eyes at you. “Are you ready? I want to get this show on the road.”

You stood up cheerfully and nodded. “Ready as I’ll ever be. Let’s go get you fucked up.”

Alex looked you up and down as he opened the door of the room and put the key back in his pocket. “I have a feeling I won’t be the only one getting ‘fucked up’ tonight, Y/N.” 

****************

“Alright, Y/N. What kind of twisted drinking game have you got planned for us tonight.” 

You and Alex were sat at the bar of a rather small but busy pub. The music was loud, the people were rowdy, and the drinks were shit. It was perfect.

You gasped dramatically. “Wow, Alex. You really thought I had some premeditated plan to get you absolutely trashed? I’m hurt.” 

Alex narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brows. “I may have only met you twenty-four hours ago, but I know you well enough to know that you aren’t just gonna let me off with a few margaritas.”

You smiled at him slyly. “Touché. I do have one or two things up my sleeve.”

“Evil genius, you are.”

You winked at him before ushering the bartender over. She was an attractive woman, and you had noticed her checking out Alex when the two of you had walked into the pub. 

“What can I get for you, Loves?” The woman asked. She had a thick Scottish accent and was making direct eye contact with Alex.

“I see you’re checking out my friend here,” you giggled. The bartender, who’s name tag read Helen, gave you a glare. “Listen, Helen. It’s not a bad thing, he’s quite the catch. You can have your shot with him all you want, I just have a few questions first.” 

Helen furrowed her brows in confusion. Alex gave you a wild look, one that said what the hell are you up to? 

“So what do you say, Helen? You up for it or are you just gonna stand there looking at me like I'm crazy?”

Helen shook her head a bit and cleared her throat. “Sure, Lady. But if they’re personal or weird I’m throwing you out.” 

You let out a breathy laugh. “Not to worry, it’s nothing too weird. I was just going to ask you to rate my friend out of 10.”

Alex nearly choked on his spit. “What?”

Helen laughed. “Well I’m not sure why it’s important, but he’s definitely a 9.”

You smiled smugly. Perfect. Fantastic choice, Helen. “Alright, now what would you rate me? Objectively of course, it doesn’t matter if I’m ‘your type’ if you know what I mean.”

Helen looked at you with narrow eyes for a long time, as if she was deep in thought. “You’re a fit young lass, but you’ve got small tits and that dress is about 2 inches too short. You look like an Austin Powers themed hooker.” Alex erupted into laughter and you punched him in the shoulder. Helen let out a long sigh before tapping on the bar. “I’d say you’re a 7.” 

As offended as you were that the busty bitch only thought you were a 7, her answer worked completely in favor of your plan. “Alright. I’ve got one more question for you, then we’ll let you get back to work.”

Helen nodded. “Go on, then.” 

You gave her a toothy grin. “What’s your favorite drink?”

You could hear Alex scoff from next to you. He knew exactly where this was going. 

“I love a good rum swizzle, but my favorite to make here are brambles.”

You chuckled and turned to Alex, who had his face in his palms and was swearing under his breath. “Alex, pick your poison.”

Alex gave you a death glare and reluctantly looked at Helen. “I guess I’ll have…. nine brambles.”

You giggled and clapped your hands victoriously. “And I’ll take seven rum swizzles, Helen. Thank you so much for your help.” 

The poor bartender gave you both confused looks before turning around to make your drinks. Alex looked like he wanted to slap you. “You’re absolutely mad. We’ll both be blacked out in like, half an hour. Are you trying to kill us?” 

You just winked at Alex and smiled at Helen when she gave the two of you your first drinks. “Keep ‘em coming, ma’am. We’ve got a long night ahead of us.” 

Alex sighed and raised his glass to yours. “Cheers, psycho. If I die tonight it’s on your conscience.”

As the two of you took the first well….gulps...of your drinks, a familiar song began sounding through the club. Alex’s face immediately dropped. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

You gasped. You knew exactly what song was playing. “Isn’t this-?”

Alex cut you off. “It’s me. Yeah.”

You squealed in excitement and finished the rest of your first drink and gulped down your second before narrowing your eyes at the grumpy boy sat next to you. “You better finish your drink, Al. We’ve got some dancing to do.”

“Absolutely not. There’s no way I’m dancing to my own bloody song.” 

“Well then I’m going alone.” 

You blew a raspberry at Alex before skipping onto the dance floor. Alex shook his head at you and crossed his arms. Once near the center of the dance floor but still close enough that you could see Alex, you began to move your hips to the beat of the song. As it picked up, you threw your head back and your arms in the air. In just moments you were dancing and singing your heart out, the few drinks you had previously consumed definitely contributing to your looseness. You stared directly at Alex when the chorus came around. 

Oh the boy’s a slag, 

the best you’ve ever had,

the best you ever had is just a memory 

you pointed to Alex and waved him to join you. He reluctantly finished the rest of his drink, and before he could even stand up you had ran back to him and grabbed his hand to drag him back with you. Alex looked mortified, he absolutely could not believe he was in the middle of the dance floor with you, drunkenly dancing to his own music. You found it extremely fun, though, and just kept on spinning yourself with him and doing your best to make him dance. 

flicking through a little book of sex tips

You flipped your hair and dropped to the floor seductively.

remember when the boys were all electric

 you raised yourself back up and winked at Alex.

now when she’s told she’s gonna get it

I’m guessing she’d rather just forget it

You rolled your hips to the beat and swayed your head from side to side. 

As annoyed Alex was that you had dragged him into the crowd, he seemed thoroughly entertained by your dancing. A small part of you thought he might have been even more entertained knowing that you were enjoying yourself this much to his song. 

You continued to dance around Alex, the alcohol in your system making you a bit flirty. By the end of the song, Alex had actually began dancing and the two of you had quite a bit of fun.

“That was fantastic, Alex, but you’ve got 8 more drinks to go, and I’ve got 6 and a half. So we best get back to the bar.” You tisked. 

“Damn. I thought you might have forgotten about that.” Alex muttered as you both sat back in your seats. Helen immediately chuckled and placed your next drinks in front of you. 

After three more drinks were in the both of you, you decided to start your next little game. 

“Hey, Alex,” you murmured.

Alex gave you a goofy smile. He was definitely already drunk. “hmm?” 

“There’s a girl behind you checking you out.” 

“Which one?”

“The blonde with the tits.”

“She’s pretty fit, right?”

“You should go talk to her.”

“I don’t want to leave you here all alone, Y/N.”

“I was gonna go talk to the tall one over there.”

“He’s been looking at you all night.”

“I’m aware. He’s not being very sly.”

“It’s a bit creepy.”

“I don’t mind. So you’re gonna go talk to the girl or what?” 

“Should I?”

You gave Alex an evil little smirk and his eyes widened. “I know how to make it more interesting.”

“Oh boy. Let me finish another drink now to prepare myself.” Alex poured the rest of his drink down his throat and cracked his neck as if to say game on. “What have you got for me, Y/L/N?”

“Alright. I go talk to skyscraper over there, you go talk to sugar tits. If one of us can get a hook up, the other has to buy them breakfast tomorrow morning.” 

Alex chuckled. “May the sluttiest one win.”

You finished your drink and asked Helen for another (you were now on your sixth of the night and were quite drunk), before strutting over to your tall mystery admirer.

“I was hoping you’d come talk to me,” the man said as you approached him.

“I thought you might, I've been watching you watch me for quite a bit,” You took a sip of your drink and winked at him. 

“What can I say, I like what I see. I’m Alex.”

You choked on your drink. “I’m sorry, your name is what?”

“Alex. And you are?”

You bit your lip to keep from bursting out in laughter. Of course his name is Alex. After taking a moment to compose yourself, you spoke up. “Y/N.”

“Y/N, that’s a pretty name. You’re American, aren’t you?” New Alex slurred. At least he’s as drunk as I am, you thought.

“Born and raised in the states.” 

“You know I’ve never shagged an American girl before,” New Alex purred. He took a step closer to you, and you looked up at him innocently.

“Oh, really?” Your voice was quiet now, he was very close to you and his presence was a bit overwhelming. You could smell his cologne, his whiskey, and his cigarette smoke. 

When you glanced back at Your Alex, he was staring past the blonde and right at you.

“Willing to help me change that?” The man in front of you bent down to whisper in your ear. It gave you goosebumps, but not a good kind. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but something wasn’t quite right. 

“Feeling bold, are we?” you stuttered, now feeling a little more uncomfortable as he continued to get closer to you. 

“Is that a problem?” You could smell the alcohol on his breath.

“I���m not sure.” 

“Should I make you sure?” Alex now had his body pressed against yours and your back pressed against the table behind you, there was no chance at escape. You looked over at Alex, who was still watching you, and gave him a look of distress. He quickly dismissed the blonde, handed dear old Helen some cash, and rushed over to you.

“Y/N, we gotta go. The taxi’s here.” He announced.

New Alex grunted. “Who the fuck is this guy?”

“Alex, this is Alex. Alex, Alex.” You muttered quickly, and squeezed out from between the table and the large man. “I’m sorry to cut our conversation so short, but we really have to get going. Hope you find another American girl to have sex with soon!”

Alex dragged you away from New Alex and the two of you practically ran out of the pub.

“Are you alright? Did he touch you? Did he say something? Do I need to go back in there and kick his arse? Please tell me you’re okay. I told you he was creepy, Y/N.” Alex rambled, and put both of his hands on your shoulders. 

You brushed him off and put your hand on his cheek in reassurance. “I’m alright, Alex. He was just being a bit pushy and I was uncomfortable. Thank you so much for helping me out of that situation.”

“Of course, Y/N. You’re far more important to me than a shag. That girl was uninteresting anyway. I’d much rather be with you.” 

You smiled at Alex and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “You’re a sweet boy. Come on, let’s go back to the room. That shitty mattress is calling my name.”

**********

Back at the hotel, both you and Alex decided that it was time to sleep. Your undergarments had all dried, so the two of you had something semi-normal to sleep in, and after getting ready for bed you turned to face Alex. He was already curled up on the left side of the bed.

“I had fun tonight, Al.”

“I did too, Y/N/N.”

You placed a platonic kiss on his forehead before slipping into the bed next to him and turning out the lights. You did your best to warm yourself up under the covers, but you were still freezing.

“Y/N, you’re shivering,” Alex yawned.

“I’ll be okay, just go to sleep,” you cooed and rubbed his bare back. He let out a long exhale at the gesture, which made you blush.

“Do you want my tee shirt? It won’t help much but it’s better than just that lacy number you have on.”

Alex’s words send shivers down your spine. The thought of being in a hotel room with Alex Turner, in the same bed as him, in his shirt, made you hot to the touch.

“Sure, Alex. Thank you.” You whispered. He sat up, reached over onto the floor to pick the shirt up, and smiled weakly when he handed it to you. You slipped it on over your head and giggled. Its smell was intoxicating, it’s as if you were wearing Alex Turner. “I feel much better.”

When you looked up at Alex, he had a stupid smirk on his face. His eyes were different than usual, more dark and intense. He was staring you up and down, but diverted his eyes when he caught you looking. “Oh- It’s no problem, I wasn’t going to wear it and I don’t want you shivering and keeping me up all night.”

“Right. Good night, Alex.” You yawned, and snuggled back into the bed.

“Good night, Y/N.”

[moos-cow]

Gemini

Chapter 2

Chapter 1 | Chapter 1a | Chapter 1b | Chapter 1c | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 |

“Mmm,” Amaya roughly groaned from under a breath as her eyes slowly opened, blinking to clear the hazy vision around her. She tried to push herself up to sit, but the soreness in her arms made getting up too difficult. She fell back down on the cushions with a soft thud. 

Well, shit.

“Hey,” A gentle voice called as a hand rested on her shoulder. “Take it easy.”

She turned to the side to see the Jack of Spades seated beside her, free of his jacket and humongous sword. “Where… Where am I?” 

“You’re at the Black Army Headquarters.”

The what?

She tried to sit back up once again with a little help from Luka. The sudden movement caused her head to throb. She winced and pressed a hand against her temple, feeling a slight discomfort on the back of her hand-- an IV line was injected into her.

Her brows creased into a frown, trying to recall the earlier events, "What happened?" 

"You suddenly collapsed this morning."

This morni- Right. after that magic show with the Red Army at the Town Square.

“What time is it?” 

“Just past 1 in the morning.”

“God-” she was at a loss for words. She slowly looked around the dimly lit room. From the medical equipment visible, she could tell that she was at the infirmary. Aside from Luka, the Queen of Spades was also with them there, sound asleep on the sofa by the door with her olive jacket wrapped around his arm.

“Good. You’re up.” A familiar red-head marched in with a handful of supplies and set them down on the consultation table. The Seven of Hearts. He wasn’t wearing his red and white uniform tonight, just plain casual clothes.

Amaya's frown deepened as she glanced at Luka in confusion, and he replied in earnest, “He’s a doctor. Cradle’s best.”

“But he’s-”

“-A doctor, not a soldier.” Kyle cut her off, clearly uninterested in arguing with a new patient. Sirius had called him in earlier at the request of the Black Army doctor, who unfortunately, wasn’t as well versed as Kyle with the complications of natural magic in humans.

“So. How are you feeling?” the doctor asks, making his way to her side to do a routinary check of her vital signs and IV drops with a clipboard and pad in hand. 

“Fine, I guess. Exhausted. My head hurts.”

“That’s expected.” he brushed off while writing down notes on the pad.

“Expected?” she asks, watching his careful movements as he deftly pulled out the needle from her hand and immediately covered it with a small bandage.

"One of the side effects of using magic is fatigue. It can literally drain the life out of you if you’re not careful enough. Better remember that.” 

“Here.” Kyle handed her a small bottle of pills, a couple of sachets, and a prescription paper, "Get some rest, dissolve this in water for hydration, and take one pill as needed if your head gets in the way. Other than that, you’re good to go.”

“Thanks... doc.”

“‘Kyle’ will do. I’ll be at the pub if you’ll need me.” he waves off to both Luka and Amaya, closing the door behind him as he leaves the room.

She blankly stared at her hands for some time, inspecting as if it were something new. Pondering on Kyle’s statement, questions quickly filled her mind-- there was so much she didn't know, so much she didn't understand. She’d never been thrown into a situation as bad as this one. No resources. No intel. She was in one of the Headquarters, but she wasn’t sure if she was taken as a prisoner or not. She could ask, but--

"Hey," Her thoughts were broken as soon as Luka called her. "I’ll fix you up something to eat. Do you have any preferences?"

It took her a while before his words sunk and registered in her head. Not that she was expecting an interrogation now that she’s awake but--

"Oh no, don't bother." She slipped her legs out of the blanket, trying to keep the struggle of getting out of bed at the minimum "Please, you've already done more than enough."

A deep voice called out from across the room, startling her and stopping her in her tracks. "Better eat, little lady. You’ve been out the whole day."

Sirius got up from the sofa and collapsed, face down, on the bed next to hers. “I’ll have whatever she’s having.” 

She shrugged in defeat. There wasn’t any use in declining now. Aside from the three orders of iced coffee she drank throughout the day, she hadn't had much of a decent meal since breakfast. “Anything that isn’t spicy?”

Luka left with a nod, leaving her to the silence of the infirmary. 

She stood up from the bed and tried to walk around on her own-- gauging if she could make a run for it or not. Her legs slightly shook, and her knees felt like they'd unbuckle at a simple misstep. For the first time in a long time, walking felt like an absolute chore and her legs screamed a resounding no.

After a few laps around the room, Amaya crash-landed on the sofa just as Luka came in with some sandwiches and drinks on a tray. He looked at her with confused widened eyes, a striking golden-amber color just like Jonah’s.

“I can walk now,” she muttered and chuckled away at her own mischief.

Luka handed her a sandwich before turning to wake Sirius up from his slumber, alternating between shaking him on the shoulder and poking him on the face. As amusing as the scene was, it took a while before the Queen of Spades got up to join in their past-midnight snack.

“So what’s in this?” She turned to Luka and opened the sandwich just a bit to inspect.

“Try to make a wild guess, little lady,” Sirius spoke through bites.

One bite, and her face lit up like a child’s on Christmas morning. “Oh, this is good!” she covered her mouth with a free hand, speaking through a mouthful of food. “Okay. Let’s see… egg, mayonnaise, green onion, pickles, tomatoes, lettuce, and something I can’t put my finger on.”

“Mustard” Luka answered with a soft smile.

“Mustard? The yellow thing?” She tilted her head to the side, earning a questioning look from the two. “I’ve never eaten mustard before.”

“There’s always a first time for everything.” Sirius chuckled.

“Yeah, guess there is.” her smile unconsciously faded as she played with the sandwich in hand, pressing the edges together in a poor attempt to seal the bread. Her mind started to wander off again.

The weight of a hand fell on her shoulder. "Hey," Sirius called out, pulling her away from her thoughts "Don't worry. We'll make sure you find your way home."  

"Thanks." she forced back a smile as she took another bite of the sandwich. Maybe they weren’t so bad after all?

As initiated by Sirius, food became the sole topic of conversation during their small meal; from sharing their likes to dislikes, she learned that their food in Cradle wasn’t far off from what she had in the Land of Reason-- albeit mostly of western cuisine, she haphazardly made a light promise to share some of the recipes she knew from back home to the two.

Time passed by quicker than expected, and soon her watch started to sound. A soft beeping alarm, informing her of the new hour. “Ah, its 2 already.”

She tore open one of the sachets Kyle had given her earlier and dissolved its powdery contents into her glass of water before downing it in one go. Its faint apple scent contradicted its terrible gummy taste.

“Ah, have any of you seen my bag by any chance?” Onyx rapidly eyes scanned the infirmary just as they began to dish out the plates; she needed something to wash away the taste of the medicine, and her wafer what just what she had in mind. “I had it with me in the carriage this morning.”

“It’s in your room,” Luka replied, filling her glass with some water-- but that didn’t really help at all.

“My room? I have a room? Why do I have a room?”

“Save your questions for tomorrow, little lady. Now, you two go and rest. I’ll clean up here.” Sirius took the dishes from Luka and Amaya and practically shoved them out the infirmary.

Shoes and jacket in hand, Luka slowly paced beside her as he quietly walked her to her room. He asked her to leave it unlocked, just in case she collapsed again and needed to be reached immediately.

The room was beautifully simple, hotel-like to say the least. White and turquoise complemented the contemporary Victorian furnishings; fresh flowers in pretty vases were just by the window and center table; and, a complete set of toiletries were placed on the dresser next to the bathroom attached to the room.

Mouth stuffed with wafer, Amaya undressed and headed for the bathroom. The full body mirror inside immediately graced her with a full view of her slightly scathed body. Despite the sweetness in her mouth, her face contorted in disgust, eyes drawn to the area of her latest injuries-- two wounds to the left of her torso. Both patched with waterproof bandages.

How can you manage to take so many? 

A few minutes passed and the gentle scent of lavender filled the air; she took a long and relaxing dip in the warm water of the tub, relieving her body of the tension and fatigue endured from the long night before. 

She let out an exasperatedly long sigh as she sunk deeper. The night hadn’t ended how she expected it to end, and that confused her. She was thankful for their care, but a part of her-- that gut feeling called out to her.

What would they want in return?

30 days.

[kaetastic]

HISTORY UNFOLDS. 3/3

pairing: Finn Shelby x Reader, Luca Changretta x Reader, Deceased!John Shelby x Reader

summary: A favour that is pending to be fulfilled calls Y/N to Birmingham, from a very old friend. However, the youngest Shelby soon discovers her past with his deceased brother, John, and the one who had ordered the murdering, Luca Changretta.

word count: 17.4k

warning: all sorts of angst, mentions of death, war, mentions of violence, mentions of firearm, mentions of blood, smut, profanities, age gap (read note)

note: finally! it is the last part and I can finally finish my other works! thank you for reading! finn is 18, the reader is 37

Part 1 | Part 2

It had been nearly five weeks, some would call it few which passed by in a blink of an eye; however, it was not the same case for Y/N as she was forced to sit in the bed, tucked with puddling sweat in the sheets of her bed while she was being nurtured by her own employees. Even though the poor quivering doctors who had been ‘kidnapped’ (Dante liked to call it guiding) had said that it would be good to walk, she has to keep in mind to not push herself. The woman was not having any of it. 

There were so many things to listen to, so many mouths babbling, so many feet dashing in and out of her room while she was in the bed, forever to be plastered over the surface by suffocating tight bandages. With that, she was caught scribbling in her book after three weeks. Dante had steam gushing out of his ears when he stumbled upon the sight, knowing the book resided in the living room. The only reason he was furious was due to the fact that the furthest distance he had strictly ordered to her was the only window in the bedroom, which was ten steps away from her bed. Three days after his hour-long lecture, she was found smoking and sipping on whiskey in the open kitchen, a newspaper splayed out on her lap. 

Despite the words from other advisors, she waved it all off as if she was flipping away from the sports’ section of the newspaper. What made matters worse were she had been counting the days she had last seen or met up with Finn. Every time she would try to focus on the work that laid in front of her, to blind herself from the tremoring pain muffled by the bandage, much to her men’s dismay, her mind would revert to him and the night he had stayed with her. The oozing ink in the pen would dry off like clothing hung up in the snoring wind for the never-ending counting days. 

The very unfortunate time Connor had barged through the front door he was met with a very bare man. It didn’t go so well with his boss. During her venting, three minutes in and Y/N was clutching on her waist. The woman insisted stubbornly that she was fine, however, the men knew better than to believe the lies she sputtered. In all honesty, she felt fine. Halfway through week four, she had tried to relieve the frustration of being strapped to the bed and pain from the wound by meeting other men. Some she had met while prancing down the street or strolling around the nearby park. To only end up alone in her room, sipping on whatever liquor was strong enough to haze the thought of Finn. None of them was like him. Their touches didn’t feel like his. Had she gone through all the trouble for a cuddling session? 

So for days, she has been desperate for anything. Any chance or luck for someone to fall on her platter; she was starving, her mouth drooling to devour a meal, heck, she can even shove down a whole horse right at it. When she wasn’t scribbling on her books or worrying about her business in America, she had enough time to ponder. Even though she had these time to leisure, she wasted it all on trying to relieve the pent up frustration by going to places.

“Is there anything on my schedule today, Dante?” The woman quirked up, shaking her feet that were perched up on her wooden desk, a hair’s breadth away from her container of pens. One wrong kick and the floor would be an exercise to clean (not to her, of course). Her windows were cranked open, the wind blew whistles into the hotel room, breezing an infant tornado. However, the space between its frame and the window was minuscule. A faint odour of smoke and factories danced in the air, all the way from the industry side of Birmingham. With her body slouching lazily on her rotating chair, the seat let out a desperate squeak as she shifted sharply. Although it was the long-awaited day for the removal of the bandage, she had done what she was told not to do as soon as the bandage was removed, which was sitting in a manner that could make the wound worst. While her chin laid on her chest, a burgundy glass of wine swirled in her cup, dancing in a regular choreography. The surface of her tongue was coated with the sweet, intoxicating flavour. 

The man lifted up the leather book, his raven hair swept down to curtain his eyes. As his fingers descended down the dates, the caress halted when it landed on the current date.  

The Italian shook his head, “Today’s free day. Tomorrow, get ready to buy a bottle of whiskey. So… can I go to the pub?” Shooting a glinting smile, Dante hugged the book to his chest as if a little kid, pleading to his mother for a lemon sweet. Y/N let out a huff, her head was thrown back into the back of her chair. 

“When have I stopped you?” He nodded, agreeing to her point.

Even though she had tried her hardest to get over with the work that had been piling on her desk, towering above her and nearly grazing over the ceiling, the thought of Finn somehow made way into her head- even when her task had nothing to do with the boy. To say the least, it frustrated her, especially with the fact that her efficiency in completing work has been declining. No matter how many papers she stuffed in her ears, nothing stopped his appearances in her head. 

An exhale fell off her lips, slightly heavier than she thought it would’ve been. 

“Anyways, good. I want to visit a friend today.” She mumbled, kicking her feet off before placing her cup on the table. Dante watched his boss as she paced around the room, a compass hovered over her head while she dashed left to the right. Her dress that rested below her knees danced in the air, slicing it in half with every sprint. After yanking her coat from the hanger with a swift tug, the clothing that was made for frigid weather let out a huff as it was thrown over the wooden table. 

It was possible for her to visit Finn, entirely possible. There really was nothing stopping her from visiting him, except for the extensive list she had concocted for herself. It had killed her to why she hadn’t done so, a thought of her reverting the direction of the car to pay him a visit popped out in her head before it was poked with a pin. No, it was harder than it sounded. 

Polly’s words swirled in her head, hovering around her mind as she would scribble against paper all day. Women like us. What had the lady meant? Every time she would dismiss that thought and not worry about the age gap since Finn was technically considered a man, she remembered that he was the younger brother of the man that had saved her. Heck, Finn was fresh out of the womb born when she was nineteen. That was a lot to digest. But a part of her clung onto the moments where it seemed he had returned back the same kind of affection.

If she could not fall asleep, all she had to think of was the night he pulled her out of her bedroom during the sobbing incident. He didn’t even ask after the night, leaving it in the past. Although a part of her had been slightly grateful since she wouldn’t be able to conjugate sentences if he were to ask, another part of her believed that he truly didn’t care, a faded idea was that she was just his host after all- he was just repaying back that deed. However, she had been slightly upset that he hadn’t bothered to prod in, he hadn’t insisted for her to open up. The woman herself was a frustrating mess. The road split into two, could she not go through the middle? Maybe it was for the best.

There were so many reasons that should’ve already been embedded into her head to why being around Finn wasn’t good for her or for the boy himself; however, looking back, she liked the aura he radiated when she was around him, she felt different. A good different. 

“Where you goin’?” Dante inquired. He watched as his boss smoothly slides into her shoulder holster before stabbing her metal key into the lock, yanking open the drawers which sent quivering tremors throughout the container. Whatever had been chucked in the drawer had danced to the earthquake-like beat. 

Bending, Y/N squinted her eyes for any sign of her pistol. Her fingers rapidly wrapped around the gun. She twirled it around, her eyes ran over the firearm for a quick inspection. When she made sure the safety pin was still intact, she tucked it safely in her holster, “Near the bridge.”

Dante bopped his head even though a part of him had been driven to confusion. Normally, she would either go to the club alone or at fortunate times, she would call the day off for everybody. He still remembered the joy radiated from Connor when he had heard the news. Only because Y/N had thrown one of the clients she could not tolerate due to his irritating voice. Everyone agreed with her opinion, the nasal tone was no different than rubbing a squeaky cloth on a window. His eyes followed her as he watched her slide into her coat in one swift, “Do you need me to fetch Connor to drive?” 

Y/N shook her head, “There is no need.”

“You should take at least one of the boys, I’ll come.”

While she struggled to pick up the car key from her desk, she threw a glare at the man, “You stay here and watch over the boys. I know that last slice of pie was eaten by one of you. You keep your eyes out and tell them I’ll shoot a bullet through their forehead if they touch my last piece of cake, I’m sure they do not wish for a third eye to be a permanent tattoo.”

Without waiting for his response, she had left her room. The carpet caused her heels to sink into the bedding, she let out a huff at the factor that would slow her speed down. 

Although it was a risky move to leave the hotel or leave the city overall, she knew that it would be impossible for the opposing side to know that she was involved in the situation. If they had found out, though, she would just applaud. She hoped that they hadn’t thought about inspecting each and every one of the garages since it was random and out of the blue. There, she would run into some trouble. No target had hovered above her forehead just yet. Tommy didn’t save her so she could prance on the street or take a tour around England while his family was held on strings by the mafia. 

Inserting the keys in her car, she let it rest in place while she leaned back into the seat; her fingers subconsciously already ready with the flaming stick of cancer. While going down the elevator, she had noted the unrelenting eyes thrown at her as if she was a mere museum display. They weren’t even bothered to hide behind a cloth. Disgust prickled against her skin when it didn’t stop there. There were an abundant amount of judgmental people who would elevate their eyes to look run their eyes on her figure. 

Sauntering down the street were white-haired men who waved their golden canes and women with their head held up so high that the flap of their head might just flip open. It was not quite like America. However, the amount of times eyes had gazed at her while she sat in the car alone had multiplied tenfold. They were probably wondering where the real owner of the car was. She chuckled, shaking her head before starting the heavy journey.

The ink from his pen smeared the paper, seeping into the sheet as he scribbled with confidence after he had read the line for the second time. Strokes of black lines finally set into the sheet of paper once he had given it time to rest. Raising it in the air, Tommy narrowed his eyes, squinting as he ran his orbs over the lines once again. Nothing wrong with rechecking. The man clicked his tongue when he spotted the unsatisfactory word. 

As soon as the paper glided back down onto the wooden table, his fingers were agile to scribble over. The sheet was organized, neat and professional. That was until the intended marking he wanted to be a sophisticated dot was dragged to draw a line across the paper.

“Fucking hell, Finn,” Thomas let out a huff, creaking back into his seat as his eyes gazed at his youngest brother. Was his office a barging room now? Slight aggravation roared in the boss’s gut at the paper which seemed his son had plucked out for a quick drawing session. “What do you want?”

Resting the pen onto the table, Thomas pulled his glasses off. Finn gazed around the room before he stepped inside, shutting the door behind him with a creak, “I heard you were going to send Arthur to tell Y/N of the party.”

“So this’s about Y/N then?”  

Thomas saw right through him like a beam through a badly-woven sheet of wool, cutting through the pores with an exhale. Finn cowered his true intention by a blush, although, he felt like Thomas already knew. Watching people be read by Thomas was amusing since they tried hard to stack bricks around them, thinking they had him on the other side. However, all Finn wanted was his older brother to lose that ability or power of doing so.  

“Well, what do you want to know about it?” Yanking a fresh cig out of the metal case, Thomas rubbed the stick over his lips before flicking his lighter. 

Finn pursed his lips before he made way towards his older brother, his strands of hair had curled out in peculiar angles, almost as if he was in a haste to meet Thomas. His fingers brushed over the bulging strands of cloth from his flat cap, “Could I be the one to tell her?” 

Narrowing his eyes, Thomas leaned back against the back of his creaking chair. A swirl of smoke danced from his cigarette while he stared at the youngest Shelby. Just a little bit of digging and he might be able to find a treasure chest, “Is there any particular reason to why you would want to do such a simple task?”

The youngest chewed his bottom lip, eyes darted to the shadowy corner, “Not exactly… Could I just tell her?”

With the dangling stick resting between his fingers, Thomas raised the cup of whiskey. He took a quick sip before he tried to read his brother once again, “I was planning to just ring her a call, simple as that.”

“Well, I’ll do it, I’ll go meet her.” 

A moment of silence squeezed in between the brothers before Thomas rapped the air with his huffing cig, “Shagged her yet?”

“Huh?” Eyes shooting wide open, Finn’s ajar mouth suddenly became parched, lost at words from his brother’s words.

“You stayed at her lodge, defended her against Polly and Ada. Now you want to be the one to invite her, personally, might I add. So, have you shagged her yet?” 

Finn’s cheeks tainted red before he shook his head. The vapour swirled into his nose, warming his lungs, “Good, she was close to John,” Noticing the confused stare from the youngest of the Shelby, Thomas quirked his eyebrows. “Well then? Why you still here?” 

Never had Finn sprint out of Thomas’ office as fast as he ever did.

As the breeze kissed her skin, she sported a smile that had not faltered or quivered. Nothing was there to threaten the curved line. When her eyes darted towards her left after she made sure that no objects were obstructing her way; that the vehicle was on the right path, she took in the view of the gentle and young stream of pure, nearly crystal-clear water. Beheaded flowers glided over the smooth stream as if a basket-worth of the unfortunate greeneries had been dumped, its white petals gave the flower equilibrium, floating. No matter how hard of an effort the flowers tried their best to close their arms, luck was not on their side. The sweet pollen was bare in the open as if it called for the blade ends of bees to suckle onto its treasury. While it floated over the water, it sang in falsetto. Amusing infant-like curls of waves nudged against the odd land, which curled and twirled in an almost peculiar way that mother nature herself would never act upon. 

Even if one was to be shackled in gold chains towards their banks, their money would never be adequate; it wasn’t possible to have such an astonishing view in the cluster of bar-like buildings. Here, in the middle of nowhere, was a sea of colourless diamonds, with a tint of hazy blue which had labelled a price tag that would cause ones’ eyes to bulge out of its socket, and a tranquil melody, a song sung by no one, yet, clearer than the freshest record player on the market. In the midst of a city, weaving canals were the bloodstreams of death and feculent odours. It was humorous, a plot of land, ruled by the dominating creature was nothing to an open area- where there was no crown, no king. Just survival. Without a doubt, the only thing that could stand against the clarity of the stream in the fields would be the new batch of glass cups that would sooner or later be the wives of countless of lips; home for attentive liquor. The wind was a monitored road, heavily watching the children pass the street towards their school for education, the empty bags they had brought sacked the heaviness that sat on her shoulder for weeks on end. Not even liqueur, a close friend she had opened up to, can relief of the lively thoughts in her head. 

There were no other disturbing noises, no other exhausts that had tainted the air (even though she wished she had just chosen to walk, the distance would’ve caused her to collapse like an emaciated horse), no yelling and no other reminder of the city life, other than her car which was her sole accompany. A smear of bleeding red jam against the white toast was the extensive field of bristles of grass whose heads stood erected like swords. Despite the bedding of blades, there were elegant heads of flowers that protruded in between the warriors. Her fingers drummed over the steering wheel, she began to hum, which was muffled by her throat as she imagined the life she had desired in the past. 

A life in the forest, a family in a humble, little cottage in the middle of nowhere. Was it even possible? A man whose hands had been dipped in blood? It was forever to be stained. No matter the barrels of cleaning agent, no matter the intense concentration. How had she expected him to drop the empire he had ruled over for a fairy tale? Even though he was a speckle of dirt in the past, her broom swishing technique was not yet solid, despite it already being two years. Her mind swatted the thought away. It left her at awe how a sauntering thought could ruin her mood. That was until she had to force upon her head to ponder of joyful memories she had actually enjoyed. 

Once a blur of what would normally be claustrophobic and grey, trickled in the corner of her eyes, her lips faltered to a tight line. The tree that hovered above the plot of land, protected the buried bodies under it like a parasol. Y/N let out a staggering exhale at what she was about to do. Was she even ready? It might’ve taken eight years for her to overcome, was it enough? While her brain chattered amongst its belief of how she had succeeded to wipe that part of her memory, her heart, in piercing shackles, disagreed. Although she wanted to turn the vehicle back into the deadly fumes of the city, the time had ticked short. The graveyard waited patiently as if it had expected her visit. Various shapes of standing blocks of stone stood out from the breathless view of nature which she’ll never be able to get tired of. A calm resting place for inanimate bodies. If she had the chance to choose where her body would be buried, it would be here.

After halting the exhaust, she hopped out of the vehicle, trying her hardest to fend off the hefty thoughts that would only chain her to the car, her only escape. Inhaling in the air, she noted that it was light, a twinge of sweetness swirled in the batch as if dripping honey. While her eyes were shut tight, she sucked it in as if she had been starved of it. Cleansing the fumes of city life in her lungs, the crisp strands made home in the warm organ, she made sure to cover every nook and crevice. The woman who wore a coat that was the colour a tone down of cigarette ashes lingered near the ton of metal before taking a hefty step. It reminded her of the unforgettable war, the heavy sludge of mud she had to trek into, to drag a wounded soldier to safety. 

The air was truly one of a kind, it would be considered as an extinct species in the bustling life in the city with all its deadly vapours and feculent odours. If it was to be bottled up and released into the tainted air of the city, the existence of humans alone would cause it to shrink to death. Every step she took towards the location felt like it had been inching down, engulfed by the starving ground. The strings that held her beating heart snapped, after all the years it had to endure while she wore her heart low- the line was bound to wear off, it plunged the organ into the gurgling acid of her gut. The holster that she had been wearing daily ever since she had entered the risky business, suddenly felt like a hefty cargo hook. The feeling was uncanny to that of when she had been given her first shoulder holster, given by someone who had engraved ‘L’ on the front of the strap. 

Finally, after what felt like ages, she stood in front of the tomb. The engraved letters that spelt out his name blared into her eyes. Seeing his name in her head was different than seeing it in reality. Her hands curled into a faint fist as thoughts bounced off the walls of her head. The woman squatted down, her knees brushed against the poking heads of the grass. The soft caress of flowers and the breezy wind was the only anchor wrapped around her ankles that kept her from floating away from reality. 

Her mouth stood, gaped open, there were so many words she wanted to regurgitate out of her chest, yet, it had clogged in her throat, obstructing the path of air. The coat that draped over her shoulder felt like an awful whole load of weight sitting on her. Reluctantly, she pondered if removing her coat and her defence was a good idea, especially since she was out in the open, where she was vulnerable. Was she to risk her life in the field of grass over buried bodies? Yes, all in the name of respect and trust in those who watched over her. Tugging off her navy swing coat, her fingers brushed over the warm leather straps of her shoulder holster. A second passed; she hesitated before she slid them off. The ground muffled the thud of the metal with its thick layer of soil, the pair of her favourite firearms accompanied each other onto the grassy ground. 

Fiddling with the hem of her sand-coloured skirt that stooped below her knees, she sat, pondering with lively thoughts in her head that milled around, the tranquillity of the air gave her the opportunity to think, which might not be pleasant since there was a chance for her to overthink. An offer the city could never be able to provide unless she had downed at least two rock glass worth of vodka, neat. Even though she was enjoying the memories that were played in her head, she had finally spoken up, “Wished I got here earlier, you could’ve shown me around Birmingham,” Y/N sent a smile at the carved name as her fingers brushed the blades of grass. The woman could imagine his face, his voice and his reaction. Eight years of nothing. “You wouldn’t have been underground.” 

The smile she wore flew off her face, the wind fled from the scene with the joy it had just stolen. Wincing from the pinching ache in her leg muscles, she let out a huff before making herself a place on the ground, somewhat reluctantly, indenting the field; it took a long second to get used to as the blades pierced into her, mercilessly. Even shifting to find a more comfortable position was painful. After succeeding, her fingers played with the neck of the flowers. “Finally met your brother, saved him too,” She grinned at the thought of the youngest Shelby as she patted the head of the flower who let out an uncomfortable groan. Before it snapped its face away from her, not wanting to be assaulted, once she had let it go from her suffocating grip. “I remembered when I saved you.”

Her fingers halted, hovering above a neighbouring quivering daisy who danced to the tune of the air, “Blood covered you from head to toe, thought you were a mental man before Tommy came to me,” The poor flower was caressed by her finger. “Not a mental man,” Her eyes flickered towards the tombstone. “A good man.” 

An ache twanged in her chest as she laid out the heavy words that had been piling up for eight torturous years, “What happened during the war was a mistake, I’m only quoting whatever you said,” She chuckled when she could practically hear his voice trickle in her ears, his chuckle felt nostalgic. The clarity was as if it was just a faint whisper from the night before. “It must’ve been rough after hearing the news that Martha had passed, she was a strong woman. I wouldn’t know how it’d feel if my husband left to fight for the country while I stay at home, a babe in me,” Y/N sent a glance at her belly before she darted her eyes towards the carved name. “Even though what we did was a mere… moment, I can’t forget about it,” She mumbled. “When I left for America, all I could think about was you, though for a period of time… it was suppressed. You said you were the kids will be looked after you, all by yourself, I remembered asking if you needed help… you said no. If only I had stayed... if only I had insisted.”

Beads of tears rested to glaze her eyes, a haze coated her vision, “I’d assume they’re doing fine with your new wife.” 

“They are,” Her eyes snapped wide, the tears she held on her eyes splattered into the air, breezing through the wind to splash upon thirsty greeneries. As she hastily yanked her pistol from the holster, there were a series of tremors pulsing in her fingers. Y/N stared at the figure, elbow pierced into the ground while her lip quivered from her oppressed tears that sat behind a thin sheet of a dam. “Woah, woah, there’s no need for guns, hey...”

Behind her layer of salty tears, she could make out that it was Finn. His lanky height, his cut of a hair and the way his voice smeared against her ears. Squatting down to her level, he rested his hand above hers that gripped on the firearm. He pushed it down to point it at the ground, away from him. Although he had not experienced such a situation where a gun was so closely held for his head, his reaction was calm and collected. While staring deep in her glossy eyes, he swam through the endless barriers. Finn managed to gently remove the gun from her grip before he placed it back on her coat. 

His face hovered over hers by a hair’s breadth, their eyes lingered as if locked. Y/N couldn’t believe this was the second time he would get to see her like this, frail and weak like a quivering doe. Before she had the chance to wipe the tears off, his hand rested on her cheeks as he took a casual seat, pulling her to do the same. As soon as his thumb pressed softly against her eyes, she let out a sob. His heart drummed against his ribs, had he poked her by accident? He had been extremely meticulous. What he didn’t expect was for her to bawl in his chest, her arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him into a desperate hug. Without a thought, he shifted closer towards her, his hand laid behind her head as she let out bursts of tears.

It felt longer than it should’ve, but Finn was not complaining. The view of her against the atrocious field was a sight. The memories of her and John had overflowed her head, it was seeping out of the bucket to flood and concoct a puddle. The soothing caress of Finn’s fingers against her hair had placed her in a tranquil mood. When her sobbing had died down, a melody worth dancing to was sung by the stream of water and the rustling of the sole, lonely tree. Not a sorrowful tune. There was peace the place engulfed them in, more comforting than any blanket she had slept in. Although a thought flew by for Finn to pull away, the boy hadn’t bothered. Growing up in a family of violence and harm, the Peaky Blinder boy found the warmth of the place to be just like when he was a mere boy, cared for. Weaving through the locks of her hair, his fingers were wrapped as he prodded his digits into her roots. Finn sprung into the spotlight when he found the beats of the song to be catchy. The humming of a lullaby echoed from his throat, the muffled noise resounded down his chest and into the woman’s ears.

“I’m not a baby, I’m a man,” Fingers brushing over the drenched puddle of salty tears, which was worth a scandalous rumour, she chewed the bottom of her lips as she waited for his reaction. A loud cackle hurled into the air, a booming noise that awakened the slumbering flocks of birds. There was no doubt, it was not difficult to find his laughter pleasing and almost like a strum of an ethereal strum. It was contagious. The disease jumped into her before she knew it, she joined by letting out a chuckle. Although she would’ve liked for her head to remain on him, the cloth had become damp- slapped onto her face, a favourite method of Dante’s to wake the woman up from her sleep. Finally pulling away from his chest, the weight placed on his chest had been removed. “I’m sorry, I don’t easily cry… I don’t know what’s with me lately, it’s just…”

Finn gawked mockingly, “What? I make you sad?”

“No! no!” Y/N shouted, smacking his chest which caused him to let out an amused chuckle. “It’s just, I just let it all out when I’m with you.”

Finn watched the way the strands of her hair flew in the sky as she sprung her gaze towards the field. Taking note of the way her fingers were fiddling quite nervously, he dragged the mood up, “So I’m your doctor now, huh?”

Throwing her head back in laughter, the grin on her face hadn’t been wiped off as the moment felt surreal. A glint of sparkle twinkled in his eyes, “Yeah, you fix me.”

“Then, I must’ve done a good job.” A chuckle bounced off his cocky statement. 

Gesturing her head towards his flooded stain on his suit, she mumbled under her breath, “I’m sorry about that.” The boy glanced down, words sprinted around his head as he tried to find the correct method of replying. Never had he had to deal with a woman bawling her eyes out on him. 

Even though he hadn’t found the perfect way to reassure her, he threw the coin into the canal with fingers crossed, “Just a few hours in the wind and it’ll not even be there,” She nodded, the back of her palm swiped over the line of tears obstructing her vision from the gorgeous view. Although a part of him had brought up the idea of raising his voice to ask her what had been causing her such sorrow, in hopes of maybe lifting the weight off of her shoulders to ease her from the pain, he decided to revert the topic. 

“Wait, how did you know I was here?”

“Oh, right, Tommy sent me to your hotel,” The half-lie and half-truth echoed into her ears. It was more truth than a lie, although, he had not bothered to interject the part where he had insisted, forced, his brother to send him, to deliver the message to the lady. How great of an actor the boy was. Y/N hummed at his reply, fingers rummaging through the pocket of her dress before pulling out a compact metal case. The engraved lines on the silver cigarette case were intricate as if a show plane had carved peculiar swirls in the air. “Asked around and Dante told me, so here I am, inviting you to a party.” 

Finn gazed down at the open case, it had been full except for two, the lid clanked as she waited for him to take one, his nimble fingers accepted. As her stick rested on her lips, she flicked her lighter for him. While his cigarette was dying to flaking ashes, she lit hers, “Party?” 

Finn hummed, body leaning back as he perched upon his hands, face coating by the warm rays of the sun, “Tommy decided to play truce before the war, called the guy and now we gonna have a drink with them.”

Driving herself to the brink of death by bottles of English liquor didn’t sound like a bad idea. Sadly, if she had known this activity was to happen during the vacation, she would’ve brought flasks of the finest her tongue had ever laid upon, all the way from home. Blinking from the most pathetic and ridiculous idea she had ever heard, she stared at him in disbelief, “You’re gonna drink with the man who murdered your brother?”

Finn let out a heavy sigh as he still could not figure out his brother, who was the leader of the business. Tommy was always like assembling a gun from the base, complex and evasive, “No one knows what’s going on in Tommy’s head, not sure why he’s doing this… It’s Tommy.”

“That’s Tommy, alright. When?”

“Next Friday, dusk.” 

She let out another hum while she scribbled a not in her head, hoping that she would be able to remember to tell Dante to jot it down in her book. Finn chewed his bottom, lively words scurried around in his mind. Although he had wanted to propose the idea of her going to the party with him, doubts engulfed him, wholly, as if it had waited to starve itself. Surely she could’ve found someone else? Someone older? Someone who didn’t look like a babe? Cloudy vapour swirled out of her lips like that coming out of a chimney, the deadly fume was ready to sprint, dash out of the cave of her mouth, ready to evaporate into the free air. Except, only a strand fled with the breezy wind while the rest stirred into her nostrils.

“Michael can do that,” Yanked back into reality, she stared at him to continue. Someone had mentioned that name. “My cousin, Aunt Pol’s son, can do that smoke…thing.” 

Her eyebrows clashed for a second as she tried to piece together what he was trying to inform. Realization kicked in when his finger wiggled at her cigarette. 

“Didn’t see him at the meeting.” 

“He’s recovering. Was shot at John’s house.” 

Silence emitted from her lips. Another drag to cloud her thoughts, another pull to loosen her head and another inhale so she could meet the reaper who had taunted her. Specks of dirt crawled into his nails as if it found solace in the tight crevices, clumps and clusters chained their arms together to form brown streaks. As he took a drag of his cigarette, the other hand was occupied with another method of relieving the roaring nervousness. The lines of the Earth concocted a painting, a barrier formed when his fingers dug into the bedding of the grass, “Was wondering if you would like to… uh… maybe go with me?”

With high hopes, his fingers buried dead in the soil crossed, “Of course.”

Finn wore a goofy smile. 

“Wear blue. Dark blue, you would look dashing in it,” Redness crept onto his pale cheeks at her compliment before he frowned, trying to recall the clothing in his closet. When the woman noticed his change in demeanour, an idea sprung into her head after she inhaled the smoke in. Ah, the wonders of cigarettes. “Alright then, upcoming Monday, come to my hotel and I’ll bring my finest tailor all the way from Paris.” 

Finn’s eyes widened. Was she really willing to do all that for a party?

“Y/N, that’s like… grands.” 

A chuckle fell off her lips at his reaction, “Isn’t that the point? We’ll be matching. Unless, of course, you don’t want that.”

It was as if he had been trapped in a corner, the clock above his head had sung a limited tone. He glanced at her quirked eyebrow, “No, no, I’d love that.”

When she glanced at the sky, the once blue became an ombre of yellow and purple, stirred in the middle of the two warm colours was a faint line of grey. The gradient was like an astounding backdrop of a painting, worth three grands at least. However, it wasn’t enough for a painter to take a glance before smearing his paint against the bleached canvas. The corners of her lips curled down as it was a sign of the approaching night, they would have to split up. The rustling of the surrounding trees indicated the pair that the flocks of birds have arrived at their homes, ready to slumber during the breezy night. 

“Well then, that’s it for the day.” Y/N mumbled, pushing herself up before muttering a thanks to the Peaky Blinder for dusting her coat up, strands of grass sprung off the cloth. Taking a final drag, the stick let out a desperate cry as the fire began to deteriorate its top portion of its body. With a flick of her thumb, the stick met with the grass blades. Its death was painless and quick. To not disrespect the resting dead, she made sure to discard it elsewhere. Not to taint nature. As she put her shoulder holster back on, tucking the pistol she had used at Finn, back in, her arms slid into the cooling sleeves of her swing coat. 

“Sadly.”

A minute of their eyes lingered onto one another when Y/N leaned in to place a chaste peck on his cheek. Oh, how Finn wished it would’ve lasted longer than a second. Pulling back, she grinned, “Thank you for staying, not a lot of men do that.”

Finn stood astonished, he watched as she got into her car. His eyes glued onto her, she waved him a soft bye before driving into the distance. His hand rested on his cheeks, a smile crept on his face as he played the memory on repeat. If only he had it recorded, he could play it on the pictures endlessly. The cigarette in his fingers rolled its eyes, the boy who seemed to be struck with love stared at the street she had faded away into. She had called him a man, Finn was a man. 

As the familiar door swung open, the scent of perfume that reeked of money rammed into his nose. It had been a battle of floral against liquor. Finn’s lungs had been assaulted the Peaky Blinder was met with a man, who was dressed so freely, Finn was sure he would have been the walking-gawking figure if he was to step outside of the house. The two hooks at the end of his pointy moustache prodded in the air. Although Finn had tried his best to ignore the fact that the man had ran his eyes on his figure, judging him, the man’s eyes flickered back to the woman who stood on a circular wooden platform that rested in the middle of the living room, obstructing the path towards the kitchen. Well, if one could squeeze through the narrow alleys between the table and its wall.

The boy allowed his eyes to be fascinated by the beauty of the nude-coloured dress that sat perfectly on her. However, his cheeks flushed red when he was caught gazing upon her exposed arm, sleeveless with lace ending up to her shoulders. “Finn!” After a stretched out week, Y/N had been waiting for the time the Peaky Blinder would pay her a visit. It had finally approached. The woman sported a wide smile that ran from one cheek to another, her joyful mood had been lifted higher. “Glad you could make it, Finn, this’s my finest tailor from Paris.”

Victor rolled his eyes while he paced back towards his client. Finn who had been stranded made way to sit on the couch that possessed an unspoken memory. The word fine was of low standard, the compliment served no justice to his splendid talent, “Baby, I’m more than fine,” Y/N let out a giggle. Though, it was cut short when the French man had accidentally tugged a string a bit too tight. “It’s nice to meet you, I’m Victor,” Roaming his eyes up and down the figure, Victor’s eyebrows clashed before he stood on his tiptoes so his mouth hovered over the lady’s ears. The additional height added from the platform caused her to be taller than him. “’Tis one looks young, is he underage?”

Y/N let out a scoff as she rolled her eyes. Finn, who had been the statue pointed at, threw perplexed glances at the figures. Were they talking about him? He was only right to assume as they kept darting rapidly towards him. Victor, who had been Y/N’s tailor for some time had been there for most of the guys she had gone through. Only those she had been serious with. As a tailor, a worker of art, he had remembered all of their faces as if it was just yesterday they had walked through his door for an outfit. 

Although Victor was pleased with her way of enchanting customers towards his shop, Y/N wasn’t doing charity for the men. It was something he had yet to unfold. All of their faces had a streak of wrinkle, the person that had entered the room was a boy. No line of age. The French man recalled her visit to his shop with a Greek man. Victor’s heart was at ease when he had heard they pulled away, mutually. The chiselled jaw and the Adonis’ figure screamed for Victor. 

“Come on, Finn, after this is your turn.” The guest nodded, his eyes attached to the woman’s figure, nothing can peel his eyes away from the ethereal sight.

“So, Mr Shelby, what’re your true intentions with our Y/N ‘ere?” Noting the awkward silence, the question buttered by Victor’s thick French accent smeared over Finn’s confused face. The corner of his lips curled up. Oh, the boy made the teasing so easy.

“Huh?” Finn blinked his eyes at the man.

“Victor!” Y/N threw a smack on his chest while he yanked a square piece of cloth from his blue-grey waistcoat. Letting out an entertained giggle, the 37-year-old man hovered the material over her skin, pondering if the tone was spectacular enough.

“I’ve seen all sorts of eyes on ‘er, what’s it you want from ‘er?”

Stammering, Finn squeezed out an answer, “Well, I want to go to the party with her.” The older man let out a huff from the disappointing reply even though he enjoyed the teasing game.

“Obviously. What is it? Money? Sex?” The blood vessels in the boy’s cheeks dilated, smearing crimson red across his face. He did not see that coming.

“What? I have to ask because I’ve seen those eyes before,” Although she was better at suppressing her tinting of cheeks, Finn could see a twinge of red. It was a less vibrant shade than his, though. “So what’s it, kid?” 

“I’m not a kid.” Victor hummed, flicking out his measuring tape. The string of cloth sprung out of his chest pocket to bounce in the air, ready to be yanked for measurement. 

Slow-paced days sauntered past, not by a blink of an eye, though. The countdown until the party had caused everyone to be pushed to the edge of their seat with tense shoulders. Well, Thomas especially since he had wanted everything to be top-notch. If he could describe the party in a phrase, it would surely be, without a doubt be reeked with gold. And reeked with gold it was. After overseeing the lavish bar, he had hurled the stacks of money for the place to be drowned with stacks of money that were once in his bank. He still hadn’t figured out why he had done so (wasting money that caused Polly to stumble); although, a part of him believed that he wanted to leave a mark on the Italian to the power that bled in him. The consequences of any side of the party to oppose the set punishments had been secured and agreed by both sides. Though, the Italian believed that the English should finally consume the right liquor, so, he had shipped his preferred liquor (that of his own company) to the social gathering. 

Y/N let out the air she didn’t know she was even holding in. The dark blue flapper dress sparkled even under the faint light of the distant moon. It was embedded with slinking strands of jewels which draped down as if sagging curtain lines. Stars decorated and embellished her dress, it felt ethereal to have the whole galaxy plastered against the skirt, priceless. Twirling in front of the golden mirror, she wore a grin that peaked from one cheek to the other.

Lost in the specks of glitters, the knock on her hotel door peeled her attention from the enchanting sight. Victor had made dozens of her outfits if she was lucky to visit Paris. However, his style had always left her astounded. 

On the other side of the door stood an incredibly nervous Finn. Drowning in sticky sweat from head to toe, Finn wondered how many more litres of the liquid his body could secrete despite the chilly night from the recent showering of rain. The palms of his hands were drenched with beads of sweat, the tie he wore was suddenly too tight despite the incessant amount of times he had adjusted it. Finn’s fingers unfurled over the tie as he remembered the conversation with his eldest brother. 

“Whose petrol did you suck, huh, Finn?” Arthur cackled, hand smacking over the youngest back. Under the hazy light of their house in Watery Lane, Finn’s suit was a blur of rich blue. After running his fingers down the lavish-looking suit, the eldest couldn’t believe Finn was capable to enchant someone. 

While Arthur was rummaging through the table of clanking glass bottles, Finn mumbled with a smile he couldn’t help but sport, “Y/N got it for me.”

The scavenger hunt for the whiskey bottle halted. Arthur’s calloused fingers hovered over the packed alcohol glass containers that called for him, “Y/N?”

Despite the buzzing in his ears, Finn’s hum as a reply made way to the eldest ears, “We’re going to the party together.”

Taking a second to realize his words, Arthur poured himself a cup of the liquor, “You and her close?”

The smooth cloth caressed against his fingers as he straightened the waistcoat for the hundredth time. Clicking his tongue, Finn replied, “Sure.”

Arthur nodded, chugging down the whiskey in a gulp. In the corner of his eyes, he could see the blur of the younger man, fondling with the pocket watch. Finn could not stay still. The youngest Shelby was rocking on his feet, fingers in and out of his pocket, hands straightening his waistcoat. There was only one viable solution to his nervousness. 

Finn’s eyes brushed over the blue bottle. Relief engulfed his body at the sight. While tapping out a line of the white powder onto the wooden table, making sure it didn’t seep into the cracks, Arthur inquired, “D’you know their history?”

Midway of the line, Finn’s neck craned up to glance at his brother. Although Finn did not know the pair his eldest brother was talking about, he shook his head. Arthur proceeded, “We always thought John had the ring ready. Even Thomas heard bells singing in his sleep. The war was horror and yet, the two of them made it worth fighting for.”

The bottle in Finn’s hands shook, glass dancing to the tighter grip he held. His dead brother was in love with Y/N? Steadying the heaving of his chest, Finn breathed in the line. Finn shot up, shoulders rolling to pick up his date for the night. There were questions blaring in his mind that were in need of answers, desperately. But tonight, the drugs were his leash.

Before he had the chance to yank his tie and alter it, the door creaked open. His jaw grazed over the carpet floor. The dress she wore glittered under the hallway lighting, the hem had been sliced into dangling strands, brushing over her knees. Maybe Y/N should’ve taken a breather before opening the door, maybe then she had the time to compose herself.

“Y/N..,” Finn mumbled, still in awe. “You look fantastic.”

The woman pressed her lips at his compliment, her cheeks flushed crimson red, “Thank you, Finn, you don’t look bad yourself.”

The cheeky smile played on the boy before he extended his arm, to which she gladly took. During the car ride, Finn had made countless glances towards the woman who sat next to him. It was a miracle he did not crash the vehicle. 

Once the car had stopped in front of the golden building, Finn mumbled a ‘wait’ before zooming out of the car, opening the door for her. A pleased smile crept onto the woman’s lips. While the pair sauntered towards the smeared light of the bar, a trio trailed behind them. Silently following their boss, the three men were dressed in uniform clothing, an oversized coat hung on their shoulders.

As they approached the elegant green door, the moonlight bounced off the golden doorknobs to shimmer the iridescent sparkles. The air outside of the club was hefty and still. There weren’t a lot of people capering on the street. There were only half a dozen men who had been moving about. 

“So, when do you plan to visit me in America?” With her fingers caressing over his velvet suit, she hadn’t bothered to throw a glance at where she was even walking, placing all her trust in him to guide the two. 

Finn chuckled. Although her face was hovering a hair’s breadth away from his, he didn’t muster the courage to change his gaze. If what had left him astonished and speechless, how could he react to her up close? The closeness between the two allowed him to sniff the strong yet chill scent of vanilla. 

They were closer towards the bar, now. Their glass panes of the French door was hazy, it was smeared with a blur of plastered yellow paint, obstructing the passer-by’s ability to take a glance on who partook a glass of whiskey. However, the crying of the trumpet and chill jazz seeped out the crevices of the door, to play in the silent cry of the night. On the empty street, wandering mice could dance as they scour for food for the night. 

Halting in front of the door, Finn turned his shoulders to face the woman. His fingers trailed from her arm that had wrapped around his to her bare fingers. Tingles trickled on the skin he had run over, despite the occasional singing of the wind. 

Y/N’s eyes watched him in interest, where had he gain all this confidence? The question was hurled through the window as her head gone blurry. His warm lips pressed against her evening glove-covered knuckles. Flickering his eyes to meet hers’, Finn couldn’t help but sport a satisfied smirk once he spotted her cheeks flushing.

While his thumb brushed over the bumps of her knuckles, he mumbled, moving his body closer towards hers, “When this war’s over and I get to convince Tommy, I’ll go to America.”

“You need permission from your older brother?” An amused chuckle fell off her lips.

Nothing fell off Finn’s lips while the carefree song trickled into his ears, “Yes, he needs to know I won’t be coming back to Birmingham.” 

Bloodshot up to her cheeks, before she had the chance to react, Finn interlaced his fingers with hers. Their digits weaved through one another as they stepped closer towards the bar. While Finn tried to suppress the smirk that had curled up on his lips, Y/N’s eyes never found the convenience to blink, had he meant what he said? 

As soon as the door creaked, cracking a gap between its frame and the slab of wood, boisterous chatter and jazz fled into the night air. Gold sparkled into her eyes. It was an overwhelming amount of the precious metal. If the marble counter and silver sparkles weren’t enough to blind her, bodies that passed her blared their sparkling gold into her eyes. The incessant amount of gold prickling her vision made her ponder, was the night holding something grand? 

They made only three steps into the bar when they were stopped.

“Weapons? We’ll have to pat you down,” Y/N’s eyebrows clashed in confusion. “Both of the parties ban weaponry.”

Finn nodded when he had recalled a smear of memory in the family meeting, though, he couldn’t remember it vividly because he had snoozed off. His fingers slithered into the inner pockets of his jacket, the frigid material caressed his skin before he had brushed against a freezing metal that clunk with his nail. Tugging the pistol out, it was soon out of his grasp. The doorman turned his gaze to the woman, although he was to walk away, Y/N let out a sigh.

“Finn, one second,” The Peaky Blinder’s eyebrows furrowed before he extended his arm which she graciously took. A tint of red was smeared against his and the doorman’s cheeks when her hand crept under her dress. “Here.” 

The blushing doorman reluctantly grasped the firearm, “Oh, one second, just one more.” 

Finn couldn’t even lay a glance on her, his crimson red cheeks had not yet cooled down when he had turned his gaze away to give respect to the woman. The air was sliced with a sharp blade. His mouth gaped open when his eyes landed on the weapon gripped in her hand. 

“Take care of her, or else you won’t ever hear another trumpet.” The doorman vigorously nodded at the order before he paced away with the weapons. 

Poking his inner cheek with his tongue, Finn looked at her, impressed to how she had brought two weapons, “What else you got under there?”

“Finn!” With a smack against his chest, the pair let out a series of laughter as they descended down the red carpet, their heads turned to gaze at the extravagant bar. Thomas had outdone himself. It must’ve cost stacks.

“Tommy booked the place, it’s only us,” Bopping her head, Y/N didn’t bother to inquire what was lingering behind the, ‘us’. “Thank you.”

The figure that weaved through bodies passed on flutes of champagne while a silver tray rested on his palm. Finn handed one to the woman of the night. After a nod of gratitude, the employee paced away to serve the customers.

“Y/N, this is my cousin that I told you about, Michael.” 

Clasping a hand on the younger boy’s shoulder, Michael wore a large grin, “Talked about me? I’m honoured,” Finn’s smile dropped down when the Grey mussed his hair. Despite him being recently discharged out of the hospital, Michael’s strength would never abandon him, no matter the dose of morphine, “Glad to meet you.”

Once they shook their hands as a greeting, Michael’s figure faded into the crowd, either returning back to his mother or to tangle with a woman, “You’ve caught yourself a big fish there, Mr Shelby.”

The pair’s neck turned to face the voice, to be greeted by the father and son duo, “Mr Aberama Gold, Bonnie, this’s Y/N, she’s the ally providing us the guns.”

“Indeed, with that face of yours, no one’ll suspect a thing.” She didn’t know if she was to smile at his words. Soon, their figures were diluted in the crowd. 

Her fingers dug deeper into Finn’s arm when her eyes landed on a familiar, too familiar man. Y/N’s eyes blinked rapidly, not knowing if she was hallucinating or if her champagne had been spiked. The caterpillar of a moustache that sat below his nose was just like it was three years ago. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Matteo’s eyes narrowed at the familiar group of men trailing behind the couple, which was met with the opposing Italians’. Then, it all clashed once a booming voice echoed through the bar, “Y/N!” 

The woman’s eyes didn’t mean to graze upon the heads rotating to face who the eldest Shelby had called for… but, she did. As if he had been pulled away from an amusing conversation, the matchstick that rested on his lips nearly clashed against the marble floor. Arthur’s figure sprung out of his seat when he saw the lady of the night entered the bar. 

Her gaze with her ex-fiancé remained. His aquiline nose pointed at her as if it had been surprised by her abrupt appearance. Surprised was an understatement for the Italian gangster. The red streak on his cheek had remained, a forever scar he would have to bear. As his hand descended to place the glass of liquor onto the table, the black ink flashed a smile towards the woman. The same tattoo artist had painted the same tattoo on the same spot for the two. What a fool she was, to think they would end up together. The memory of her nagging about his hairstyle seeped through her head. He stuck with the horrible slick back? 

“Why’s he here?” Y/N whispered under her breath, too quiet as the band’s bustling noise filled the room. 

“Hm?” Finn hummed, however, noticing her gaze towards the man who had killed his brother, Finn’s jaw clenched before replying, “Luca Changretta sent men to kill John.”

Just like that, the idea that the night would be one for her to enjoy had demolished into a rubble of bricks and dust. She tried her best to digest the new information, but it was too much. Her ex-fiancé had killed the first man she had loved? 

Eyes watched as the Italian gangster rise from his seat, chattering died down with the suspenseful pace of the Italian towards the middle of the bar. Two pairs of eyes set upon his unexpected action like starving vultures, in need of the hidden truth. Even though Arthur had not seen his brother’s murderer stand up behind him, he gleefully sauntered towards the girl, to only be halted by Johnny. 

“Y/N.” Luca breathed out, the name falling off his lips like the silk sheets they used to drape over their shoulders while their bodies connected as one. He had said the name multiple of times when she had not played a figure in his life anymore; it was nothing like her standing in the same room as him. Although his eyes flickered towards her arm wrapped around the youngest Shelby’s, his chest finally felt free. It wasn’t the same for her. Her chest tightened with every step they both took towards the middle of the bar. Finn’s hands were occupied with two cups, focus lingered on the pair. While Luca wore a faint smile, Y/N bore an unpleased frown. 

Luca’s tongue raised from his bottom teeth, ready to mumble her name again. Silence weaved through the bar. His hand rested on his sizzling cheek, the spot she had slapped him was now throbbing with pain. A series of gasps echoed in the air once the noise of her hand meeting with his cheek trickled into their ears. 

“Not as painful at the last one.” Luca chuckled it off as if to give a sense of clarity towards the prominent watchers, cracking his neck. 

“What’re you doing here?” The venom dripped from her lips, her eyes narrowing on his dark eyes. Was he the mafia the Peaky Blinders were against? 

Luca huffed, not liking that he was being watched while he was having a long-awaited conversation with her, “I could ask the same to you.”

“You lost that privilege years ago.” At the mention of why they had split apart, Luca’s jaw clenched. In the middle of a party, set by Thomas Shelby, the murderer of his father, his ex-lover was to converse to him about his mistaking past while they were being watched by strangers?

“We should talk in private, away from wandering eyes,” Luca mumbled, deeper as if he had not wanted any eavesdropping ears to hear him. “Amore.”

A scoff fell off her lips when he dared to call her the nickname he had given her when they were in love. 

“Don’t call me that.” The Italian couldn’t help but pace back a couple of steps when her pointing finger prodded his chest, fingernails stabbing his sternum. His hands raised in surrender, gesturing to everyone he would not dare to lay a finger on the woman. 

“Parliamo altrove.” (let’s talk elsewhere) The Italian words fell off his lips like a sharp dagger, embedding into her skin. The tone and words would’ve sent her knees to quiver, it used to but not now. 

She rolled her eyes at his attempt to fade away from the crowd, was he trying to protect his reputation? “Fanculo!” (fuck that) She stomped closer, forcing his neck to crane down at her. “fuck you!” 

Luca let out an exhausted huff, hand dragged upon his face at the uncooperative woman, “Se sei ancora arrabbiato-“ (If you’re still mad) He was cut off by her disbelief scoff.

“If I’m still mad? If I’m still mad?” The tone of her voice raised, she finally realized the silence from the band. “I saw my fiance in bed che abbiamo condiviso with another woman and you expect me to be fine?” (we shared) 

“Tesoro-“ She cut him off again

“No!” Her index finger pointed at him, fumes of anger burst from her ears. “You go back to the whore you fucked e tu la chiami Tesoro,” (and you call her treasure). “Because Luca,” His name fell off her tongue like silk, he gazed at the beads of tears threatening to gush out. Her finger quivered at the amount of anger she had suppressed. “You love your treasures, not throw them away.”

He bit his inner cheeks at the remembrance of how the names he would call her fell off his tongue in a series of moans. Having had enough, Y/N spun back to face Finn who had watched the dispute with mouth hung open. 

“Let’s go, Finn.” Without a thought, the Peaky Blinder placed the barely drunk cups onto the counter before trailing behind her out of the bar.

“Y/N!” Luca yelled at the fading figure, to only be halted behind the wall of the trio. 

Cold air engulfed her. It was no longer still but the presence of the strong wind caused her exposed shoulders to shiver, quivering at the breeze. Finn who saw that she was quivering, not sure if it was because of the sudden drop of temperature or what had happened in the bar, moved his nimble fingers to tug off his coat, draping it over her wavering shoulders. Bitterness lingered on her tongue, a stir of emotions had been provoked out of her throat, tugged from the deepest over her chest. All she could hear was the coat singing as it lands on her shoulder, the rapid clicking of her heels and a pair of feet shuffling behind her, trying his hardest to keep up with her pace. Although she wanted to mumble a ‘thanks’ to the one who had gifted her warmth, she was afraid a sob would echo into the air. Two times she had allowed Finn to see her in such a broken state which was two more than enough.

A waver from the fire well confined in the walls of the gas lamp played a peculiar puppet show against the dark night. With her head craned downwards, her eyes had lingered on her fast-shuffling feet that wanted to flee away. The tightness of her ribs suffocated her lungs, holding the organ as a hostage. Before she could take another step, the familiar scent of cigarette filled her nose. Finn’s eyes faltered close as his chin rested on her head, his fingers weaved through the locks of her curled hair. Her fingers clutched on his jacket, nails digging into the lapels of his jacket as if to hold her body up. Blocked by the lingering odour of cigarette and salty tears, Y/N let out a sob once she had realized she was crying. Once the realization kicked in, the streams down her cheeks splashed onto the concrete as if a drizzle. 

Finn’s arms wrapped around her head, covering all angels of her sobbing face. Had she digested it all? Doubts rammed in when she replayed what Finn had said about the Italian. An ugly cry echoed out of her throat. All she could see was the scatter of clothing, haphazardly thrown across the wooden-floored hallway. None of the female apparel was owned by her. Not the blue laced brassiere, not the drenched knickers. Was it easy? The question she had grown to live with ever since he had dragged a whore into the bed she and him had made love for countless of times. The question she had wanted to ask but feared her tears would be seen by him. Was it easy to fuck another woman who wasn’t her? Because Y/N could vividly see the first few months she had tried to get into a bed with someone who wasn’t him. It took four years for her to only want him. 

She could hear the wanton sounds trickling into her ears as if to taunt her. Staggering moans stirred with groans. Not hers, it wasn’t her. Three years of their relationship and a year into their engagement. That was all it took for him to fuck another woman. 

Footsteps approached Finn from his back. Although the man had wanted to twirl around to take a glance at who snuck up on him, he had a sobbing girl in his arms. 

“We’re leaving, Tommy called for a meeting.” Arthur patted his youngest brother’s shoulders, glancing at the locks of the woman before sauntering away into the fading darkness. 

The Peaky Blinder didn’t want to do it, but he pulled away, fingers trailed from the back of her head to her drenched cheeks. As his thumb wiped the stream away, her eyes were glossed with a layer of haze that sparkled under the moonlight. He mumbled in a tone as if he had a newly born kitten his grasp, “Never had I have to hold a beautiful lady cry in my arms three times.”

That was enough to pull a chuckle from her. Craning her neck back down to view the petite puddle of her bitter tears that would soon be engulfed by the occasional rain of England, Y/N bit the bottom of her lips at his jest. The corner of Finn’s lips curled up as he succeeded before gently pulling her face up by his hooked index finger, “He’s not worth it. He doesn’t deserve a jewel.”

His eyes flickered to her pursed lips. Before they knew it, their lips moulded into one another, fit into each other like a perfect puzzle piece. His hands trailed down towards her waist, softly pulling her to his body before one laid on her cheek. Her fingers were soon laid flat on his chest as their eyes shut tight. Y/N pulled back, inhaling the fresh air as the ones in her lung had been used up.

“So you deserve a jewel?” Finn threw his head back before pulling her into a long-awaited kiss. “Let’s see what shit Tommy has to say, eh?”

With his hand weighed on her shoulder, her fingers brushed over the bumpy hills of his knuckles. Finn and Y/N’s eyes watched as a ruckus spiralled out from the family. Arthur’s clenched jaw caused his neck veins to pop out (nearing to explosion), his body was seething with anger while a series of never-ending words hurl from his lips as if it was a catapult, all inclusively directed towards his only younger sister. The room was suffocating, particles of fury and red were stuffed in the walls that seemed to inch inwards, ready to strangle the irritating war. Scoffs and slamming of hands on the wooden table was the irregular tune made by the refuting family. It was prominent on who was on which side, it was clearly separated by the extensive table; splitting the two groups apart. Although the topic of the argument had started with Y/N’s connection that was correctly presumed by none other than Ada, it had somehow lead to their past mistakes as children. It went from ‘passing information to the enemy’ to ‘you sold my favourite hairclip for bread!’. 

Fluttering petals of rosy red crawled up Ada’s neck, smearing her face. The woman was educated, intelligent and smart; however, her patience and will to live while arguing with her stubborn eldest brother was short. Arthur would mock her witted reply which enraged her. If she didn’t have the speck of maturity in her (and the reminder that she was a mother), Ada would’ve sprung onto the table and smack the man. It was like a bloodbath with the two, on the other hand, it wasn’t the same for the aunt and the nephew. They took casual puffs of their preferred cigarette, although, it seemed that Polly was the one who would spark a comment after lingering her eyes on her only niece. 

Rummaging her fingers through the pockets of Finn’s single-breasted overcoat that was still draped over her shoulders, she pulled out the clanking chain of the pocket watch. It was twenty minutes past eleven. In the line of firearm business, late nights was an aspect she had to learn to adapt to. However, late nights was also the time she had had enough which is why doing business with the woman so late could only end up with a disastrous ending. Connor copied his boss’s actions before he pressed his lips, ready to watch the scene unfold before him. The three men threw knowing glances at each other as they have seen it first-hand, experienced to what a late hour can result in. Dante tried his best to not let the laugh fell off his lips when he recalled the time one of her clients ended up on his knees. Late nights call for a catastrophic boss. 

In the corner of her eyes, puffs of migrating clouds peeked into her view. Although the room had practically reeked of the deadly fumes, the nearby scent provoked her to snatch one for herself. If she was to go through another minute of their hurling words, a cigarette would be the first good cause. However, it didn’t have the same promising results a bottle of good ol’ whiskey provided. 

Craning her head as if she had been enchanted to, the mist called for her, whispering her name in a blurry yet choral tone. Dante’s orbs that were once set upon the family that seemed to be cracking like a fine China piece, darted towards the pair of eyes who had been ogling his cigarette. Although there was a slight argument to the presence of the Italian in the room, he was glad Thomas had won with a swerve just like that of a politician. As he passed her a cigarette, the Italian could feel a pair of eyes pierce onto his cheeks. The corners of his lips curl up like a mischievous serpent. Hovering his lips over her ears, blocking the boy’s view of the woman, Dante mumbled in a raspy voice he would use for whores, “Il ragazzo.” (the boy) 

There was no need for her to inquire when she felt a tighter clench on her shoulder. Finn’s eyes seethed anger, a red coat of paint over the glass pane of vision. Y/N hummed, picking up the hints of what the Italian implied. Slightly amused by herself participating in the scheme, Y/N swam in the stream, ready to flow with the boat’s rocking. Dante wore the devil’s smile as he pulled one cigarette for his boss. A sigh of relief fell off Finn’s lips once he noticed she had just wanted a cig. The sense of jealousy gushed out of his skin. 

Dante’s cigarette was dying alone in his other hand, its flaking ashes pierced into the carpet with a sizzle. So why was he rubbing another one over his lips? The Italian did not quiver his eyes away from the gawking Shelby as he dampened the unfiltered cigarette over his lips. Dante placed the cig on her lips, a colossal smirk sported on his lips. While her cigarette waited for the fire to burn its head, Y/N’s eyes batted like a curtain in a windy summer’s breeze as she gazed at Dante, the stick was now on fire with a flick of a lighter. There was a shimmer in her eyes, a plaster of sparkle. It was something Finn had wanted, all to himself. 

Connor shook his head, slightly entertained by Dante’s wit and ability to piss people off with his sharp green eyes. Once her lungs were warmed by the intoxicating bonfire of fumes, she shot up from her seat, startling the pissed off Finn. 

“Alright, listen, I’m going to make it short and simple. After I left England, I went to America. Met Luca, got engaged to him. He helped me build what I have today. Four years in our relationship, he was in bed with another woman. Now, it’s incredibly late at night and I’m sure your children are very much missing you at home. Goodnight.” 

With a bop of appreciation for their understanding, her three men trailed behind their boss. Finn darted his eyes at the creaking door; impulsively, he dashed to run outside of the building. The wind whistled, breeze swirling around his body that was not protected by his coat. 

“Finn… what’re you doing? It’s late. You should be getting some rest.” Patting her gloved hand over his red cheeks, she entered the car.

Noting her men was not around, he quirked up, “Where’re your men?”

Once she started the car, she turned to face him, “They needed to finish something.”

He gnawed on his shivering lips, contemplating on the idea, “Take me with you,” Before she had the chance to give a reaction, he proceeded. “I can protect you.”

Patting the indent of a pistol that was tucked in his trousers, Y/N narrowed her eyes if it was a good idea. Because the last time it was the two of them, the night had not gone so well; she could defend herself just fine. However, there were times you say fuck it, “Fine, get in.” Without a word, he hopped in.

“Have you ever touched a woman?” Heavy puffs of air grazed over her skin as her fingers brushed over the fuzz of his face. Finn’s eyes flickered to hers, away from the smeared paints of her lips. The grip he held on her waist loosened as the words began to swirl in his head. Was she going to walk away if he had said no?

Running his tongue to moisten his lips, the Peaky Blinder reluctantly shook his head. Strands of hair poked down to curtain his face, his brown locks blocking his eyes. With a finger hooked on his chin, Y/N gently pushed his face to meet hers. He gulped before saying the words, “No, I haven’t... touched a woman.”

It was a blurry haze. One second they were swimming deep in each other’s gazes, the next Y/N’s body hovered over his. Finn tugged her body as he laid down on the loveseat, her body laid in between his legs. A hair’s breadth away from his lips, she mumbled, “Then I’ll be your first.”

Finn nodded, fingers trailing from her arm to her cheeks, “I want you to be the first.”

As she urged him to stand, her fingers trailed to his forearms, pushing it to wrap around her waist. The tremoring pain in her toes had pinched as she tried to reach his lips. Their tongues danced with one another, puffs of heavy air gushing into each other. 

“You can go lower.” A twitch played in his pants as the trousers began to feel tight and clamouring with heat. The breeze of her words brushed against his ears. With slight reluctance, his hands splayed down to rest lower. Although the corners of her lips had quirked up once he had listened to her words obediently, she let out a squeak when his fingers began to knead it. 

“I know,” Finn mumbled on her lips as he tapped his fingers. “Overheard Arthur.”

Y/N let out a groan. Throwing her head back at his horrible interruption, she glared at him, “Finn, lesson one, you do not talk about family when you’re going to fuck.”

He giggled, pushing his face into her the crook of her neck, lips running over her collarbone with a brush of his skin. The scent of lingering vanilla trickled on her skin, swirling into his lungs as if an enchanting spell.

Her fingers trickled down his exposed chest, finger tugging his boxers. A wince slipped through his teeth at the smacking pain. Lost in the caress of her tongue, Finn didn’t bat an eye at her fingers that slipped through his boxers. An audible groan echoed, his thighs clenched at the hand around his tightness. Beads of sweat trickled down his forehead as she caressed his length in a languid pace. With a smirk, she watched as he couldn’t find stability to stand properly. Breathless exhales fell off his lips, the puffs of air caressing her shoulders. 

“Y/N…” Her staggering name stammered into her ears once her palm met with his dripping slit. Frustrated at her slow pace, his hips thrust into her hands, followed by a guttural groan from the man. Although she wanted to tease him, she guided him into the bedroom. Not without a whine echoing from his lips, though.  

Nudging him onto the bed, Y/N’s bottom lip let out a cry when her teeth bit down onto it. Finn’s body bounced on the mattress before he pushed his back to lay on the wooden headboard. Although he still had his boxers on, Y/N could feel the rush of heat spurt through her veins. His eyes wavered on her running fingers. A twitch in the only layer left which covered the tent growing, caught Y/N’s eyes once her garter has snapped open. Without quivering from his eye contact, she hurled the lace bra to the side. It screeched on the wooden ground before halting. Finn gulped, his throat suddenly parched at the sight.

In a blink of an eye, his boxers were thrown without care; she was on him. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head, whites covering the area that was once placed for her coloured iris. Pants and moans trickled between the two scorching hot bodies. Finn’s grip on her waist tightened once she had accidentally clenched around him tightly like a vice.

“Fuck…” Finn growled, heavy breathing coated over her pebbly nipples that bounced with her pace. The night dragged towards the bright morning, filled with relief. 

Glistening light poked at her hefty eyelashes with a temper of an untrained dog who waited for his breakfast. Even though the sun was already hung high in the sky with warm rays radiating upon the city, the two slumbering bodies could not be bothered to pace with the world’s set speed nor did they bat an eye at the world’s attempt to yank them out of their comfort. Honks seeped into the crack of the window which was stuffed with the yelling of people. People who were sauntering side by side, however, the volume of their voices was as if the other had stood all the way on the other side of the road. 

Lingering in the air was a barely traceable scent. The twinge residual of the perfume she sprayed the night before toned down. The overpowering scent of whiskey and cigarette springing off their coats fought an easy battle with the perfume. It was the first time she had slept without the excessive amount of perfume spraying. 

Craning her neck up, the corners of her lips curled at the ethereal sight. With his eyes shut tight, chest heaving at a casual pace, Finn had looked peaceful, tranquil in his own sleep. As her eyes grazed upon the smearing of her kisses against his pale skin, her fingers brushed upon the red marks of her lipstick, tracing imaginary outlines along the marks, up to his jawline. Nuzzling her head into his arm, the drumming of his heart echoed into her ears. A song she could fall asleep to. 

“Good morning.” Finn croaked out, body aching which urged him to stretch. Hands caressing the headboard, he dropped his arm to drape over her shoulders, pulling her closer to his warm body. Their bare legs weaved with one another. They scurried from the chilly edges of the bed to find solace in each other’s presence and warmth. With the addition of them slumbering late at night and their exhausting activity, the two had not bothered to cover themselves. 

“Good morning to you, too.” The pair giggled, lips meeting. Bodies finally facing each other, Finn’s fingers caressed her cheeks; he swirled the loose strand of hair while their lips moulded into one another. Back arched for his teasing-paced fingers to plunge into her, a knock slashed the tension air. A huff fell off her lips; a giggle echoed from his at her disappointed in the interruption. 

“I’ll get it.”

Toes already poking out of the sheets to be engulfed by the frigid breeze, a shiver crawled up his spine once the warmth of the covers was no longer defending him. Faint rustling from the door seeped through the cracks as if the person could not find a casual position. 

“No, stay here. I’ll get it.” Although Finn was slightly reluctant, he nodded at the hand gripped around his wrist. Once his body submerged back into the pad of heat, his eyes lingered on her figure as she sauntered towards a robe, body bare for him to gaze upon. Running his tongue across his lips, he gnawed on the flesh until she was out of his sight. With a frigid weapon in her hands, Y/N moved like a cat, sneaking upon without producing a quiver of sound.

The pistol was useless. After a mumbling of ‘Room Service’, followed by haste shuffling of feet against the carpet, Y/N waited until the shadow faded; no presence of the person. Jumping quick on her feet, the woman yanked the trolley in before slamming the door shut as if she was being watched with a target hovered over hers. What was she to fear? She knew Luca was the enemy, what would he do? Stacked upon each other as if building blocks, pieces of freshly cut fruits sat as a tower, somehow still balanced. Surrounding the tower were plucked out leaves, thrown around it for decoration. An uneaten part. Almost as if hidden, a piercing corner of a card poked out from the plate, the rays of light bouncing off the material to shimmer in her eyes. A sigh brushed her lips.

‘Six-thirty. Inkberrow Hotel. Stratford-upon-Avon. Henley Street. Do not bring any of the fucking Shelbys. –L.C’

A noise that was midway of a scoff and a huff echoed in the air. The familiar handwriting was smeared with frantic scribbles, almost as if he had left to write the note last minute. A few more months and she would’ve had the same last name. 

“Bed’s getting colder.” Her eyes faltered shut, hands raised to tangle her fingers with his hair after placing the gun on the tray. A pair of slithering arms wrapped around her waist, tugging her back to press against him. Pressing a chaste kiss on her exposed neck, a smacking noise played in the air, causing a giggle to trickle out of her. Although her fingers were nudging the paper into the pocket of her robe discreetly with invisible movements, Finn’s eyes brushed over it. However, he didn’t bother to prod as he had other ideas in mind.

Craning her neck to the side, her lips hovering a hair’s breadth distance away from his, Finn could feel the warm breeze when she mumbled, “Yeah? Let’s make it warm.”

A twitch stammered and she let out a squeal once his arms raised her in the air.

Even though Y/N held onto the hope that Finn would remain longer in her sheets, there was a minuscule part of her that knew he was to leave anyway. So, it did. A ring from Thomas and the youngest Shelby would obey without any refute. However, it didn’t mean she would give in without a fight. So while he suggested for them to shower, she had grounded him into the bed for a short while before he had trekked to the bathroom with her on his back, clinging onto him like a monkey. With the first phase of her plan gone to waste, she proceeded with the second phase, which was in the bathroom. 

Although she had tried to linger the moment by brushing over his chest, it had only worked until he recalled the urgent call. Once they were out of the bath, Finn had only gawked at her before his bare body had been covered with his suit. How had she been infatuated by him? Finn was a spell, a dangerous one. A part of her had tugged on the time for him to leave because she had wanted him to stay longer, but she knew, underneath the bubbling surface was her tight chest had not been ready to meet the long-awaiting appointment. Despite three whole years. Were three years even enough?

Once Finn had left the hotel after countless of sights that urged him to stay, to which he had yanked away from, she was left on the edge of the bed with the crumpled note arched on the tips of her fingers. 

As the door cried in the still air, Luca’s wrist halted, hovering over the sheets of paper with a pen whose ink had begun to dry. Although he was in the midst of scribbling vital information, the blaring lines had only smeared against his eyes, his brain was not able to process the moment he had been waiting for, for far too long. The air he had enjoyed with a twirl of breeze and a stitch of his whiskey had suddenly felt hefty on his shoulders. The pressure tightened around his chest like a whip. Fragments of his ribs cracked like china dinnerware that met the ground with a clash, floating in his chest cavity to pierce against his muscles. Once the door met with its frame; the shuffling of the maid had faded, Luca’s tongue swept over his pearly white teeth.

Y/N noticed there were no overpowering sounds trickling in the background. As his eyes grazed over the ink one more time, he pushed his back against the chair, shoulders squaring up. With a caress, the sleek, luxurious pen which must’ve cost more than an average one since it was embellished with gold and jewel of diamonds, the pen rolled over the wooden table to play a suspenseful tune. Finally, his eyes met hers. It felt like the night before. A voice in his head shook in disbelief as it implied its opinion. This is just his imagination, he had too much. Although he took years to compose himself, build himself back up, sometimes, time is not what one needs to start a decent conversation. Without a thought in his head, he blurted out, “You fucking the Shelby boy?”

The frog leapt out of the crevice of his mouth; the creature hopped onto the hovering lily pads in the air. Her eyebrows clashed in confusion at the brash accusation, “Three years and that’s the first thing you say? Be grateful that I’m giving you the privilege to even speak.” 

A staggering breath sang out of Luca’s lips. With a gesture towards the guest seat on the desk, he popped in a matchstick into his mouth. Noting bad habits were pulled out, Y/N lit a cigarette, reluctantly plopping on the seat. Luca watched with furrowed eyebrows at the smoke dancing into her lungs. The Italian man hated the horrible habit she had during their relationship, always bugging her on how it would be the death of her. While his tongue danced with the wooden stick, his eyes lingered on her casually dragging the cig, “You still smoke that shit?”

“You still biting matchsticks?” Without a word, he nodded, tongue poking on his cheeks. There were countless thoughts in his head, yet, time felt so restricted. As he ran his eyes over her dress, he pushed himself off the table.

“What’re you doing here?” The air was an ocean. Sunk at the lowest level of water, the pressure sat on her shoulders. She was a fish roped to an abandoned ship, struggling to flee away from the sauntering sharks. Silence. Her fingers brushed over one another as she watched him pace towards the alcohol cart. 

“Whiskey?” A hum played in his ears. His square back faced her as he refilled his own cup since what was about to happen clearly needs whiskey, and another cup for the guest. Placing a cup in front of her, he plopped back into his seat. “What’ve you heard?”

“A vendetta.”

Luca hummed, his eyes glued onto the swirling tornado in his cup just like when he had been told of the heart-breaking news by none other than his distraught mother, “They killed Angel and Father.”

Digging a grave in the shrivelled velvet purse, her fingers were engulfed by the warm stitching. Although the history between the pair was rough over rugged waves, memories will linger. Y/N will never forget the high admiration the Italian held for his father. To be groomed as the heir and the successor of the empire that Vicente has yanked out from the deepest of American soil, words murmured about Luca had been hurled around, an inevitable future everyone could see. Y/N remembered word-to-word. Feared for their quivering loyalty, the people who had even the minimal of ties with the Italian syndicate, had to learn their consequences first-hand if they were to step out of the boundary. 

Despite him being portrayed as this painting of the devil in a cloth of black, there was an underlying layer, beneath the one he had coated himself in. Y/N got the privilege to meet that part of him. The Italian did not hover the façade of a mask in front of his family; in fact, the belief of blood being thicker than water was the reason they all had gotten along. Uplifting when surrounded by his blood relatives, Luca had been an excellent older brother. Everyone could claim so even with a glance. Y/N’s throat suddenly became parched in realization. Luca had lost the only brother he had, “Luca…”

Not tearing his eyes away from the cup of whiskey, he mumbled under his breath, “Mother misses you, wished you were home.” Before she even opened her mouth, he gulped down the whole drink.

Ever since Luca had courted the woman, it was definite for Y/N to be interrogated by the Italian. During the course of befriending his family, Audrey had taken a liking to the girl. Seeing the effects Y/N held on Luca, Vicente had peeled his wife’s overprotective layer, which soon caused her arms to wrap around the woman. The feeling of acceptance by the Italian mafia had been a foreign emotion. To be seen as one and not a threat built a tie with each member of the syndicate. Chewing on her inner cheek as if a stress-reliever, she took a sip to ease the pain, “Have you told her?”

“What do you take of me? Of course I told her,” Luca’s gnawing teeth sawed on the matchstick as if a blunt saw. Though, he was more of a beaver who had migrated elsewhere. Painfully recalling the moment he had cracked the reason to why his ex-fiancé had fled away, to his mother, a sorrow scowl sported on his lips. “Didn’t talk to me for two weeks. She heard that I was drowning in a bar, then she cooked up those pasta you liked.”

“Go home, Luca. Staying here is no good for you.”

Hurt layered his eyes as the strain his voice staggered down the steps, “Why should I? You won’t be there.” Luca’s head darted away. The sentence clogged in his throat. You won’t be at home. Deep down, Luca knew, no matter what he would do, nothing would bring back the scorching love the two had. Had, the past he should’ve already moved on from. 

“No, I won’t be at home. But I know that Capone is singing in victory while you’re here.” The Italian let out a scoff while his towering figure shot up from the seat. The chair let out an ear-pitching screech, no different than that of a triggered explosive.

“It’s for Angel and Father!” Pain weaved through his words. With a slam on the table, flying sheets of paper danced in the air as the empty glass swung in place.

To be courted by the Italian had taught Y/N countless of things not many knew about him. After four years of being with the man himself, Y/N had concluded that he was as persistent and stubborn, “It is for Angel and your father, but you have to go back. Here, you’re vulnerable. Capone is King in your absence.”

“I was vulnerable when they died!”

Scoffing at his words, she too, shot up from her seat, her purse was slapped against the surface, letting out an echo, full of frustration, “I was vulnerable when I found my husband was fucking a whore!” 

Taking a second to digest her words, Luca mumbled with a clench in his jaw, eyes narrowing, “So I leave their deaths in vain?” 

“Going back to New York and staying there is not leaving their deaths in vain. You know I’m right, when have I ever been wrong? Go back Luca,” Splaying on his large hands that were once a source of warmth on her cheeks, Y/N’s hands pushed his palm onto his beating heart. “And remember them here. Their deaths will never be in vain.”

Eyes trailing from her hand to her eyes, Luca mumbled, “I’m sorry.”

“I know.” 

A haze of misty smoke drowned the room. Dangling between his fingers was a huffing cigarette whose head has been flicked to a pile of cremated ashes. The faint sizzling echoed from the crystal ashtray, accompanying the only other present sound of paper turning. While his fingers glided over the sleek sheet, Thomas took a drag of his cig, pondering to the typed lines. Although it was nearing noon, he felt he needed a haste nap in his bed. Terribly. The lines of words squeezed into one another, clumping up into balls of black ink just like the period of time when he had not owned a pair of glasses. Except, this time he did (all to blame the immeasurable volumes of liquor he had chugged down). An unreadable tragedy. Letting out a frustrated sigh after his head could not digest the word, the warm vapour of his cig wrapped around his head as if a blanket. No matter how many cups of liquor he had refilled, the droopiness in his eyes was impeccably heavy. 

Finally over with the uncooperative feeling, Thomas shifted the stick to his non-dominant hands. The frigid kiss of the pen bit into his palm, sending shivers up his arms. Even though he wanted this to be over; he wanted the day to end, the papers must be read thoroughly as any slipped lines could be the end of his empire. But, honestly, Thomas was nudged. Fuck it. Gliding over the surface in one swift movement, Thomas scribbled his signature. Somehow, the black strokes seemed as if he had pondered with great thought. The loop of contemplation between the ‘o’s concocted a circle, an orifice to the hole he was forever to be stuck in. 

Boisterously, the crying door let out a pleading creak. Thomas’s eyes snapped away from the dozen sheets of paper he had gone through that sat on the top corner of his desk, even though a hefty stack rested on the left side, the glistening crown it wore blared into his eyes for hours. A slight furrow in his eyebrows played before he clicked back his pen, taking a sip of his drink, ready for what news the woman came in for, “Call it off.”

Without a word uttered, Thomas quirked his eyebrows at her statement. Shutting the door behind her, Y/N made way to lean against a wall, swirls flaming from her cig created a hazy mist around her. The battling of two cigarettes trickled in the air while the lingering odour of whiskey cowered in the corner, “I know when you’re planning and you’re planning something right now. So, call it off.”

Thomas blinked his eyes. The rays of sun danced through the cracks of the blinders, blaring into his eyes. Placing the vision-helper onto the surface, his fingers made way to massage the clenching that rested behind his eyes. If only he could pluck the orbs out to satisfy the itch. Glowing a minuscule orb, the light source sitting on his desk smeared a flickering green onto his face (a contribution to his sleepiness), “What the fuck are you saying?” 

“Luca’s leaving.”

With a sweep against his ears, the clenching muscles in his lungs halted. The gears and spanners in his body did not creak a limb as his brain processed her words. Thomas wasn’t sure what to feel. A can of petrol regurgitating its contents into the bonfire he made from the vain death of his brother. It was a bitter scorch of fire, swirled in a cooling mint. Despite the refreshing drinks he had consumed, all of its effects wiped off once the words were stuffed into his throat, “What?”

“He’s going back to New York.” Y/N mumbled, fingers running over the velvet spines of books stuffed onto the bookshelves.

“And why the sudden change of mind?” There were so many ways he could react; Thomas Shelby didn’t know which one was appropriate with his current mood. 

“Gave him an offer.” Quirking an eyebrow, the corners of Thomas’ lips curled up.

“Will I be invited to the wedding this time?” 

“I’m not marrying him,” Y/N almost huffed out. “Said that I’d work with him.” Thomas hummed, fingers lacing into one another as the back of his mind began to calculate a plan. Well, plans. To kill or not to kill. Pondering to himself, Thomas branched out in the countless of ways of response. Was he to leave his brother’s death in vain? 

“Good. Cause Finn would not shut up about how good you were.”

The smoke seeping down the column of her throat screeched to a halt, clogging the airway at his words. A tint of red smeared her cheeks at the prominent smirk the man wore. Oh, was the boy done for. 

A layer of light glazed over the green-tint of water, grazing over the horizon in smears of blurs. The island her foot once rested upon faded in the distant, it became nothing but a haze of grey. Orbs of yellow embedded the vertically-placed cuboid buildings while a stroke of gold plastered across the city. Sinking into the vast, never-ending horizon of cerulean blue, the arms of the sun widened, radiating rays of warmth upon the night before it slumbered. 

Crashing of waves sang into her ears, the overlapping of the warm grumble from the ships’ horn and the hasty shuffling of feet against the deck created a sense of adventure. With a lot of memories and experience in spending countless of days entrapped in the cabin over the migrating waves, Y/N had found herself accustomed to the smell which some people would found sickly. The twinge of salt and smeared breeze of the pure ocean trickled in the air, not an odour that a new traveller would find pleasant.

Chattering of overflying birds who wouldn’t find the need to rest their vocal cords played from above, raining upon the travellers as if series of bullets. With the kissing of wind engulfing her figure, Y/N stuffed her hands in the warmth of her coat pocket. The corners of her lips curled down at the memories she decided to reminiscent. People she won’t be seeing for quite some time; a grave she won’t be able to visit. 

Other presence of people ebbed. Nauseated by the overpowering pungent of blocks of salts, the onlookers who had exited from the boat to the wooden deck to embrace the view shuffled back in. Only one remained. Y/N’s eyes never left the sacrificed, infant waves who rammed into the rusted metal sheets of the boat. Too lost in thought to realize the temperature of the air faltered, zipping down to bites of frost. Echoing from a great distance, which trickled closer to her proximity, a pair of feet rubbed against the beads of rain decorating the deck. 

Seeping through the barrier of salt with a muffled slithering, the odour of freshly smoked cigarette battled with the ocean’s musk, “Let’s go back in, it’s cold out here.” Once the words fell off his chilling lips, her body tingled up the new change in temperature. Finn placed a chaste kiss of heat on her cheeks, despite frost cracking on his lips. Their gloved fingers tangled with one another, weaving like irritating locks of hair. Making their way to their designated cabin, warmth gushed through their pores. A heart can be mended back, you just need to find the right string. 

Part 1 | Part 2

[queenbirbs]

the way home | Ch. 2 | Edward x MC

Pairing: Edward Mortemer x MC

Word count: 1,977

Summary: In which traveling to the past is only half the battle; or: Elena finds her way back.

Warnings: language, some violence 

Read from the beginning or continue on Read on AO3

Tag list: @writinghereandthere

------

Throngs of people breeze through the streets of the port town, unfazed by the stacks of boards and pallets of bricks that block sections of the main route. 

The hurricane’s damage is much more obvious this close: swatches of roofs torn away, replaced with makeshift sheets of tin, the steeple of a nearby church gone, with only splinters remaining. Elena recalls the story about how she saved her home from a hurricane and hopes that she hasn’t arrived too late. Having wasted time doubling back to her buried bag and stowing away the clothes she arrived in, she hurries through the packed streets as best she can. The new boots pinch at her feet with every step. It would be nice, she bemuses, if she could keep her clothes with her when she travels back in time. 

“Would’ve saved me a fortune,” she mutters, navigating around two men haggling on the price of a goat. 

Complaints aside, she loves the feel of the silk vest against her skin, of the fresh leather across her hip where her new sword gleams in its holster. She even bought a cavalier hat, excusing its purchase with the protection from the sun it offered. 

It’s nice to be back, to resume her role as Elena McTavish, infamous pirate. The years of holing up in her sister’s apartment or Robert’s hotel rooms, scouring documents and scrolling through endless message boards for time-traveling artifacts was no life to call her own. The occasional trip to Calgary or Edinburgh or New Orleans to hunt down a lead was the closest she ever came to a real adventure back home.  

Up ahead, she spots the tavern and winds her way through the crowd to reach it. The inside is as dimly lit as any other pub she’s been to, no matter the century. Ignoring the jeer of a drunken man near the door, she makes her way to the table Robert has commandeered near the back. His new attire fits him well, colored dark as to blend in with the shadows -- just as he likes. He slides a mug to her before launching into his update. 

“I found us a ship. Decent crew. They need four extra hands.”

Elena sips at the ale and raises her brow. “Did you tell them that the two of us are just as good as four men?” 

“Aye, that I did.” A smirk flashes behind his mug. “They agreed to take us aboard. I told ‘em that we’re interested in finding an associate who’s likely to be farther north. As it so happens, that’s where they’re headed for a trade route.”

“Did they know anything about--”

“You know as well as I do that Edward has made enemies -- none as big as the Admiral, but enemies nonetheless. I thought it wise to keep mum about who exactly we’re looking for, especially when they’re our ride out of here.”

Elena frowns, though she dips her head in acknowledgement to his point. “I asked the ladies in the shop, but they didn’t recognize his name. This port gets its fair share of traffic.”

“Aye, we’ll have better luck with the smaller islands.” After a subtle glance at the other patrons, Robert leans over the table and drops his voice to a mumble. “I managed to find a few of my old contacts. Both of them said the same thing: that he’s offering a bounty of sorts for information on you.”

She takes a slow sip of her drink and attempts to act nonplussed. “When did they hear about this bounty? Recently, or…?” 

“Within the last three months. So, that tells us that he’s in the area.”

“Yeah,” she sighs, unable to hide the daunting weight to her words, “the area of one million square miles.” 

“Oi.” He nudges her arm, bringing her sour gaze up from her mug and back to him. “The hardest part is over. We made it back -- and this time, hopefully, for good. Don’t beat yerself up. I told you that I’d stick with you until we find him, and I will.” 

Elena settles in her chair, holding back the relieved sigh that’s building in her chest. She doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much that means to her. 

On their first return, he’d all but left her in the dust when the wormhole they used spit them out in a church in Salvador, down on Brazil’s coast. When their time ran out and they were both sucked back to the future a few weeks later, the leopard had changed its spots, so to speak, and Robert admitted his own faults with trying to go at it alone. 

“How do you manage to slip back into the accent so well?” she asks, unsubtly changing the topic at hand. 

“Helps if you learned to do so in the first place. When you first showed up, you hardly attempted to assimilate. Didn’t help you any when you waved yer mobile about.”

“Says the man who stuffed gunpowder into little tubes and tried to pass it off as an original idea? And it’s not my fault that I ended up being put on trial! Edward was the one who broke the Code by letting me come aboard.”

Robert shrugs off her point, hiding his grin behind the glass. 

“We would’ve shot you first, if that’s any consolation.” 

“Honestly, as someone who swam half a mile in a dress, it is.” 

 ------

Adjusting the sails alongside Rhodes, the ship’s boatswain, Elena looks out across the deck of the Little Death and to the green spot on the horizon. 

The ragtag crew welcomed them with somewhat open arms, more desperate than anything else to have help running their sloop. It didn’t hurt, of course, that Elena and Robert knew their way around boarding and pillaging merchant ships. On their journey from Santo Domingo’s port, they manage to pin down two ships along Hispaniola's southern shore, and then another as they pass by Tortuga, long abandoned by the buccaneers that ran it during the mid-seventeenth century. After stopping briefly in the West Indies to gather more crew, they head north into Great Britain’s territory. The islands here are smaller, clustered together within twenty to sixty nautical miles of each other.  

“Sail ho!” someone cries from up in the crow’s nest. “Got a brig comin’ ‘round to starboard!” 

Along with everyone else, Elena eagerly searches the expanse of water. The Red Duster flag fades into view soon enough. She frowns at the British merchant vessel, turning the ugly flare of disappointment into fierce determination when she boards it twenty minutes later. 

The merchant crew is really no match, she finds, after tying several of the men together with their own twine. Captain Delaney, a chiseled man without a single ounce of humor in his entire body, gets right to business with giving his crew orders on what to plunder. 

“Montgomery and Lear, supplies!” he shouts. 

Snapping into action, Elena and Robert disappear down the ladder and into the ship’s hull. It had been his idea, of course, to use fake surnames. There was no need for their temporary crew to know their real names, especially with the rumor of a reward for--

“McTavish!” a voice blurts from the darkened corridor. 

Her step falters; she knocks her shoulder against the wall before righting herself.

“Keep moving,” Robert hisses in her ear, brushing past to hide her from immediate line of sight. 

“Shut up!” Rhodes demands over the sickening slap of skin on skin. 

“What if it’s--”

“It’s not,” Robert cuts her off, bending down and shoving a crate of supplies into her lax hold. “If it were, they’d call you by yer given name.” He moves about the room as he speaks, pitching his voice below whoever is outside calling for her. “Don’t look at them. Make them think they’re just confused.” 

Shifting the crate in her grip, Elena nods her head. “Got it.” 

“C’mon.” He dumps a smaller box on top of hers in an effort to hide her face. “If the captain wants more’n this, he can send down another--”

“Elena McTavish!” the voice cries again when they exit the room. “I know it’s you -- it’s me, Doyle! Officer Doyle! Please, you can’t let them kill me!” 

Behind her mountain of supplies, Elena rolls her eyes at his begging. Robert’s nudge at her back urges her to ignore the man. Their path is blocked by other members of the crew waiting their turn to return to the deck, leaving her at the mercy of Doyle’s pitiful wails. “I -- I have a family, now, a wife and a little boy. Please, you have to tell them to let me go!” 

“Oi!” Rhodes knocks him back against the wall with a kick to his ribs. “What did I say?” 

“I’m sorry, please, I’ll -- I just -- Elena, please, I helped you when--”

“For god’s sake, shut up!” she snarls. She turns on her heel to face him, but Robert blocks her with his own bulky crate. “We aren’t going to kill you, you idiot. And my name isn’t McTavish. I’ve never met you before in my life.”

“I don’t understand. Please, Elena, you’re my only hope! You can vouch for--”

“Rhodes?” she calls down the corridor. 

The sharp thunk of skull meeting wood echoes through the small space. Her lungs seize, unable to see the damage for herself as guilt races through her. 

“You’ve a soft heart, Rhodes,” another of their crew says with a smirk. “I woulda done more’n knock him out.” 

Elena clenches her jaw against the grating noise of laughter. Robert joins in, adding his own insult that gets them going once more. Adjusting his load, he reaches down and pats her arm, nodding at the question in her eyes. She welcomes the breath of relief that fills her lungs. 

After they leave the merchant ship behind, Rhodes approaches her out on the deck. He drapes his arm around her shoulder in a casual gesture. Elena decides to ignore the gaze he seemingly has trained on her breasts. 

“I thought your name was Elena Montgomery?”

“It is,” she scoffs. “Moron mistook me for some poor lass, I guess.”

“Hmm. Poor lass indeed,” he agrees. 

Glancing up, his face tightens around a grimace before his smirk springs back. His hand squeezes her shoulder for a beat before he moves off with a wink.

“God, could he be any more obvious?” she asks without bothering to look up from her task.

Robert grunts in agreement, chuckling under his breath.

“Aye, he’s probably considering what he could buy himself with that many pieces of eight.” 

“How many, exactly?” Elena questions, curious. 

“Six-hundred, according to my contacts.” 

Her jaw drops a fraction before she snaps her mouth closed. “The same payout as losing an arm, depending on a ship’s Code. Which is, I imagine, what Edward’ll do if Rhodes here threatens you to get that coin.”

“That’s…” she trails off, still trying to move past the sum. 

“Not his best play, I’ll give you that.” He tips his head to the side in consideration. “But it keeps mouths moving, keeps people looking.” 

Finishing off her last knot, Elena shifts to lean against the railing. She could corner Rhodes when night comes and threaten to slice his balls off if he tells anyone else -- but then that would be all the convincing he would need. Keeping her head down is probably the best way to go about it, but that runs the risk of him feeling brave enough to pull a stunt on her down the line. 

“Dead men tell no tales,” she recites in a sing-songy tone. 

Robert steps up to join her at the railing and crosses his arms, glaring out over the deck at the man in question. 

“Leave him to me.”

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 71

Thank you to @satan-parisienne for being my #1 beta reader and literally writing half this chapter.  So many conversations between us are captured in their essence when Sophia and Tyche interact, but this was such a rare opportunity to transcribe such a conversation. 

There are so many other people I want to thank, but if I thank all of you, this post would be literally just tags. So, I want to include @baelpenrose and @anotherusrname for also being there for everything that doesn’t make it into this story, and @charlylimph-blog for being the light and joy in the world that I wish I could be. 

No worries, this isn’t the last chapter, I just had a really rough week from a mental health perspective.  The show will go on.

At some point during the night, Xiomara vanished with the gorgeous artist. This left my sister, Charly, and myself to annoy Sebastian until the guys could come and rescue… someone.  I wasn’t sure if they saved us or the poor pub-owner. All I could remember after Xiomara leaving was Charly deciding Conor was a good chair: intending to sit on her stool, she had unceremoniously climbed in his lap instead. After some wiggling to figure out the difference, she had pronounced the chair to be soft and warm.

With a snort of laughter that made my eyes water, I had to explain that it wasn’t the chair she was practically wallowing in, it was my boyfriend’s lap. With a very serious look at his face, she had only patted his beard and announced that she understood why I kept him since he was so comfortable and warm. That was the point when Coffey scooped her up, tossed her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, and took a still-waving Charly home, and everything else kind of blurred together.

As for myself, I woke up the next morning being tortured for my sins. Someone had decided to play a recording of a cement mixer over a looped track of a chainsaw, at full volume, targeted straight at my ears. Groaning in pain, I covered my ears and quickly realized I didn’t have enough hands to also cover my eyes. The chainsaw stopped abruptly and I felt the mattress dip to my left. I cracked my eye when an arm nudged mine. Maverick was handing me a cup full of something that was quickly snatched away when I tried to sniff it. He brought it back with a pointed look, so I placed my faith in him and chugged it.

If it smelled half as bad as it tasted, no wonder he wouldn’t let me take a whiff – only every shred of self-control I hadn’t exercised the night before kept the concoction my stomach. It tasted like analgesic, so I assumed if I kept it down, the hangover would go away eventually. That didn’t make the act of forcing it to stay in my stomach any easier.

When I no longer felt like my brain was trying to escape my skull through judicious use of a sledgehammer, I took a deep breath and braved opening my eyes. What little light there was in our bedroom was no longer cleverly crafted from sharp objects, and the cement mixer had been replaced by Conor snoring away to my right.

“He took the late shift to make sure you all got home safe,” Maverick whispered softly. “So I agreed to be the one to deal with your hangover.” When I glared at the empty cup he had taken from me, he shrugged and smirked at me. “Analgesic, electrolyte solution, and an anti-emetic.”

“No wonder it tasted like ass,” I grumbled.

Jokingly, he waved a hand in front of his nose before pinching it. “I think you’re just tasting your mouth, honestly.  You really need to brush your teeth.”

Scowling, I ran my tongue over the inside of my teeth – and immediately regretted it. Did I eat a dead rat or something? I whimpered to myself before staggering to scrub the taste of whatever it was out of my mouth.  After a rather prolonged date with my toothbrush as well as a shower, I managed to walk much more gracefully into the kitchen to get some coffee.  Conor had already beat me to it, however, handing me a steaming cup as I walked in. He carefully ruffled my hair – I was still struggling with flashbacks – and bent down so I could kiss his cheek.

I pulled back and arched an eyebrow. “You sure you don’t want that kiss from someone else?” I teased.

“You would never believe how awkward that was,” he deadpanned, rolling his eyes. “Charly’s a nice girl, but I got my hands full with you two. Sides, she’s a bit much for me, you catch my drift.” He gave me a pout and tapped his cheek again.

Giggling, I obliged before going to sit on the couch and putting my head on Maverick’s shoulder. “Do I smell better?” I yawned before sipping my coffee.

“Much,” he exhaled gratefully.

I snuggled in further, now that I was granted approval. “Tyche make it home okay? I’ll admit I don’t remember much.”

“Yeah, she’s fine.  Antoine took her home not long before Coffey came and got Charly.”

“They weren’t sneaky at all, you know?” As I said this, Conor walked in with a quizzical look on his face. “We knew you, Coffey, and Antoine were sitting in the opposite corner all night.  Zach showed up later, hung around for a bit, so did Simon but he headed out kind of early.”

“You weren’t supposed to know,” Conor scowled comically.

“You and Coffey are the two tallest humans on the ship.  Did you really think you were hiding? Especially with Xiomara at the table?”

“She’s got a point,” Maverick laughed. “What is it you always say? Xiomara has horse’s ears?”

Conor tipped his head back laughing. “I said I hadn’t seen her in a donkey’s ears, which just means a really long time. But yeah, I should have known she would see us.  We figured she’d be on our side, not ratting us out.”

I buried my face in Maverick’s shirt, laughing.  Sitting up, I wiped a tear from one eye. “Love.  Xiomara was in the military and trained in hand-to-hand combat, and you don’t want to see what Tyche can do in a fight.  She fights dirtier than mud.  We were safe, I promise.”

“Let us worry,” Maverick pressed a kiss to my temple. “You don’t get to hog all the overprotective instincts, you know. And besides, if any of you ladies thought that Coffey wasn’t going to be watching Charly like a hawk, you’ve lost your minds. I’ve seen what she can get up to when she’s sober. Drunk? No thank you.”

“Speaking of Charly,” I adjusted so I was sitting straighter. “Galactic education starts next week.  She told me she’s in one of the first classes.”

Maverick nodded. “Yeah, same section I’m in, I think. I didn���t recognize the teacher’s name, though.”

“At least that means we know it isn’t Simon,” Conor pointed out with a grin.

“Be nice,” I remonstrated. “Eino administered all his testing for certification, and he’s pretty impressed with Simon.  Even in the practical observation, he did a great job.”

“Wait,” Maverick ventured slowly. “If this is a new curriculum, how is there a practical observation?”

Conor shook his head before reaching forward to squeeze the other man’s knee. “The educators have to go through the course before they can teach it, just like anything else.  They’ve already been trained in how to teach, but need to know what they are teaching.”

I picked up from there with a nod. “Simon, on the other hand, is already familiar with the material but had to go through training to know how to teach. So, two birds, one stone.” Leaning forward, I flicked my wrist to bring up my datapad where everyone could see it. “Simon is one of three people who will be fully reassigned to teaching the Galactic education courses, while every other trained educator on the ship will be teaching one to three sections in addition to their existing coursework.”

“Nearly every other educator,” Conor corrected with a stern look.

“You sound like Tyche.”

“With good reason! You never told anyone you were a teacher!”

“Wait, what – “ Maverick sputtered, confused. “You were!?”

“One, I never actually taught on my own, I changed careers in my last year as a student-teacher. Two, I did tell other people! It just never really came up that often.” When Conor opened his mouth to object, I cut off the statement I knew was coming. “And I have mentioned it to the two of you, so I don’t want to hear it!”

Conor’s mouth shut with a click and realization dawned on Maverick’s face. “All those nights you were going through candidates to teach the courses… You kept saying you would make sure the program succeeded….”

“Even if I had to teach it my damned self,” I finished. “I wasn’t kidding.  All I need is about fifteen more hours practical observation, according to Eino.”

“You asked?” Conor looked skeptical.

“Well, Tyche did,” I admitted. “Just because we were having a hard time finding enough candidates to dedicate their time to just that course.”

“I thought Alistair was a teacher?”

“Librarian,” I corrected. “Totally different skill set, believe me.  I tried suggesting that he teach a section or two, and got an earful about the differences.  Ironically, he gave me a lecture about how he isn’t trained to lecture?” Shaking my head, I finished off my coffee. “Anyway, we managed to find enough teachers, so courses should start next week.”

“We should celebrate!” Maverick grinned. “A big family dinner, since we kept it small for Insert Winter Holiday. Invite everyone!”

I started counting in my head and groaned when I hit the double digits. “Mav… that’s…” Xiomara, Zach, Hannah, carry the three…. “That’s fifteen, sixteen people?  I don’t think we really even have room for everyone.  Especially if we don’t want people getting overwhelmed.”

“You and Tyche may want to talk about a family dinner rotation.” I thought Conor was joking, but a look at his face told me he was dead serious. “When there were just five of us, it was one thing, but now? The dinners the two of you make are turning into the hottest table in town.”

With a sigh, I shot a quick message to Tyche to see if she was in the land of the living.  Rather than respond, she showed up at my quarters, Antoine in tow and Mac staring balefully from her shoulders.  “Hangover remedies are revolting, but work,” she proclaimed while making a beeline for my kitchen.  Shortly, everyone was seated with a fresh cup of tea or coffee. “Now, why have I been summoned from my lair?”

I gestured to Maverick first. “Handsome number two had the idea to have a family dinner to celebrate the launch of the new education courses.” I paused for effect. “All of the family.”

Tyche sputtered and choked on her drink. “Where would we fit them all!? Neither of our quarters are anywhere approaching large enough.  We would need a small mess hall, which kind of ruins the effect.”

“I agree.  But I also agree we need to celebrate… what if we talked to Sebastian and took over the Undine for a night? It’s smaller, with dinner-style tables.”

She tipped her head side to side, thinking. “It might work.”

“Well, Handsome number one came up with another good point.” I gestured for Conor to explain.

“I just think you and Sophie should consider setting up a rotation for family dinners. Not just who is cooking,” he rushed to clarify, “but who you’re inviting. We love you girls ‘til the wheels fall off, but you adopt strays faster than most cat ladies I’ve met. Not that I’m complainin’, being part of that number!” He held up his hands in surrender. “But don’t you lasses think the ‘come one, come all’ approach is getting to be a bit much?”

To my surprise, Antoine nodded even more emphatically than Maverick did. “Sophia, Tyche, he is right. Only sheer luck and good manners have kept the two of you from being overwhelmed by your insistence on feeding anyone who arrives during your ‘family dinners’.  Inviting specific people on specific evenings may be the best idea, while also considering keeping some meals to just the five of us.”

Before the objection could even bubble up to my throat, Maverick squeezed me against him. “I can actually feel her heart breaking.” Briskly rubbing my arm, he dropped a kiss on top of my head. “Sweetheart, you and Tyche both said it yourselves: If everyone chooses to drop in on any given Wednesday, neither set of quarters have room to accommodate that.”

Tyche heaved a sigh of concession. “Okay, I definitely see the point about the ‘just us’ dinners… I’ve really missed those, honestly.  But, how do we decide rotations for everyone else? How are we supposed to make it fair?”

I sat bolt upright as her words hit me. “You. Are. A. Genius.  I actually have an answer to that!”

The expression on her face was matched by the one Mac was dishing out when my exclamation interrupted his nap. “Okay… How am I a genius right now?”

“How to make it fair.”

“So, for bringing up the question?”

I nodded my head emphatically before gulping down the rest of my coffee. “Themes.  We are going to set… five. Five themes. Culinary ones.  We are going to set… five. Five themes. And anyone who has a standing invitation to dinner will be asked to rank them, one through five, and we’ll use that to set the rotation.” I grinned triumphantly as Tyche’s face shone with realization, but then looked at the guys.

All three of them were completely lost.

“Everyone except the five of us will get the list of themes… something broad.  Not a specific dish, but a really broad type of food. They rank the five, with one being the absolute preference and five being ‘hey, not my favorite, but if Tyche or Sophia are cooking, I may give it a shot.’ The first, say, three people who ranked a certain theme their favorite get that, then the rest get their second choice, so on and so forth.”

“Ideally, no one will have to eat their fifth choice theme,” Tyche clarified. “Or even their third.”

Maverick hummed briefly. “So, say everyone picks the same thing for their number one. How do you decide who gets it?”

Tyche and I glanced at each other before I shrugged. “Honestly, the three who have the most restrictive dietary needs, are closest to us, and get along the best. If everyone picks the same thing for their first choice, it’s going to be something plain and probably vegetarian because that’s the majority of Derek’s diet and he has the most restrictive one. So it would be Derek, Grey, and probably Zach who got that one.  Everyone else would then get their second, and so on.”

“But,” Tyche emphasized, “letting everyone pick the meals they would prefer makes it the most fair and easiest on us, because then we know what to cook each week.  And there would still be meals for just the five of us, right?” She glanced at me, questioning.

“At least every sixth meal, but I would prefer after every three,” I admitted.  “That gives us once a Terran month.”

“What about big meals?” Maverick pressed. “For everyone?”

I tapped my chin for a moment while Tyche furrowed her brow. “Quarterly?” I asked, just as she suggested “Birthdays?”

Ugh. Both made sense. “Well, our birthdays are three months apart, give or take a few years, so we could still do quarterly. I just figured the Terran equinoxes and solstices, because they align with pretty big Terran holidays in most cultures and religions.”

“If you went with that, it would mean we could have the option of quiet birthdays,” she pointed out.

“That’s what I was kind of thinking,” I admitted. “I mean, what if we don’t feel like peopling on our own days?  We could still do that, in addition to the other four, but it wouldn’t feel mandatory.”

“I like it. That’s the solution.”

I grinned widely, happy with the compromise. Conor, however, waved his hand where everyone could see it. “For those of us who don’t have a mysterious psychic connection that even Noah says doesn’t exist, what exactly are your themes going to be?”

“Spicy, simple, protein, vegetarian, and soup,” Tyche and I answered in unison.  While it wasn’t intentional, we managed to stifle our surprise and laughter to make it look like we had done it on purpose.

Antoine looked thoughtful before nodding. “That does, actually, make the most sense.  Those are such severe distinctions, excluding the soup, that there should be no difficulty with anyone having a definitive preference.”

I thought about that briefly. “Yeah, I know ‘soup’ feels like a stuck on category.  But I genuinely know people who hate it, and also some who will eat any soup or stew you put in front of them.  It’s about the food touching, the flavors combining, and so on.”

Maverick was the one to back me up on that bit of information. “Derek will probably rank soup as either first or second, especially if you go by the strict culinary definition.  For someone who doesn’t like mushy food, he practically loses his mind if you give him a bisque.  It’s crazy.”

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[fictionadventurer]

Here, have a bunch of scattered thoughts, observations, and opinions about Greta Gerwig’s Little Women:

(Spoilers below, which wouldn’t usually be a big deal for something based on a classic novel, but I will be discussing the ending).

General Thoughts

The colors in this movie are lovely. The cinematography is lovely. This is a movie with so many wonderful things to look at. (Though the lighting was too dark in some scenes).

I loved how tactile this movie was. The things on-screen just feel so real and textured. I don’t know, like, there’s a fence Jo climbs over, and we see the splinters in the fence and it just feels weighty and textured. It made me appreciate the things in this movie’s world and in ours.

The music was great. I want the soundtrack.

I loved, loved, loved all the dancing scenes. Not sedate, not romantic, just so much vibrant joy and life. Jo’s dance in the pub was one of the highlights of her story. Almost as good were her and Laurie’s ridiculous dances at their first meeting–you see how well they get along as friends. The focus on dancing is definitely one of my favorite parts of the movie (and another reason I want the soundtrack). 

A lot of the acting had weird rhythms to it. Especially in group scenes where there was a lot of talking, it felt like people were just rapid-fire reciting lines from the book, rather than saying real things that real people would say. 

The beginning confused me. I couldn’t figure out whether the woman was supposed to be Jo March or Louisa May Alcott (part of the problem is that I wasn’t expecting a blonde Jo). I kind of wish Gerwig had just made a Louisa May Alcott biopic if she wanted to explore Little Women’s publication process, because it just makes this story more confusing.

The flashbacks were less confusing than I was expecting. There were a few times where it took a few seconds to figure out which part of the timeline we were in, but for the most part, I could follow it because I was familiar with the book. I’m not sure I could have followed it if I hadn’t been familiar with the book.

Some of the flashbacks layered together really well.  Other times, it just felt like we were jumping randomly through time. At some points, it didn’t feel like a story. It was just stuff happening, and even if it looked nice, I couldn’t connect to it emotionally.

I kind of like the way they layered Beth’s original bout of illness with her death, but then the story moves on to other storylines and other flashbacks and the death doesn’t really have an impact. Her death is just another thing that happens, rather than an emotional turning point.

The ending is very frustrating. So many of my thoughts about the movie in general are shaped by that ending, so it’s going to get it’s own section (and probably at least two other posts about it).

Character-Focused Thoughts

Laura Dern was a good Marmee. A bit livelier than might be expected, while still being warm and motherly. I can believe this Marmee would struggle with her temper.

(For some reason, I just really like Laura Dern. I don’t know why. Thus, I can’t give a real assessment of her Marmee because I just like that she was in the role).

That conversation between Marmee and Jo about her temper made no sense. Marmee starts out saying that she’s learned to control her temper, and when Jo says she wants to be like that, Marmee responds, “I hope you’ll do better. There are some natures too noble to curb, too lofty to bend.” What? It sounds like she’s saying that Jo doesn’t need to change, which is the exact opposite point this scene should be making. Unless she’s trying to say that she wants Jo to do more than curb her temper, but become someone so strong in her morals that she can stand strong against the temptations in life. But that’s not clear from the scene, and it’s easy to read it as a vague “empowerment” message. It’s another point where conflating Jo with Louisa May Alcott (by giving Marmee a line from one of Alcott’s mother’s letters) made the story more confusing.

To my surprise, I really liked Emma Watson as Meg. Or at least, I liked Meg and was able to forget that she was played by Emma Watson. She was a bit distant, a bit bland, but there was also something compelling about her sedate sweetness. (I loved her purple dress).

Her little subplot with John and the silk was my favorite part of the plot. Just when I was thinking, “This is just like other Little Women adaptations where I can’t connect to the characters”, we get that stunning scene of them discussing the price of the silk and I get teary-eyed over John’s regret that he’s too poor to give his wife what she wants. His compassion warring with his frustration, his love warring with practicality. Exquisite. And the resolution was perfect, with both of them willing to sacrifice for the other’s happiness.

As you can probably guess, I loved James Norton as John Brooke and wish he’d had more to do in the story.

While I kind of wish that we’d seen more of John’s love story with Meg, I also kind of like that we kept the focus on their married life. This movie’s so obsessed with marriage, but this is the only part of the movie where we get to explore what marriage actually looks like, rather than just listening to characters talk about their opinions of it.

Jo was lively and vibrant and I loved how they kept her relationship with Laurie so thoroughly brotherly (until the ending, which I’ll get to later). And I loved the “I’m so lonely” line, but the movie didn’t really do anything with it. There was so much potential for character development, but then she just didn’t develop. It’s the exact opposite of everything that I talked about in my essay about the ‘18 Little Women. The earlier adaptation got a lot wrong, but Jo’s arc was strong and compelling. This movie just assumed that Jo’s already great and didn’t give her an arc at all.

Beth was sweet and adorable and I wish we’d gotten more of her. The scene where she thanks Mr. Laurence for the piano was one of my favorite character moments of the movie. Her barely audible, stammering ‘thank you’ is such Shy Kid Culture.

Florence Pugh played older Amy very well, and highlighting her practicality was an interesting choice. But why didn’t they hire a kid to play younger Amy? She was ridiculous in the role of a twelve-year-old girl. I spent half the movie trying to figure out what young Amy’s voice reminded me of, until I finally realized: It sounds exactly like Mallory from Studio C whenever she plays a little kid in a sketch. I doubt that sketch comedy was what these people were going for in their Oscar-nominated movie.

Amy and Laurie’s romance had very interesting moments to it, and I love how they pushed each other to change. I liked the idea of it (and loved the scenery it took place in). But as two characters who fall in love, I’m not sure that what we saw on-screen was enough to make me really believe in it.

Mr. March was almost a non-character. I really wish that he’d been more present, and I wish they’d highlighted his letter and his role in his daughters’ character development more. (But this movie wasn’t really interested in the virtue-development part of the plot). He was bashed a lot by Aunt March and we didn’t get a chance to see if she was right about him or not.

Aunt March is a delightful old-lady character. I loved a lot about her. I didn’t love how she was a mouthpiece for their most ham-handed ideas about marriage.

Hannah was excellent. Added a nice dose of practical common sense. One of my favorite characters.

Making Mr. Laurence into a Southern gentleman was an interesting choice, especially given how this episode highlighted the Civil War part of the setting. I liked him, especially his relationship with Beth.

I laughed during Laurie’s first appearance, when the camera slowed down and made it into the most cliche romantic-comedy moment possible. Then when he spoke, I understood for the first time in my life why people like Timothee Chalamet. The goodwill toward his character was not to last.

Brotherly Laurie was adorable and likable. One of my favorite scenes was when he first meets the March family, and just stands there silently appreciating their lively, loving, comfortable family atmosphere.

Romantic interest Laurie was a jerk and a creep. The way he kept touching people who didn’t want to be touched, forcing affections on people who didn’t want them. Not cool. And “She calls me ‘my lord’?” Creeeeeepy.

After all the hype over the smock scene, I was expecting a lot more. I was like, “That’s it?” Not that I’m complaining–I was expecting something a lot more overtly sexual and I like that it was restrained.

(The cloak that Amy puts on after the smock scene? Gorgeous. I want it.)

I hate that Jo decides she wants to marry Laurie. After a whole movie spent showing how she’s right that their relationship was brotherly and that Amy’s a better fit for him, suddenly out of nowhere she just wants to attach herself to him because she’s lonely. And then it fails not because Jo has any revelations about herself or life, but because he’s already taken. It was just so bizarre. Especially in light of the ending, but again, I’ll get to it later. (Probably in another post).

Bhaer was a lovely character. I don’t understand why they made him French, but he’s such a steady, sensible, caring presence for Jo, so sweet and intelligent, and the movie completely failed to make use of his character and the arc he could have provided for Jo. 

The Ending

It’s my biggest source of frustration. I’d been fully spoiled for it, knew that it was “ambiguous”, and came fully prepared to do as many mental gymnastics as necessary to allow for the interpretation that Jo and Bhaer’s love story is the “real” ending. I couldn’t do it. There is no way that I can see that chase in the rain as anything other than a “forced” ending to the fictional story in Jo’s book.

When Bhaer visits the March’s, Jo’s not warm. She’s not happy. She’s just stunned and awkward. Frederick saying that he’s taking the job in California is nothing more than the most blatant set-up for a romantic-comedy ending. Even when he leaves, Jo doesn’t seem regretful, he’s just like, “Come and visit me sometime,” and Jo’s only response is, “Yeah, I probably won’t.”

Then, when she turns around, everyone has the most forced, zombie-like smiles on their faces. “You love him,” they all insist, and Jo is just baffled, like she’s in a Twilight Zone episode and struggling to assert her reality against a world that’s warped around her. Then they railroad Jo into a romance plot, setting up everything for the romantic-comedy chase in the rain against all of Jo’s protests that it’s unnecessary. And then the actual declaration of love is so entwined with Jo’s talk to her publisher that I can’t see it as anything other than fiction. The lines are such vague romance stuff that seems unconnected to anything that we’ve seen in Jo and Bhaer’s relationship through the rest of the movie. “I have nothing to give you,” he says, even though there’s never been a mention of him as poor before, no indication that this would have been a problem for their romance.

And then we see the lovely sunlit ending where everyone is happy and living active, fulfilled, love-and-service-filled lives, contrasted with the cold sterility of Jo watching her words get bound into a book. Don’t get me wrong, the binding process was beautiful to watch, but putting it forth as a “better” ending than Jo and Bhaer running a school together was absolutely ridiculous.

At best, I could try to say that the sunlit ending is a happy future brought about by the publication of the book–the royalties fund the school, everyone can be together, and Bhaer works at the school and he and Jo are friends and colleagues even if they don’t get married. But it’s given such an unrealistic gloss, and when the scene fades out and turns into the cover of the book, it seems like the final stamp saying that this is all fiction, and the only real thing about this ending is the book that Jo holds in her hands.

Instead of being surrounded by loving family and friends, she’s alone, holding a book. A book that isn’t even the book she wanted to write, a book that forced her to abandon her artistic principles for the sake of money. And to me, she looks like she’s about to cry (not happy tears), and it’s just such a bleak, sterile ending to a movie with the potential for such vigorous life.

(I do kind of wish I’d seen it without being spoiled for the ending and not knowing Gerwig’s thoughts about the “best” ending for Jo, because I’ll never know if I would have come to the same interpretation of the ending if I’d been coming in completely blind. I kind of feel like I’d have had similar thoughts, but I’ll never know.)

There’s so much more I could say about this ending, but all my thoughts are connected to how it affects the arcs and messages of the rest of the movie, and this post is far too long already. I’ll need at least one significant essay and at least 1-2 other posts to untangle exactly how this ending affects my feelings about this movie.

[marypsue]

who manifest their presences by shadows

This is just a short...experiment? Proof of concept? I challenged myself to write a take on some of the most popular fic tropes for Crimson Peak, just for fun. This one's 'OFC descendant of Edith and Thomas'. If I were to expand it to a full-length fic, it would involve ghosts (obviously), reincarnation and/or reincarnation-adjacent nonsense, and Laura (the OFC) finding Edith's novel and realising the past is trying to repeat itself, with some interesting and unexpected results.

The title comes from Angela Carter's short story 'The Lady of the House of Love'.

[on AO3]

...

It all started when Laura’s grandmother died.

They hadn’t exactly been close, but Grandmother Thomasina had been a lot closer to Laura than she had been to anyone else. Her husband had died before Laura was born, and she had no siblings. And Laura had been the only one who’d had any time for Grandmother Thomasina’s ghost stories.

Still, it came as a surprise to everyone when the will came out and they learned that, first, Grandmother Thomasina had owned a huge estate somewhere in England, and second, that she’d left it all to Laura.

Laura’s father advised her to just sell it all. It was a sizeable chunk of land. It likely would’ve taken care of her tuition. It was good advice. She should have taken it.

But somehow, Laura couldn’t bring herself to let Allerdale Hall go without ever seeing it for herself.

She wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like the place had any particular meaning to her family, considering that most of them hadn’t even known it existed. Apparently Grandmother Thomasina had inherited it from her mother, who’d got it from her dead first husband – Thomasina’s namesake – and nobody’d been back to see it since he died. It sounded like there’d been some kind of scandal, maybe – he’d died pretty young. Or maybe after he died, the place had just held too many painful memories.

Either way, by all accounts, it sounded like kind of a dump. The title was not very descriptive, but Thomasina’s will called the estate ‘bleak’, and the hall itself had apparently had a hole in the roof and already been sinking when Great-Grandmother Edith had left, over a hundred years earlier. Laura wasn’t sure how a house could sink. But Grandmother Thomasina had always been prone to embellishment and artistic license, and according to her, Great-Grandmother Edith had been a writer. Between the two of them, Laura was pretty sure it was a metaphor. Somebody had read The Fall of the House of Usher one time too many.

Still, even if she got there and found nothing but a falling-down graffitied wreck in the middle of nowhere, Laura wanted to see it. There was something terribly romantic about the whole thing, about the idea of suddenly discovering she was the lady of a mysterious crumbling manor somewhere in a country she’d never seen. About how both Great-Grandmother Edith and Grandmother Thomasina had apparently kept it secret all these years. About the aura of mystery surrounding Great-Grandmother Edith’s never-spoken-of first husband.

So Laura had packed her bags, booked her flights, and, within a week, was face to face with what remained of Allerdale Hall.

There wasn’t much to come face to face with. Coming up the long drive, under the black wrought-iron arch and handful of tumbled bricks that apparently had once served as a gate, the place looked imposing and impressive up on the peak of the hill, all Gothic arches and jagged peaked roofs. Its empty windows struck Laura as staring eyes, taking in her approach. She knew it was just her imagination, but she couldn’t help but feel a cold dislike in that inanimate gaze.

But when Laura pulled the rented Range Rover up before the ruin, she saw two things in quick succession. One, why the locals had all called the place ‘Crimson Peak’. And two, what Grandmother Thomasina had meant by ‘sinking’.

It was no metaphor. Elaborate, lacy brick railings stood half-buried in the raw red ground as though growing up through it, little more than six inches showing above the earth. They partitioned off a wide, flat space around the door. Laura’s best guess was that the railing had once delineated a patio or drive that was now somewhere under the sucking red clay that clung to her boots. She was never going to be able to get it off, she could already tell.

The door itself might once have had stairs leading up to it, but now was packed close between the jutting brick constructions to either side of it with red earth. It stuck, badly, partly because it was sunk nearly a foot, if Laura had to guess, down into the clay. She could get it to jerk inward, in fits and starts, but something – maybe the dirt she’d displaced on the other side – always seemed to force it sharply closed again. Laura finally managed to force it just wide enough for her to sneak through, putting her shoulder against one ornately-decorated door and pushing with all her strength, her boots sliding in the dirt. And that was when she saw the third thing.

Allerdale Hall was gone.

The wind, howling through the shattered windows on either side of the short entryway, caught Laura’s hair and gave it a playful toss as she crossed the clay-drowned floor. She didn’t take more than five steps before she reached the crumbling remains of a stair, and stopped, staring out at the hilltop opening out before her.

The face of Allerdale Hall, so imposing and solid-looking as Laura had approached, was nothing but a hollowed-out shell. At the end of the entryway, the walls terminated abruptly in broken brick and torn wood, and where there should have been hallways and rooms and ceilings, there was only red earth and blue sky. Only a few hardy yellow grasses were struggling to grow over the vast, pitted red stain on the hilltop where the body of the manor should have been. A few jutting timbers, and the remnants of stone arches rising out of the clay like broken ribs, were the only sign that there had ever been a building there.

The sight filled Laura with an unexpected and unnamable emotion, somewhere between grief and triumph. At least now she didn’t have to feel bad about selling it and having someone knock it all down. But there was still something melancholy about those few pathetic, sinking pieces of debris. And Laura couldn’t help but feel like she’d just lost her last link to Grandmother Thomasina and her mother before her, the last thread binding her to them unravelling. As soon as she’d seen the jagged peaks of its roof, stark and black against the pale sky, Laura had known that this was the haunted house from every one of the ghost stories Grandmother Thomasina had always sworn her mother had told her were true. After Laura had come all this way, after all those long years – none of her family would ever see it now.

She wasn’t going to find any answers here. Allerdale Hall and the past would keep their secrets.

And, she wasn’t going to be able to stay in the manor house. It was probably a good thing, Laura decided, that she’d booked a room at the bed and breakfast in the village.

It took her less time to find her way back to the village than it had taken her to get out to the estate. She’d gotten lost three times on her way out, having to turn back and retrace her path more than once. For some reason, the locals had seemed reluctant to give her any specific directions. And they all relied on local landmarks, which Laura guessed made sense, but didn’t help a foreigner find her way around. Especially when she wasn’t used to driving on the left side of the road.

Laura stopped in the pub that night for dinner, deciding to give real English fish and chips a try. She wasn’t sure that what she got was real English fish and chips, though. The chips were hot but greasy, the fish a lurking whitish, pasty smear inside a proud – and nearly inch-thick – casing of batter. Laura couldn’t say she was impressed. At least the beer was decent.

“Excuse me. I couldn’t help but notice – you’ve been up to Crimson Peak, haven’t you?”

Laura looked over to the barstool beside her, and into a pair of the most intense blue eyes she’d ever seen. They belonged to a man who could, in fact, be accurately described as tall, dark, and extremely handsome. Laura hastily downed a mouthful of the adequate beer to cover her sputtering. “How -”

The man nodded towards her feet with a crooked grin. “Oh, I suppose I must be Sherlock Holmes.”

Laura looked down, saw the red clay caked on her boots and spattered up her jeans. She laughed, partly with relief. The hilltop was so open, and she hadn’t seen anyone else there. The idea of anybody – even this admittedly very magnetic guy – watching her up there, unseen, had left her feeling exposed and uneasy. “God, I’m never going to get these clean.”

The guy’s gaze really was intense, even over that charming, crooked smile. “American! Would you credit that. What brings you all the way out to our humble little village?” He canted his head a little to one side, his eyes narrowing as he said, “Please tell me you haven’t a camera crew in tow. It’s dangerous up on the peak – the ruin’s not stable. And I know television people have no fear for their lives. We can’t afford the lawsuit if someone with a camera decides they need to stand where the house was to get a shot and falls through to the basement, or if the façade comes down and crushes some poor sod.”

He seemed to noticed Laura’s uneasy glance down at her boots, because he grinned and winked. “And, the last time one of those ghost-investigation shows did an episode on Crimson Peak, it was near four years before you could walk down the high street without being stopped by some big-eyed American wanting to hear horrible tales about the clay spitting up skellies.”

Laura nearly snorted beer through her nose. There was a confused moment as she tried to fix her face without blowing snot all across the bar, a moment that ended with a broad, solid hand pressed gently against her back and another offering her a napkin. Laura took it, blew her nose, and then looked up. The guy’s eyes were even more arresting up close.

She couldn’t think of any reason to lie. “My grandmother just died. Apparently she owned Allerdale Hall. And she left it to me.”

The guy’s expression didn’t change. Actually, it was a little unsettling how much it didn’t change. Sometimes, the satellite on Laura’s TV would flicker and the image would freeze while the sound continued on, until suddenly the frozen image would fragment into movement again, briefly warping the image into the shape of whatever was moving before the screen righted itself. For the briefest of moments, Laura got the same sense looking at the guy’s face. Like it had frozen in place while something else went on behind it, some flicker of dark motion just visible behind his eyes.

And then he smiled, wide and inviting, and the raucous good cheer of the pub flowed back in, warming the air between them. “So you’re the lady of the manor now, is that so?” He stuck out a hand, but there was a twinkle in his eye that belied the formality of the gesture. “I suppose that makes you my boss. Tom Latimer. I look after the place.”

“Some place,” Laura said. “Laura. Laura Price.”

She took his hand and shook, firmly. Tom had a solid, reassuring grip, but his hand was curiously cool under Laura’s. She wondered if he’d just come in from outside.

“Laura,” Tom said, consideringly. And then, “Buy you a drink?”

“Please,” Laura said, hopefully not too fast.

She waited until Tom had ordered two more beers before asking, as casually as she could manage, “So what were you saying about Americans with camera crews and ghost shows?”

The grin Tom turned on her, this time, at least seemed to be deliberately unsettling. “Oh, has no one told you?” He pushed one of the foaming glasses the bartender set down before him towards Laura, raising the other to her in a mocking toast. “Your inheritance is haunted.”

…

Two days later

…

Somehow, the ruin of Allerdale Hall was even more unsettling at night.

Laura pulled the Range Rover in behind what remained of the gate and killed the engine. She’d shut off the headlights before she’d even turned onto the drive, inching through the moonlit dark with her eyes wide for any sign of anything living that might choose to dart into her path.

If there really was someone up there, she didn’t want them to know she was coming.

Laura tucked her flashlight – Tom had called it a ‘torch’, something Laura found unaccountably funny – into the pocket of her windbreaker, just in case, before she slipped down out of the Range Rover. She shut the door as quietly as she could behind her. But she shouldn’t have worried. The wind caught her almost as soon as she opened the door, tearing at her hair like it wanted to pull the blonde locks out of their messy braid and flipping her windbreaker’s hood up over her face. The ghastly howling it made as it swept across the hilltop was loud enough to drown out even the noisy metallic chunk of the door falling into place.

It was a long, dark, eerie walk from the gate up to what was left of the house. The clay stuck to Laura’s boots, clumping up on the soles and making it hard to walk. But when she tried to step off the road, the overgrown yellow grass seemed to tangle around her ankles and try to trip her up, dry, sharp blades jabbing her through her jeans. The wind battered and buffeted at her the whole way, swirling around her to slam into her first from one side, then the other, rattling her windbreaker’s hood against her ears.

Now and then, that rattle and the sighing and whispering of the wind in the grass combined to sound like human voices, somewhere in the distance. No less than three times, Laura spun around, half-convinced someone had just breathed her own name into her ear.

“No wonder people think this place is haunted,” she muttered, hugging her arms more firmly around herself, her hands tucked under her arms. She almost wished she’d thought to bring gloves.

Laura was about halfway up the drive when she saw it. Way up in one of the remaining peaks, in a tiny, pointed window stuffed under an eave, the briefest flicker of an underwater blue-green light shone, before disappearing as quickly and unexpectedly as it had appeared. It was gone so quickly that Laura wasn’t sure, for a moment, if she’d seen it at all.

She turned, looking back over her shoulder, but there was no sign of headlights retreating down the road behind her that might have glanced off the window. Besides, the angles were all wrong – even if there were glass left in the window for headlights to reflect off of, what was left of the house was much too far back from the road for the light to reach it.

Which meant that the light had to have come from behind the window. That, somehow, even though the whole building behind that forbidding façade was gone…someone was up there.

Laura quickened her pace.

The hollowed-out face of Allerdale Hall loomed above her, as dark and dead as a tombstone, heavy and oppressive, as she passed between the half-sunk railings and up to the door. The thick brick constructs – balustrades? Bollards? – on either side of the door turned the entry, in the dimness, into a gaping black mouth, opened wide to swallow her. Laura paused a moment before passing between them, feet slowly sinking, listening hard. But if anyone had been moving around, she wouldn’t have heard them anyway, not over the wind.

Laura just didn’t want to admit to herself how much she didn’t want to open that door.

Maybe she should have just called Tom. Asked him to come with her. Asked him to go for her. He likely would’ve been glad to – to watch the silly American wet her pants in terror of the wind and the occasional bat or sparrow, jumping at imagined ghosts. The unkind thought crossed her mind that he might even be happy to see how poorly she, the supposed lady of the manor, handled the house he was so familiar with, that had been his responsibility since long before Laura even knew it existed, that he had no fear of, that held no mystery for him. And, standing out in the middle of nowhere, with the cold wind blowing through her and playing tricks on her ears, far from anyone who might hear if she screamed, alone in the dark, Laura couldn’t deny that even if he were laughing at her, just his presence would’ve been reassuring in a way she couldn’t resist.

But there was…something. Something about his laugh when he’d been telling her stories about things people said they’d seen up on Crimson Peak. Something about how reluctant he’d been to give over the keys. Something about the way something behind his eyes seemed to flicker whenever Laura mentioned her ownership of Allerdale Hall –

No. Bringing Tom would have been a mistake. Laura had to come here alone.

She had to see for herself.

Bracing her quivering heart against that thought, Laura plunged into the shadows surrounding the door. She braced her feet as best she could against the clay, and put her shoulder against the door.

She was expecting a struggle, like it had been that first afternoon she’d visited the hall. But the door swung open so smoothly that Laura, really putting her back into it, overbalanced and fell, face-first, over the threshold.

She was expecting to land with an embarrassing and hideously messy splat right in a puddle of red clay mud. She was not expecting her shins to slam into and her chin to bounce off of hardwood.

Laura lay stunned for a moment, before gingerly pushing herself up. The wood – definitely wood, polished to a satin finish under her fingers, with clay oozing coldly up between the narrow boards everywhere she put her weight – stayed solid under her. She scrabbled in her pocket for her flashlight, giving up any pretense of stealth. If there was really someone here, her thumping arrival would’ve already announced her presence. No use in trying to be sneaky after she’d already yelled ‘FUCK! OW!’ at the top of her lungs.

She did pause for a moment in the dark, listening with bated breath for any sound of movement, and realized something strange. The wind, still moaning, seemed curiously muffled and distant. Almost like – almost like there were walls between it and Laura.

But that was impossible. Because Allerdale Hall was –

Laura clicked on her ‘torch’, and froze.

The flashlight’s beam revealed, in bits and pieces as she swept it back and forth, not only the beautiful, decaying inlay of the floor she lay on, but the elaborate Gothic carving of the stairs that wrapped around and down three floors in front of her before coming to an end a few feet from where she’d fallen, the narrow walls of the entryway opening out into a vast, high-ceilinged hall, rooms upon rooms opening out underneath and behind the stair, going so far back that Laura’s flashlight beam petered out before it could reach the far wall…

There was no other explanation. She was inside Allerdale Hall.

It couldn’t be here. It wasn’t here. Laura had seen the bare red stain on the hilltop where the body of Allerdale Hall had stood with her own eyes, not three days before. Had stood in this very spot, her feet mired in clay, and looked out at the pale grey sky, felt the wind, sweeping unimpeded over the moors, tangle her hair and clutch at her clothes. Had seen the last remains of the wreck, had seen the half-buried and broken shards of some of the arches and carvings that her flashlight beam now illuminated, whole and standing, set neatly and firmly into the walls as though they had never been anywhere else.

And everywhere the circle of yellowish light landed, it revealed only more encroaching, cobwebbed opulence. Everything was sleepily, patiently still and muffled with dust, frozen in the curious neglected way of something disused but sealed away. Like a time capsule. Or the pictures Laura had seen online of a Parisian apartment locked up in the twenties and forgotten, untouched, until the early aughts. From the heavy, pointed arches of the stair railings, broken away on the balcony above her, to the flaking gilding on the ornate frames of the portraits covering the walls, to the heavy, moth-eaten draperies that delineated rooms to her right and –

Laura leapt to her feet, flashlight sweeping wildly over the drapery-hung doorway to her right, heart pounding in her throat. The beam illuminated nothing but the soft dullness of velvet trimmed with dark golden tassels, glistening off the slow drip of clay bleeding down the walls, but she knew.

She’d seen movement.

When the impossible hall remained stonily silent and still, Laura managed to calm her jangling nerves enough to call out. “Hello?”

She’d half-expected the sound to bounce back to her from the vastness of the hall, but instead, the wide, empty space seemed to have a curious muffling effect. Almost like Allerdale was swallowing her voice whole.

As she’d expected, she didn’t get an answer. Laura took one ginger step forward, holding the flashlight in front of her with both hands like a sword. Something slithered coldly between her fingers, and Laura looked down to see that her palms were dripping red with clay from where she’d pushed herself up off the floor. In the dimness, her hands looked bloody.

She took another step forward, the floorboards squishing and oozing under her feet, and then, feeling braver, another. “Is anybody there?”

No answer. In the slowly-sweeping beam of the flashlight, nothing stirred except drifting particles of dust – and the flashing wings of a huge grey moth, startled off a wall and startling Laura almost right back out the door.

She laughed at herself, as the moth’s rustling wings retreated into the depths of the impossible hall. That must have been all she’d seen. Just a moth, or some other wild creature, startled by the light.

Still, though, Laura couldn’t quiet the nagging thought that what she’d seen moving had been, for a single instant, unmistakably a person.

She crept across the entry and up the shallow steps into the main hall, still waving her flashlight from side to side, looking all around her as she went. This place couldn’t be real. A building couldn’t just disappear in the daytime and reconstruct itself under the moonlight. And yet, when she looked up, Laura could see, storeys above her, the narrow sickle-blade sliver of the moon peeking down through the shattered timbers of Allerdale Hall’s roof.

As if in response to Laura’s thought, a horrible, shuddering, wailing moan seemed to fill the gaping darkness of the hall like the sound of an enormous, diabolical pipe organ. It rose like some infernal crescendo, somehow at once both inexpressibly sad and hollow with menace, went on and on and on and then, just as unexpectedly as it had begun, died gradually away.

But in the quiet that sound left in its wake, Laura could hear another sound emanating from out of the vast darkness before her. One that hadn’t been there before the cry.

It was faint, just on the very edge of hearing. But it was, unmistakably, the sound of someone playing a piano.

Laura stood frozen in place, no more able to turn around and break for the door than she was to take another step towards the source of that eerie, melancholy sound. It was a pretty tune, if a little sad, and it sounded like it was being played by an expert and experienced hand, one that knew the rises and falls of the song like its own heartbeat.

No matter how many times Laura passed her flashlight over the dark space reaching back under the stairs, she could see neither piano nor player.

“You can’t scare me,” Laura called into the dark, at last, when the relentless soft chime of the music became nearly unbearable, sounding braver than she felt. She hoped, to the tips of her toes, that she was telling the truth. With every word that fell from her lips, though, with every ringing, real sound of her voice in the howling quiet, she felt a little flame of anger flicker in her breastbone, its heat making her bolder. She thought of Tom’s crooked smile, thought again of his reluctance to hand over the keys, and felt it burn a little brighter. “Do you hear me? I’m not falling for this Scooby-Doo shit! I’m here, this house belongs to me now, and you can’t scare me away!”

From somewhere in the darkness past the stairs, there was a bang, like someone had slammed the cover abruptly over the piano’s keys, or kicked over its bench as they flew to their feet. With a discordant jangle, the music cut sharply off.

Laura stood perfectly still, listening, her fingers going stiff from how tightly she was clutching the flashlight, not daring to so much as breathe. The house was silent again, and perfectly still under its muffling layers of clay and dust, but there was something different about it. Something vital, active, wakeful – and watchful - that had been missing when Laura had first entered. Even the wind had died back to a low, throaty moan in the background, as though it didn’t dare disturb the silence.

As if the whole house was holding its breath.

Right on cue, Laura’s flashlight flickered, dimmed, then went out.

“Oh, come on,” she muttered, thumping its end against her palm, frantically clicking the switch back and forth, banging it against her leg. It flickered on once, for the barest sliver of a second, and then died again. The dark of the hall seemed suddenly as thick and viscous as the clay that squelched under Laura’s boots, pouring slowly but inevitably in around her to drag her gently but inexorably under, stop up her mouth, suffocate her slowly. “Come on come on come on -”

She had the flashlight raised to her face, peering in at its deadened reflective eye, when it suddenly burst back into brilliant light. Laura looked up, away from the blinding glare –

And directly into the twisted, wrathful, silent scream of a skeletal face the barest inch from her own.

Laura screamed, too, the sound of it ringing off the walls, and stumbled backwards. She barely managed not to drop the flashlight, but that didn’t make anything better. It only meant that she could see the clawed hands of the apparition as it grabbed for her, its fingers tearing at the sleeve of her windbreaker. It seemed to be shaped from solidified darkness, part woman, part skeleton, all horror. And its grip was like ice, like iron. Laura tried to pull her arm free, but she might as well have been trying to pull Allerdale Hall itself from its grave in the sucking ground.

The creature – ghost – whatever – ignored Laura’s struggling, drawing her left hand up towards its empty-socketed eyes. It seemed to stare, eyelessly, for a long moment, at Laura’s bare ring finger, before pushing her away with a gesture of disgust. There was an inexorable strength in the motion, and Laura found herself spinning across the floor, unable to catch her balance before she slammed down against the hardwood, catching the point of her elbow with a hiss of pain.

The ghost was on her as soon as she hit the floor. It leaned low over her, shoving its twisted face into her face again, what remained of its lips curled into something part sneer, part rictus. For the briefest of instants, with the clarity that comes with sheer terror, Laura had the slightly crazy thought that, in life, the ghost must have once been very beautiful.

Its voice was a whispering, rasping, rattling hiss that was somehow, also, heavy with contempt.

“Liar.”

It straightened, enough for Laura to get a glimpse of the flashlight glittering off the beetle-back embellishments of an old-fashioned dress, its train melting into the darkness that surrounded it. The ghost waved a hand in Laura’s direction dismissively, and Laura watched, fascinated with horror, as sparse flesh withered down to charcoal bone before her very eyes.

“Get out.”

Then the ghost turned its back on Laura, and was swallowed up in the darkness.

Laura didn’t wait for it to come back. She scrambled to her feet, slipping in the clay and falling back to one knee before she got her feet under her.

She wasn’t sure, at first, what she was hearing. It sounded like a distant roaring, like the largest whirlpool she could ever have imagined, like a wave breaking against the shore. Laura paused, curiosity overriding fear for one fragile second, and turned her flashlight back towards the dark space under the stairs.

Just in time to see it collapsing into the ground.

Walls groaned as they fell in towards each other, toppling with a thunderous crash, a crash that went on and on as rooms fell in on the rooms that had fallen in before. The balcony overhead caved in on itself, delicate embellishments snapping and popping away. The stairs gave an ominous moan and twisted, the railing splintering, masonry raining down and punching straight through the floorboards. The floor itself began to unravel around those pockmarks, slender inlaid board by slender inlaid board, to reveal glimpses down into a basement glistening red with clay, far below the growing hole quickly chewing up the suddenly-wobbling floor beneath Laura’s feet. Overhead, a long, drawn-out sigh of wood and brick and stone under stress rose from the broken roof, slivers and splinters pattering down on Laura’s head and rattling down towards the distant floor of the basement below. The walls to either side of her heaved and bowed as though they were breathing.

Laura turned and ran, full tilt, for the door, even as the floor splintered away under her feet.  

She barely made it out, breath half-sobbing with exertion and fear, throat raw, before the deafening roar of Allerdale Hall’s demise rose to a crescendo. With one final crash that shook the ground under Laura’s feet and sounded like it was splitting the sky in two, the remaining walls sheared away from the façade and went tumbling down, carrying its ghost with it, into oblivion.

The door slammed, like the period on the end of a sentence, on Laura’s heels.

…

“You almost make it sound,” Tom said, with the faintest glimmerings of a smile that Laura knew meant he didn’t believe her, “as though the house itself were the ghost.”

Laura sipped at the mug of tea he’d made her. She was still a little surprised that he’d even let her in after she’d shown up, covered in clay and nearly hysterical, at his door in the middle of the night. She’d been too scared to go back to the bed and breakfast alone, and willing to eat a little humble pie in exchange for the sound of a real human voice.

Thankfully, Tom hadn’t laughed. He’d taken one look and invited Laura in, regardless of the late hour, dug her up a robe, and invited her to take a shower while he ran her clothes through the wash. Nearly an hour later, Laura was clean and dry and warm, and starting to feel a little calmer. The tea was definitely helping.

Unfortunately, now that the immediate terror had ebbed, Laura was starting to have to think about it.

Between the ripples and the steam rising off of the tea’s ruddy surface, for a moment, Laura hardly recognized her own reflection. The face looking back up at her from her mug looked like someone – younger, maybe, but also somehow older, or maybe just someone who had been through more than Laura ever had. Wider-eyed, with loose blonde curls falling to frame the heart shape of her sweet face, a stray tea leaf cutting a sharp, ugly gash across one pale cheek –

Laura blew on the tea to cool it, and the illusion vanished.

“You know,” she heard her own voice saying, as if from very far away, “I almost think it was.”

[celtics534]

Bad Reputation

Another little one-shot for y’all before a new multichapter fic! This one is an AU but still set in the magical world. Harry and Ginny have just never met. 

Also read on: FF.net and AO3

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“Look over there lads.” Winston nodded his head towards the bar. Harry turned to see a group of six women gathering around the polished bar. They all wore matching uniforms. Harpie uniforms, Harry realized after studying the gold lettering on the green jerseys. 

 “I’ve heard the Harpies are -- well --” Carter’s voice trailed off, but his wolfish smile said it all. Harry rolled his eyes. His fellow Aurors were some of the randiest people he knew. Taking a sip from his glass, he let his eyes stray back over to the Harpies. They were gathering their drinks and moving in a tight squad towards a large table on the other side of the room. 

 The pub door opened, letting in the warm summer night air. Harry’s focus automatically drifted to see who the new arrival was. He did a double-take. It was another Harpie, based on the green kit she wore, and she was stunning. Sure, all the women that sat at the corner table were beautiful, but this one... Harry thought his heart was going to pound right out of his chest. 

 Her red hair clashed with the uniform, making it look like Christmas had come in July (or at least Harry’s own personal Christmas). Freckles spread across her sunburned face, and Harry’s mind wondered if they went further than just her cheeks. Bloody hell, I’m no better than the rest of them if I think like that, Harry scolded himself. He forced himself to tear his eyes off her, turning his focus back to his mates.

 “I’ve heard Cara has a thing for Aurors.” Kole winked. “I wouldn’t mind doing a private detail on her.” Most of the table nodded their agreement, and some even raised their glasses in cheers. 

 “I’ve heard Weasley is a ball-buster.” Leon Malcolm shook his head. He picked up a chip off his plate and pointed it at the group of players. “She doesn’t get with anyone.”

 “Which one is Weasley?” Carter asked, his blue eyes hopping from one woman to the next. 

 “The redhead.” 

 Harry felt his stomach drop as if he fell down a flight of stairs. Before he could stop his big mouth, he asked, “Does she have a boyfriend?”

 Malcolm turned towards Harry, an amused smile on his lips. “Nope. She just turns everyone down. Doesn’t matter who it is.”

“I heard she turned down Nathan Fallen.” Kole shook his head. “If he doesn’t stand a chance, no one does.”

 Harry didn’t want to think Kole was right, but Nathan Fallen was one of the biggest names in the magical community, and that was without his most recent title of being the sexiest wizard alive. 

 “Maybe she swings for the other team,” Carter suggested, his focus finally coming back their own table (but that might have just been because he wanted to finish his pie).

 “Nah, she turns down the ladies too.” Malcolm shrugged. “She says that Quidditch is her focus.”  

 “Why do you know so much about this?” Harry asked.

 Malcolm shrugged nonchalantly, but Harry could see the tell-tale sign of red on his neck. “Magazines, some of my mates have asked her out -"

 “Sure,” Kole drawled the word, his smile knowing. “Some of your mates.”

 “Fuck off!” Malcolm punched Kole’s shoulder. “I’d like to see any of you lot get anywhere with her. She’s an ice queen, that one.” 

 “No thanks.” Carter shook his head. “I like my balls the way they are, thanks.” 

 Harry turned his focus back to the group of women. He could see Weasley talking, her smile crooked as she told what seemed to be a joke. The table erupted with laughter, some of the women even slapped their fists on the wood.

 She really was incredibly beautiful, that crooked smile just the icing on the cake. Harry had never been one for trying to chat women up in pubs. For starters, it was typically too loud to have a decent conversation, but also he was piss poor at flirting. He became a stuttering fool every time a pretty girl was involved. Not to mention it was always so awkward to try and talk to someone when they were sitting with a group of friends. 

 In other words, Harry had low expectations for what was about to happen, but he knew he needed to try and at least talk to her or he'd regret it. Even if he came off as a pathetic loser, at least he tried. 

 Harry downed the rest of his pint, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he stood. His mates paused their discussion of the fittest player on the Harpies. 

 "Getting another round, Potter?" Kole asked. "If you wait a moment, I'll be ready for another."

 Maybe another pint was a good idea, Harry thought, some extra liquid courage. But he shook his head. "No." He cleared his throat, hoping to lose the raspy sound before he talked to her. "I'm gonna go over and talk with Weasley."

 His friends just blinked at him, their silence unnatural in the unruly setting. Kole’s lips twitched in a way Harry knew meant he was hiding his mirth. “Potter, are you sure you wanna do that? I’ve seen your -- er -- way with women, and I don’t think ball-buster Weasley is the one for you.”

 Cara and Malcolm nodded, adding in their own versions of Kole’s words. Harry couldn’t care less what his mates thought. He knew they meant well in their own way, but at that moment it didn’t matter. Steeling himself, Harry took a deep breath before walking towards the group of Harpies. 

 Harry almost retreated three times in the short walk. His heart was pounding so hard, Harry was sure a rib or two might crack. When he was three meters away, she made eye contact with him over one of her teammate's heads. 

 At first, he saw confusion on her face, which quickly shifted to annoyance. Harry didn’t expect anything less. She probably had blokes interrupting them all the time, when all they wanted to do was enjoy a drink. 

 Harry stopped dead, not sure what to do next. He hadn’t thought that far ahead. Weasley’s glare changed to concern. From his spot, he could hear the Harpies squad, however faintly due to the blood beating in his ears. 

 "But Sanders can't follow through worth anything," one of the women said, the back of her jersey naming her Bellion. "I mean, do I need to remind you all of the night me and him -" She let her sentence trail, but the emphasis was clear. 

 Her friends laughed. "Please don't remind us of that. It's too depressing to think about," a blonde claimed around her giggles. 

 "He looked so promising too," Bellion lamented. Then she looked up and noticed Harry. "Well, speaking of promising." Her grin becoming coquettish. 

 The rest of the team turned to face him, some spinning in their chairs. Harry’s cheeks felt as if they were on fire, but there was no backing out now. He took a deep breath before forcing his lips into what he hoped was a suave smile. 

 “I just wanted to say how amazing you all played against Puddlemere the other night.” It was true enough. He had listened to the match on the wireless (cheering for Puddlemere), but there was no doubt the Harpies were superior that night, as the score proved. 

 “Thank you!” Bellion said. “That was a great match!" She turned to Weasley. "Our girl here was on fire that night!”

 The rest of the team cheered and toasted Weasley, who beamed. Harry had been trying to avoid looking at Weasley for fear of being a blithering idiot, but now his eyes couldn’t help but stick to her. That smile… it gripped him in an iron tight hold.

 Harry hoped he wasn’t smiling like a lovesick fool as he said, “Yeah, you really were amazing.” 

 Weasley’s eyes locked onto his, and Harry was sure his entire body was about to combust. It was like her gaze was a blazing fire that she spread through him with one look. Harry had to force his brain to re-engage as the flames seemed to burn all the synapse from his mind to body. 

 “Thank you.” Weasley’s tone didn’t help Harry regroup; the coquettish timbre made him want to fall to his knees and bow at her feet. “That’s very nice of you -- what was your name?” 

 It took an embarrassingly long time for Harry to be able to speak his name. By their mutters, he could tell some of the women around the table had noticed his enthrallment with Weasley, but he was only concerned with the red head. 

 Weasley didn’t seem to notice the whispers as she smiled mischievously at him. “Well, Harry. If you were so impressed with our playing, how about you buy the next round?”

 The squad cheered at her suggestion. Before Harry could agree, as one the ladies downed the remainder of their drinks. 

 Weasley, who had finished her drink before the rest, pushed away from the table. "I'll give you a hand. I know everyone's order." 

 When she reached his side, Harry's lungs filled with an ambrosial flowery scent. It was the most intoxicating thing he'd ever smelled, and he had to forcefully remind himself it wasn't acceptable to lean in a just put his nose in her hair. 

 "Oh, I'm sure that's the only reason you’re going with him, eh Weasley?" Bellion laughed loudly. Weasley didn't even look over her shoulder as she provided a rude gesture, which sent her teammates into a new wave of cackles. 

 "Feel free to ignore them," Weasley said as she slid past a free table. "Merlin knows I do." When she glanced over her shoulder, Harry lost his breath at her dazzling smile. "Also, seeing as you’re buying me a pint, feel free to call me Ginny." 

 They reached the bar and Ginny easily attracted the barkeep’s attention. She ordered a plethora of different cocktails. As the bartender walked away, Ginny leaned against the bar, her chin resting on her hand as she turned to look at him.

 “So, Harry, what brings you here tonight? Because we come here rather often, and I’ve never seen you before.” 

 “I’m -- uh -- here with some workmates.” Harry was impressed with his ability to form a complete sentence, with her alluring eyes focused solely on him. “We just finished a case and wanted to relax for a bit.”

 “A case?” Ginny’s eyebrows shot up. “What sort of case?”

 “We caught a dealer who was selling a bunch of knock off Felix Felicis. Instead of giving the drinker luck, it was causing them to grow welts the size of galleons all over their bodies.”

 “Really?” Her smile grew. “Well now, shouldn’t I be buying you a drink for you honorable service?”

 Harry leaned on the smooth wood surface, hoping to look suave as he copied her pose. “I wouldn’t say no.” 

 Ginny laughed, sounding like a million perfectly timed chimes. “Well, how about we make this into a little challenge?” 

 Harry had no idea where she was going with this, but he couldn’t care less if it meant getting to spend more time with her. “How so?”

 “Well, if I guess what’s your go-to drink, I'll take you out for dinner tomorrow night.” 

 “A -- and if you get it wrong?” Harry cursed himself for stuttering, but there was nothing for it. His tongue felt too large for his mouth. 

 When her smirk became flirtatious his heart fluttered like the wings of a free snitch. "I'll let you take me out for dinner." 

 XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 "This is a nice choice, Harry," Ginny complimented as she looked around the simple restaurant. The walls were decorated with famous London landmarks, with Big Ben and Buckingham Palace being the most prominent. 

 Ginny was still in a state of euphoric surprise. When she had agreed to go to the pub after practice, she assumed she'd go for an hour, two tops, and then go home and curl up with her most recent novel. But instead, she'd never wanted to leave, at least once she and Harry had branched off. 

 After getting her teammates’ drinks, they'd gone back up to the bar. While using the excuse to figure out his preferred drink, Ginny had studied his attractive profile. The man was fit. Tall, dark, and handsome. He was everything girls would fawn over, yet there was this awkwardness about him that would make some women stay away. But to her, it just made him that much more endearing. 

 Guessing his drink wasn’t too hard, seeing as she could smell the whiskey on his breath. After ordering him a finger of Odgen’s and a spiced mead for herself, they had migrated towards an empty table. 

 Normally Ginny had no luck with men she fancied. Generally, she’d scare them off by being too intimidating. After her last boyfriend, overbearing misogynistic prick that he was, Ginny had sworn off men. She told herself that quidditch was her one true love. That had been three years ago. But there had been something about Harry that made Ginny betray her own personal philosophy, and that something only became clearer the longer she spent in his company. 

 He didn't leer at her breasts or just make obvious attempts to convince her to come home with him. Rather, he kept eye contact and listened to her stories, never interrupting but sliding in all the right comments. By the end of the night, Ginny was half tempted to invite him back to hers, but that had never been her style. Instead, they had parted by the pub entrance, agreeing to meet at Trafalgar Square by the fountain at five the next day. 

 Ginny's stomach had been filled with excited butterflies all throughout their midday practice. And when she'd gone home to change, Ginny hated to admit it, but she'd looked through her entire wardrobe to find the perfect outfit. Never in her life had Ginny cared about finding the perfect outfit! And then, in the end, she had decided to just go in a nice t-shirt and denims (that hugged her curves in all the right places). It was something she felt comfortable in. And it seemed Harry liked it too because when she had approached him at the fountain his eyes had been the size of dinner plates.  

 After strolling across muggle London for a bit, Harry had led them into what he claimed was the best place to get shepherd’s pie in the whole city.

 Harry grinned at her. “I tend to make good choices. I mean, I did choose to take you out to dinner.”

 Ginny put on her best appalled look. “I thought dinner was my idea.” 

 The crooked grin Harry gave her made Ginny grateful she was sitting, because her knees would have buckled if she were standing. “Just because you were the first to suggest it doesn’t mean I wasn’t thinking about it.”

 The butterflies fluttered faster in her gut. She gave him a sweet smile. "Second place really isn't that impressive when there are only two people, luv."

 Harry’s cheeks darkened with a faint blush as he broke their gaze. He cleared his throat. “Uh -- so the fish and chips here are -- uh almost as good as the shepherd’s pie.” 

 It only took Ginny a second to figure out what had made Harry lose his ability to maintain eye contact. She could feel the mischievous curl of her own lips. “Can you think of an instance where coming in second would be better, Harry?” 

 Ginny could see his flush darken. “I -- uh --” He took a deep breath, his lips curving into a coy smile. “I’d much rather tie. There is something about coming together that’s more satisfying.” 

 “Well --” Ginny was not used to being outplayed, but fuck! Harry had just played a royal flush. Speaking of flush, she was sure now her cheeks were red. With that being said, there was no way Ginny was going down without a fight. She leaned forward, her hand running up his arm, goose flesh leaving a trail to where she’d been. “That’s quite a claim there, Harry. Care to give an example?”

 Harry’s mouth fell open. “I -- I”  

 Ginny was rather proud of herself, but Harry was saved from finding his tongue by the arrival of a cheery waiter. “Welcome to Redan House. My name is Louis. Can I start you with something from the bar?”

 Ginny took a quick glance at the menu. “I would love a glass of red wine.” She looked back at her date, who had lowered the menu when the waiter arrived. “Harry?”

 His cheeks were still tinged pink, but his voice gave nothing away. “Whiskey and a glass of water, thank you.” 

 “Coming right up.” 

 Ginny beamed at Harry once the waiter had walked away. “So, how was your day? Did you deal with all that paperwork you were worried about last night?”

 Harry nodded, his relief at the change of topic practically tangible, making Ginny giggle internally. "Yeah, nothing too interesting I'm afraid. What about you? I'm sure a Harpies practice is much more intense."

 Ginny couldn't get over how easy it was to talk with Harry. In terms of dating, a first date was often like regrowing bones: painful but necessary. But there was none of that “So lovely weather today” or “The apparition point was crazy busy, wasn’t it?” And maybe it was because they had already talked for hours the previous night, but Ginny didn’t think so. No, it was just them. For some reason, she and Harry just flowed. 

 It wasn’t until they had already received their ordered meals that they started to tread into rocky waters. Past relationships, or in Ginny’s case, failed dates. 

 “And you could say that was the only perk of dating a musician.” Harry took a sip from his whiskey glass. “The downside was being written into her song.” He rolled his eyes. “She definitely exaggerated a bit. But I’m sure you’ve got your own horror stories.”

 “You could say that.” Ginny stabbed into a chip with more vicious intention than she planned. “Blokes tend to --” She paused, trying to come up with the right way to word it. “They tend to try and just make me a notch on their bedpost.”

 Harry frowned. “What do you mean?”

 “A lot of guys tend to -- er act like gentlemen, and then expect me to respond to their advances after a drink or two.” She rolled her eyes. “So there was this one guy who thought that I would go sneak off into the men's loo at a pub after he paid for my drink. And another who thought I would respond well to him running his hand up my thigh while we sat on a bench eating ice cream.”

 “Th --” Harry looked dumbfounded. “Really? How can they treat you like that? I mean -” A slight blush appeared on his cheeks but his eyes stayed locked on hers. “You’re incredible in every way.”

 Warmth spread through Ginny’s body, starting in her belly and coursing to her limbs. She smiled at Harry, reaching across the table and placed her hand over his. “Thank you, Harry.” 

 He turned his hand over and threaded their fingers. The intensity of his green eyes made her breath hitch. “It’s the truth.  Besides it’s just common human decency.”

 Ginny squeezed his hand, hoping he understood how much his words truly meant to her. It took a few moments for them to break their standstill. She noticed Harry glancing down at her lips more than once, but rather than acting on aspiration he just smiled. “So what do you do to these unfortunately misguided blokes?”

 “Oh.” She tried to ignore the sinking feeling in her gut. “They discover why they call me the Ball-Buster.” 

 “You do have quite a bad reputation.” Harry laughed lightly. 

 “And yet, you dared to come up to me.”

 His smile grew wider, a small dimple forming at up at the left-hand corner of his lips. “And yet, I gladly risked my balls to come up and talk with you.” He brought their still linked hands up to his mouth and kissed the back of her hand. “And I’d do it again.”

 Was this what people would call swooning? Ginny’s breath left her lungs in a shaky breath. She was saved from trying and coming up with a suave response by Louis coming over and checking on them. 

 “So.” Harry placed her hand back on the table so he could grab his knife and fork again. “If you’re the ball buster, what’s your family like?”

 XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 Ginny leaned back against the door, her heart firmly resting in her gut. She had thought there had been something there. There was no way she’d imagined it all, was there? 

 When Harry had walked her up from the apparition point near her flat in Wales to the front door, she’d thought they would have their moment. All night had there had been this… heat between them, and every time Harry’s fingers had brushed hers it had sent jolts of electricity across her body. But then at the door… he had just wished her a good night and walked away, his head down and hands in pockets. 

 Ginny had sworn he was going to kiss her when they had stood there. The way his eyes kept falling down to her lips as they discussed how funny their waiter had been. She had been certain when his hand had come up to brush a piece of hair away from her face… and then he hadn’t. He had just left, not giving her enough time to make the move herself. 

 “Fuck.” Ginny moaned the word out for the empty house to hear. Maybe she had created the whole thing in her head, wishful thinking or something like that. Yet...

 There was nothing for it now, Ginny told herself. He hadn’t even left her a way to contact him. And sure she could send him an owl, but that felt too desperate… He didn’t say he wanted to exchange letters or floo locations. Fuck! She needed to stop thinking about this -- about him -- for a while. 

 She moved into the sitting room, which was just how she left it: A blanket precariously tossed over the back of the couch. Her current novel sitting on the side table beside a half-drunk mug of tea. 

 Making a quick decision, Ginny gathered her book and moved into the loo. A warm bath was just what she needed. It would soothe her sore muscles from practice and a sore ego. Waving her wand at the basic white tub, water started pouring from the tap.. She put her novel beside the bath before gathering her favorite bath salts. 

 The knock at her door was more like the slamming of a battering ram. Ginny dropped her bath bomb on the floor in surprise. With a swift motion, she grabbed her wand from the sink, flicked it quickly at the tub to pause the water, andy walked to the door. 

 The knocking had decreased but was still insistently echoing across the house. She flung the door open to be greeted by a fist. Harry’s fist. His hair was more disheveled than ever and his eyes had a frantic glint to them. 

 “Harry?” Ginny opened the door a little wider. “What are you doing?”

 Harry lowered his fist, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “I -- I” He ran his hands through his hair, somehow making it worse. “I can’t not --” 

 “Can’t not wh --” Ginny started to ask until Harry cut her off. His hands had come up to cup her jaw on either side as he pressed his lips to hers. It took a moment for Ginny to get over her shock. It wasn’t until Harry started to pull back that Ginny responded. Not wanting for them to lose any of this intimacy, Ginny threaded her fingers in his messy locks, using them to pull him closer. 

 Harry groaned into her mouth, his fingers tracing down her neck, to her shoulders, before drifting down her sides. Ginny loved the feeling of his thumbs digging into her hip. She backed into the flat, never breaking contact. Harry followed, closing the front door behind him with his foot. Ginny led them towards the couch. It wasn’t until Harry tripped over a carelessly discarded shoe that they separated.

 They stood in the middle of her sitting room, both breathing heavily. The oxygen flooding her brain made coherent thought come back, which included many questions. Through inhales, she asked, "What was that about?”   

 Harry took a step back, a hand coming to rub the back of his neck. “Sorry, I didn’t plan on doing it quite like that.”

 “You didn’t plan on snogging the life out of me?” Ginny leaned back, pressing her bum into the back of the sofa for support. “What did you plan on doing?”

 “Coming and telling you how much I like you.” His cheeks matched the color of her hair.

 “Well, you certainly showed me.” 

 Harry gave her a shy smile. “Yeah, I just couldn’t resist… once I saw you --” His cheeks darkened. 

 The butterflies from earlier returned in full force. So it hadn’t all just been in her mind. Thank fucking Merlin for that. “So why didn’t you do that at the door?” 

 “I didn’t -- I” Harry closed his eyes for a second, his chest rising with a deep inhale. With his eyes still shut he said, “I didn’t want you to think I was that kind of bloke.”

 That kind of bloke? Ginny cocked her head to the side. “What do you mean?”

 Harry sighed, his head tilting down towards the floor. “You told me that a lot of guys just want to get you into bed.” 

 She nodded, the puzzle pieces falling into place. “And you were worried I would think you were doing the same if you made a move?”

 “Yeah.” The word came out more like a depressed whisper than anything else. 

 Ginny felt as if she were riding a broom for the first time again. The elation, thrill, and just instantaneous love for something spread throughout her. “Harry, look at me.”

 It took a second, but Harry lifted his head. His eyes meet hers in a look of pure despondency. He looked as if he was ready for her to throw him out on his arse. 

 She took a step forward, placing herself up close in his personal bubble. Her arms went up around his neck, fingers twisting into his already rumpled hair. “The simple fact that you thought that makes you twenty times better than any of those other blokes. I knew you weren’t like any of them.” 

 Harry’s mouth slowly spread into a smile. His hands coming to rest on her hips “Yeah?”

 “Oh, yeah.” Ginny brought her nose so it bumped against his, making their lips tantalizingly close. “Also, if you hadn’t run away so fast, I was about to make a move on you.”

 His smile broadened. “Yeah?”

 “Yeah.” Ginny’s tone became lower than normal. “Care to see what I was planning to do?”

 A mischievous spark glinted in his eyes. “Should I be worried? You do have quite a bad reputation.”

 Ginny kissed him, nipping at his bottom lip with her teeth. “I wouldn’t use the word bad in this situation.”

 “Oh?” Harry let the word out in a breathy sigh

 “Oh yes. I’d say the more appropriate word is naughty.”  

 Harry’s fingers tightened on her hips. “That doesn’t sound bad to me at all.” 

 “I hoped you’d say that.” 

[thelioncourts]

title: beyond the pale author: marrieddorks fandom: captive prince pairing: damen/laurent word count: 22204

Laurent DeVere was off limits. There were no ifs, ands, or buts about it.

A lot of that — 43% — was because of Laurent himself. Despite only being nineteen years old, Laurent seemed to have long mastered the art of appearing as aloof and cold as humanly possible. Displays of emotion were limited to disdain and boredom, but even those were better to be on the receiving end of than the craftily cultivated blank stare he spent most of his time wearing as he wandered campus.

But Laurent was beautiful. There were no ifs, ands, or buts about that either. Though he tended to dress somewhat severely with high collars and covered wrists and ankles, his outfits were form fitting and it was quite a form that they fit. And while it would have been nice to see him in something not darker than the heart lying in his chest, the contrast of his muted clothing compared to the porcelain quality of his skin, the flaxen shine of his hair, and the unclouded blue of his eyes only garnered him more stares of longing and desire from classmates, professors, and passerbys alike.

So, while Laurent was dubbed as the cast-iron bitch of Arles University, he was also beautiful and that meant most of the student body wasn’t controlled enough to take the warning of his temperament to heart.

But Laurent DeVere was off limits and the reason that was obeyed — the other 57% of the reason — was because he was Auguste DeVere’s little brother and Auguste said so.

Auguste DeVere, unlike his brother, was loved and adored by all. Everyone wanted to be Auguste’s friend. And, in a way, everyone was Auguste’s friend. Auguste was the kind of guy that always had something nice to say about somebody else. He went out of his way to help those around him, whether it was the cliché of helping an old lady load her groceries into her car, insisting that his apartment was a space where anyone could come and crash if they needed it, or volunteering to tutor the undergrads that were struggling in their classes. There was no person better than Auguste, really.

But Auguste was fiercely protective of Laurent. That fact had been established long before Laurent got to Arles University. Since Auguste’s freshman year, he had talked nonstop of the love held for his little brother. With the loss of both their parents at such young ages, the two boys had grown up with nothing but one another. It had built an unbreakable and sacred bond, one untouched by anyone on the outside.

When Laurent had finally hit college age, Auguste had sat down his friend group calmly and respectfully. He had informed them that Laurent would be moving to campus, would be living in the other bedroom in Auguste’s home, and that Auguste wanted everyone in the room to continue to be part of his life but that meant Laurent would be part of theirs too; the brothers were a two-for-one deal after all. Of course, everyone had agreed vehemently. Then Auguste, just as calmly but with warning in his smile, had told them that Laurent was off limits romantically, sexually, and even emotionally. Off course, everyone had agreed again, this time with a lot of confusion to accompany their nods.

When they had finally met Laurent for the first time several weeks after Auguste’s preliminary meeting, they understood.

For that first year, everyone had obeyed diligently. They had needed to get a feel for Laurent’s personality anyway and upon discovering it and finding it less than amorous, leaving the beautiful and forbidden younger DeVere was an easy task to follow. Well, for all them but Lazar.

With summer come and gone far too fast, however, everyone was making their way back to campus. A few of them were starting their first year of grad school. Auguste was in his final already. And Laurent was a sophomore and even more beautiful than he had been the year before. It was now that things started to change. People noticed.

[Continue on AO3]

    1. Nik

The entire team was close. Practically blood-oath close. They were the equal of a fraternity, but without the out-of-pocket money for Greek life fees. Instead they paid for their bonds with their blood, sweat, and tears. It was well spent too. They were the division champions for the third year in a row as of last year. This year they were trying to make it a record four.

The first week on campus was spent mapping out schedules and routes, stocking up on food for their dorms, apartments, and houses, and catching up with all the guys like no time had passed at all. The first text, sent out in the obnoxious group text they had set up, said a simple “7 @ Kesus?” and had been followed by almost a dozen accounts of “Yes,” “Hell yeah!” and a few emojis that all signified the same, including the Ferris wheel emoji for unexplainable reasons.

Kesus was a pub downtown. It became their go-to spot when the convenience of its placement in comparison to their favorite drunken food run, a food truck located right on Barbin Avenue, managed to filter through their eventually sober minds. It was made even better by the fact that it had a table in the back large enough to seat their whole motley crew, even when a few extras managed to tag along.

As it was, by seven o’clock less than half of them were seated at their table, but that didn’t mean they were any less loud than normal. Rowdiness was in their nature.

“How do classes start next week already?” Orlant groaned.

“Time moves forward and tasks and events fall on a timeline, thus —”

“Shut up!” Orlant groaned again.

“But time is a construct.”

“This is why God abandoned us, you know,” Rochert pointed out.

“Okay, I’m leaving,” Jord chimed in.

“No!”

“Who are we missing?” Nik asked.

“Lazar, Pallas —”

“That’s no coincidence,” Damen snorted.

“Huet, Berenger, Auguste, and Alexon. I think that’s it though.”

“Huet won’t be here until Thursday.”

“Do you think Auguste is going to bring Laurent with him?”

“Let’s hope so.”

“Let’s hope not. If I wanted to deal with that level of bitchiness today, I would’ve watched some god-awful reality T.V. before coming here.”

“He’s not that bad,” Damen said, smiling.

“Neither is the common cold, but I still don’t want it hanging around me,” said Nik.

“At least he’s good to look at.”

“Yeah, but if Auguste catches us looking at him, we’re dead men walking.”

“If Auguste catches us looking at what?” came Lazar’s voice. Most of them had to turn to watch Lazar saunter in, eyes bright and hair mussed, with a pink-faced Pallas under his arm.

“At Laurent.”

“I don’t know how he expects us not to stare,” Lazar continued, pulling out a chair and tugging Pallas into it with him. “Has anyone else seen Laurent’s ass in the pants he wears? Magnificent.”

“It’d be hard to see his ass when I do my best to stay at least fifty yards away from him at all times,” Nik mumbled.

“God, just get a restraining order, it’d be more efficient for you.”

“Don’t think I haven’t looked into it,” said Nik all too seriously.

“And how are you planning on doing that?” Damen laughed.

“Simple. Get a temporary protection order, get everything filed within the court, and, eventually, convince the judge to grant me a permanent restraining order.”

“What evidence are you going to show?” Lazar asked with a grin. “How he makes your cock involuntarily hard?”

Nik flushed, though whether it was from the truth or the implication no one could be quite certain.

“Yeah, I don’t think things will work out in your favor if you try to get a restraining order on him that way,” Jord said.

“Who’s getting a restraining order on who?” came Auguste’s question.

“What is with you all and sneaking up on everyone at the wrong time?”

“Nik,” Damen emphasized, “doesn’t want a restraining order on anyone.”

“I want it against your brother. Oh, hi, Laurent,” Nik said, this time with an accompanied eye roll.

Sure enough, Laurent was standing at Auguste’s side, posture relaxed and almost bored, his right hand tucked in one of the back pockets of his dark pants. If it was possible, Laurent had gotten more beautiful over the summer spent away from Arles University. Everyone noticed. They let Lazar speak it for them, however, which was a grave mistake on their part.

“Laurent,” Lazar practically growled in greeting. “My lap is able to fit two beauties if you’d care to join.” He patted at his left thigh, the one Pallas wasn’t currently putting most of his body weight on and waggled his eyebrows all too suggestively.

“As wonderful as that sounds,” Laurent started, his voice clear like a bell and doubly as sweet, “I fear that since you only think with that poor excuse that you call a dick, you definitely lack the capacity to pay proper attention to one person right in your vicinity, let alone two. I’d also like to avoid being entirely disappointed before the school year starts at the very least.” It was impossible to miss the judgmental flick of those pellucid blue eyes to Lazar’s jean-covered crotch.

Despite Laurent not being on the team and despite him being the youngest of the group altogether, it didn’t feel like he was tagging along. Sure, some of the guys liked to tease that Laurent was the equivalent of some of the guys’ clingy girlfriends, but it wasn’t true. Laurent had his own place with them, and he fell right back into it without any effort, taking a seat between Auguste and Jord for the remaining unruliness of the evening.

Sadly, the unruly night passed by too quickly as did the following days. Before anyone knew it, they were back in classes and clutching to whatever free time they could find.

For Damen and Nik, best friends long before the college years hit them, that meant finding at least one day a week to grab lunch together. It was a tradition they started their very first semester. Being in different majors, they didn’t see much of each other throughout the week and this was a guaranteed way to spend a good hour together not quietly sitting across from each other in the library or partying with the rest of the boys.

One semester they had been lucky enough to have time for three days of meeting up for lunch.

This semester they were only able to squeeze in one day. Thus, every Tuesday at eleven-thirty it was impossible to miss the two guys trying to shoulder by each other through the doorway of Belloy’s Bagels, the bagel deli that made the biggest and best bagel sandwiches within fifty miles of Arles.

“I’m just saying,” Nik started as they made their way to the window seats, hands warmed by the tin foil hiding their sandwiches, “that I’ve only been in this class for a single day, but I’m inclined to believe that this professor is going to spend more time mentally fucking over half of the first row than teaching at all.”

“Maybe it’s for the best. You said that this class was going to be a waste of a semester anyway,” Damen pointed out to him. The window seat was one of the draws to Belloy’s Bagels. They were thinking long term, after all, and come October they were going to need some give from the incoming cold. But for now, in the hot air of August, this also gave them plenty of sunlight to bask in.

“That’s true, but that doesn’t mean that I want to deal with that kind of incompetence for fifteen weeks.”

Their mouths were already full but that didn’t stop them from getting to talking as they always did, falling into it like it was the most natural thing because it was, and the first half hour went by way too fast for either of their liking.

Damen opened his mouth to voice such a feeling, but it was then that a flash of blond caught his eye. Laurent DeVere walked by the front of Belloy’s Bagels, two books under one arm and a messenger bag slung over the other. He didn’t seem to see Damen and Nik, or if he did, he didn’t acknowledge them which wouldn’t be surprising, and he was there and gone in seconds. The last of him that remained was the shine of his hair in the sunlight as it caught in Damen’s sight.

Damen was staring after him.

“Please don’t.”

Damen turned to Nik.

“What?”

“Well, to start, you have bean sprouts hanging out of your mouth. But what’s worse is that you stared after Laurent like we’ve seen Lazar do.”

“Lazar leers. I wanted to make sure it was him, that’s all,” Damen said.

Nik hummed thoughtfully. “Yes, I do suppose you had to lean out of your seat and press your face against the window to make sure it was. Perfectly understandable.”

“Cut it out, Nik!” Damen was laughing. “You’re being dramatic. As per usual. He’s our friend.”

“Maybe you consider him a friend.”

But the next week was one in the same. Their food was long devoured, the tin foil that once held their sandwiches balled up into shiny spheres, and Laurent walked by right at noon. There was a pair of headphones peeking out from his hair this time.

“You stared again.”

“I didn’t!”

“You did. What’s with that?”

Damen waited a beat, then two. Then he exhaled loudly, head falling forward. “Come on, Nik. Auguste is going to graduate at the end of this year. He won’t have anyone but us. Least we could do is keep an eye on him.”

“I knew the second that blond-haired-blue-eyed snake was brought here that you were doomed,” Nik moaned.

“I told you that’s not what this is about!”

“But you are attracted to him.” It wasn’t a question. They both knew that.

“I’m not going to do anything about it.”

The next week, however, Damen still stared with the kind of quiet longing that wasn’t so quiet when he didn’t have to be aware of Auguste’s eyes on him. Or even Laurent’s.

The week after that Nik was talking, telling Damen a story about his law and society course, when he noticed Damen was zoned out, brown eyes all too focused on the world outside as though he was waiting for something.

“...and then a bear walked in wearing a hat and said, “Excuse me, gentlemen, but I can’t seem to find the bathroom anywhere.”

Damen nodded.

“Damen.” Nik snapped his fingers in front of Damen’s face three times and Damen came back to himself with the slightest shake of his head, eyes finding Nik’s in startled confusion.

“What?”

“Where are you?”

“I’m right here, I’m just —” Damen stopped suddenly, sentence still hanging in the air around them, and Nik rolled his eyes and opened his own mouth to ask what was wrong when Damen jumped out of his seat and ran to the front door of Belloy’s Bagels, one large hand pushing and holding the door open.

Nik watched as Laurent came walking by and didn’t give Damen the satisfaction of jumping at the sudden intrusion on his otherwise silent trek across campus. Nik watched as Damen did all the talking, hands moving a bit animatedly with his words. Nik watched as Laurent raised one delicate eyebrow before shaking his head and continuing.

Damen was back inside in seconds.

“What,” Nik began, and Damen wouldn’t meet his eyes, “was that?”

“I invited him in for lunch,” Damen told him honestly.

“Why would you do that?”

“Because it’s lunch time and he always looks so alone when he walks by here.” Nik kept staring and Damen could read the expression.

“Yes, I’m sure you’re being entirely selfless here.”

“Auguste wouldn’t want us to see him and not talk to him,” Damen argued.

“Auguste also wouldn’t want you pursuing Laurent either, but that want of his doesn’t seem to be stopping you from doing it anyway. And, besides, Laurent is grown. If he wants to hide away, that’s on him.”

“Asking someone to lunch is hardly pursuing them.”

Nik didn’t argue anymore, and he didn’t have to. The next week was like clockwork and Damen once again ran to the door and asked Laurent inside. This time Laurent at least said something. His blue eyes fell toward the direction he was walking in and then flicked to Nik before he said something along the lines of, “I have class in a few minutes,” before he was off again.

The next week, Nik was shocked to walk in to Belloy’s Bagels and see that Damen wasn’t already seated, but had his lunch, Nik’s lunch, and a latte from the cafe next door with him.

“What’s this?” Nik asked as he pulled out his chair and slid in. The sandwich was still steaming hot, indicating Damen hadn’t been there all too long.

“Thought I’d surprise you,” Damen said. He was smiling and had his hands on his drink. Like all the weeks before, they started talking, and after a while Nik asked around a mouthful of food about the latte.

“Since when do you drink lattes from Chastillon?”

“I’ve never tried it, but since it’s right there,” Damen jutted a thumb in the general direction behind them, “I thought I’d stop in and see what was going on.”

Nik wiped his hands with a napkin. “Then why haven’t you drank any of it?” Grabbing the cup quickly, Nik was able to garner from the steam still rising from the cup what flavor it was. “Could it be because it’s a vanilla cinnamon latte and I’ve never known you to order that in your life?”

Damen didn’t answer. He didn’t have to either. A flash of blond walked by and Damen was out of his seat, the latte precariously sloshing up the sides of the cup a bit as he ran out the door. Nik heard him call out Laurent’s name and had first row seats to watch Laurent turn around and look at the drink as though it could bite him. Damen was talking animatedly again, and Laurent finally gave a curt nod after Damen stopped. With elegance not befitting the situation, Laurent crossed the distance between them and reached for the latte, cradling the warmth of it to his chest. Nik saw him say thank you and turn without another word or look.

The next week played out the same, except Nik did his very best to ignore the latte on Damen’s left. When he paused their conversation to run outside and give it to Laurent, Nik continued to act like nothing happened. It was easier, especially when it happened again the next week.

They were now halfway through the fall semester, over seven weeks in, and Nik prayed that next semester he and Damen would choose a lunch spot Laurent didn’t wander anywhere near. He was praying for such a thing as Damen handed Laurent the latte in his hands when Laurent didn’t immediately walk away. Damen had retreated inside, but Laurent was following.

“You can’t keep doing this,” Laurent told Damen just as Damen was grabbing his seat again.

“Doing what?”

“Don’t be daft. These things are at least four dollars now.”

“There’s a perfectly good reason to buy them. It’s starting to get chilly outside,” Damen said as though that made everything fine.

Laurent said nothing. Instead he stood there with an unreadable expression, chin high and hair wind mussed. His messenger bag strap was twisted below his shoulder.

“What are you usually doing around eleven?” Damen asked, filling the silence.

“Waiting until it’s time to go to class.”

“You could meet me at Chastillon. I’ll even let you buy your own latte if you’d like.”

Nik knew not to be surprised the next week, but he still was when he was just feet away from Chastillon and saw Damen and Laurent through the window. They were sitting across from one another at a table by the far wall. Laurent had his laptop and a series of books spread out in front of him and Damen had a notebook and a pen. Damen looked up at Laurent once. Twice. Three times.

The next week Nik watched as Laurent did the same.

    2. Jord

The relationship Jord shared with the DeVere brothers was odd. Okay, odd was perhaps not the right word; the relationship Jord shared with Laurent DeVere was odd. The relationship he shared with Auguste was simple and easy. It was a friendship full of mutual respect and camaraderie.

Jord had known Auguste since their freshman year of school. Despite having the money to afford a place of his own, Auguste spent his first two years in the dorms and threw himself into the roommate pool. Jord and him were randomly assigned and Jord silently thanked the fates for it because Auguste really was a great friend.

Because of Jord’s past with Auguste he also was the only one of the group to have known Laurent just as long.

It was impossible to forget meeting Laurent. When Jord had, Laurent had only been fourteen years old. Even then he was smart as a whip and twice as pretty as anyone else. One year Jord even spent part of the holidays with both DeVeres. His avoidance of his own family made him susceptible to Auguste’s suggestion he come back home to The Manor with him where Laurent’s judgmental gaze waited.

Though their start was a rocky one – to keep a long story short, Laurent left Jord lying in the dirt right outside the stables – years of keeping Auguste’s friendship had cemented Jord’s relationship with Laurent.

As the years progressed, Jord came to a frightening realization that he felt protective of Laurent. He wasn’t at the level Auguste was, and he never would be, but it was impossible to not feel protective after witnessing the comments thrown Laurent’s way as he aged.

Despite the odd and brother-esque relationship Jord shared with Laurent, there was no other person he would rather have in his class this year.

Jord was TA’ing for a Roman military history course this semester. Dr. Paschal was Jord’s advisor, mentor, and favorite professor at Arles University. He’d been in the doctor’s class his freshman year and it was his guidance and passion that allowed Jord to conclude what he wanted to major in.

When Laurent had walked in on the first day a few weeks ago, he had looked at Jord with that cool stare of his and said nothing as he elegantly sat down at the end of the first row, just in front of Jord’s own desk.

Jord had been nervous. Dr. Paschal was a no-nonsense kind of guy. And while Laurent wasn’t the kind to disrupt the class for attention or for the simple purpose of being disruptive, Laurent was the kind to tell the professor they were wrong and, should the professor try to argue, eviscerate them with words alone.

By the third day, Laurent was Dr. Paschal favorite student by far. The doctor tried not to show it during class, but in private with Jord he sang countless praises of the intelligence Laurent showcased with every question, comment, and argument he made.

After several weeks, Jord lessened in his tension and, instead, joined the doctor in his amusement and even pride at Laurent’s analytical nature taking the front seat of most lectures.

“He’s a handful,” Dr. Paschal laughed one day, handing Jord some lesson plans for the following week.

Though he should have, Jord never considered that Laurent was watching. Laurent was always watching though and after class one day he had let Jord know that fact.

“If you keep laughing every time I prove someone wrong you may be accused of playing favorites.”

The cool-toned observation had startled Jord who had still been at his own desk, gathering up the four-week essays all the students in the class had written and turned in.

“I don’t think it’s me who needs to be worried about that kind of accusation. Just the doctor.”

Laurent’s lips had upturned, so slightly, and Jord still couldn’t tell you how it happened or why, but he had suddenly found them both on their way to the library in a comfortable silence.

Ever since that day, Jord and Laurent had gone to the library after their shared class. It made sense, Jord had told himself after the third time; Laurent spent most of his free time in the library anyway and going right after class was the only guaranteed way Jord would get his TA’ing duties out of the way on time.

Their studying was done in silence. Jord had learned quickly that Laurent was not to be talked to, messed with, or anything of the sort while he was studying. By the time they would grab a table (always on the fourth floor) and spread their papers, laptops, and notebooks out, Laurent would have his headphones in and his eyes on the tasks in front of him.

It went on like that for several weeks, a routine created in quiet comfortability. On occasion, Auguste even joined them, bringing along five-inch-thick textbooks that Laurent glared at when they took up too much of his own space on the table.

Though their sessions were quiet, Jord came to appreciate not only the productivity of the almost two-hours-long spent studying, but also the way they shifted his relationship with the youngest DeVere. Auguste had long lamented Laurent’s introversion. It wasn’t that Auguste had any problems with his little brother being quiet, bookish, standoffish, and even albeit shy, but he did have problems with the fact that those factors often meant one thing: that Laurent’s friend group was limited. While Jord recognized that these hours spent with Laurent would never lead to a best-friends-forever kind of situation, it did give him hope that Laurent would allow Jord to be part of his life after Auguste graduated this coming spring.

Midterms came and went and Jord and Laurent’s study sessions seemed to drag on longer than normal. Laurent, ever the perfectionist, wouldn’t leave until every line even semi-related to whatever he was working on at the time had been read, reviewed, noted, and read once more. Jord, dealing with his own personal midterms as well as his grading for Dr. Paschal’s class, was drowning in a flood of mediocre to superb sophomore papers all relating to the social reforms that shifted Rome from its republic to its time of the mid-Roman empire, couldn’t seem to catch up at all.

A particularly tense Roman military class went by in a blur the week after midterms. The doctor wasn’t happy with several of the students’ assignments and Jord found himself on the receiving end of several dirty looks from those who knew he himself did a large chunk of the grading. Jord blamed the tension on how he missed the approaching figure throwing a bout of shade on the library door.

“Let me grab that for you guys,” a deep and warm voice said from behind and to the right. Both Jord, and appearingly Laurent, had been too in their own heads that they had missed Damen of all people joining them on the front steps of the library.

“Damen,” Jord started with a smile, moving to the side so Damen could pull open the first door, “what are you doing here right now?”

Damen was a hard to miss kind of guy with his height, muscles, and large personality and heart to match, and Jord mentally sped through the last several weeks in his head, trying to place if he’d seen Damen here. It wasn’t that it was an unexpected thought for Damen to be at the library, but the group was close enough that if even one person was present somewhere, it would be odd to miss another.

“I’ve got a group project for my physiology class,” Damen made a face. “I usually go to the gym around this time, but it was the best time for everyone else to meet. I can always do the gym later.”

Jord hummed in agreement, only to remember Laurent was beside him. Quiet as always, Laurent seemed unfazed at running into Damen here. Instead he was looking at the door handle still in Damen’s hand before commenting in a monotonic voice, “Are we going to stand here and blockade everyone inside or are we actually going to walk through the doors? I’d hate for you to be late.” He said the last part while pointedly moving his eyes up to Damen’s face, but Damen only smiled. There was a dimple indented in his left cheek.

With an ever-so-slight flourish, Damen pulled the door wide open and Jord followed Laurent’s determined footsteps, pausing to tell Damen a quick thanks.

The fourth floor was relatively empty, a fairly usual sight at one o’clock on a Thursday, and by the time Jord caught up with Laurent he was already spreading out two notebooks, a textbook, and his laptop. Before long they were both taking up most of the table with all their things and studying like normal. It was hard to keep focused, however, when a group – large and loud – came up the staircase and onto the fourth floor, assumingly looking for some tables. The vibration of plasticky wood across thin library carpeting a few minutes later indicated they had found those tables.

When Jord looked up from his own laptop, he immediately was met with seeing Damen again. He was with the other five people that had wandered up the stairs and he waved at both Jord and Laurent upon seeing them again. Jord waved back and sighed in silent relief when the group got much quieter upon settling down.

The six had pushed three tables together and fished a thick packet of papers out of each of their bags. For a while, the only sounds were the hushed whispers of one of them reading over, what Jord could only assume were, the requirements for their project and the familiar sound of papers being flipped and turned as they continued along.

It was only after a few minutes of that that Jord realized there was another familiar sound missing. Looking up curiously, Jord found that Laurent wasn’t touching his laptop as per usual. Instead he was staring unblinkingly at the page of notes lying on the table in front of him. His face was too close and, upon watching him for a moment, Jord realized that was so he could look over to his left without being too obvious.

Unsure of what to do or what was going on, Jord forced his gaze back into his own papers and soon found himself caught in the rhythm of it all. By the time Jord looked up again, Laurent seemed back to his normal self. The keys of his keyboard sunk down with the fast pace of his fingers and the pages of his book turned with purpose.

It wasn’t until the next week that Jord managed to put two and two together.

Damen met them at the front door again, holding it open with another flourish and a smile, and Laurent seemed to pay no mind to it until Damen was settled in with his group. Confused by Laurent’s distractedness, Jord did his best to keep working diligently. He succeeded for some time, but when he felt Laurent jolt beside him, he found his desire to understand what the hell was going on takeover.

It didn’t take a genius to realize the only thing that could have caused Laurent to jolt was Damen’s laugh. It was a loud laugh, one that came from the chest and lit up Damen’s whole face, and it wasn’t library quiet. But it wasn’t that the sound scared him, Jord knew that much, because they had endured much louder in the university library. Staring at the blond, Jord found him not hiding how he looked to his left now. Following his line of vision, Jord watched as Damen talked animatedly to the woman next to him. She must have been the cause of his laughter and Jord was captivated by her long dark hair. It curled at the ends.

It was the woman’s turn to laugh this time and her laugh was quieter than Damen’s own. It did get louder when Damen playfully plucked the stack of papers out of her hand and held them high above his head, an area far too high for her to reach. Jord knew Laurent heard her too as she loudly whispered, “Damen, stop! Give it back!” before putting her right hand on Damen’s left shoulder so she could try to get some leverage.

It made sense. Laurent had a crush.

For a few minutes, Jord couldn’t put a finger on why this all bothered him. Laurent had a crush, so what? But then it dawned on him in one exact moment, the terrifying way in which this could all go alarmingly wrong and it panicked Jord so much that he almost reached for his phone so he could tell someone about it all and get them on his side.

There’s too much fragility here, he thought with his eyes still on Laurent. Damen was a great guy, he was, but he was also a bit of a heartbreaker. And he had an affinity for blonds. Meanwhile Laurent had never been interested in anyone and, with another grim thought, Jord played with the notion of Laurent’s feelings becoming known. There were several things that could happen and none of them were good.

Jord grabbed his pen, tilted his notebook, and made a quick list.

If Laurent’s feelings were ever known:

    1. Damen would think with his dick and not his head and Laurent would be another blond at Arles University left alone after a few fun nights. It would strain, at the very least, Auguste’s relationship with all of them.

    2. Damen would think with his head and not his dick and Laurent’s first (known to Jord) crush would be unrequited and would leave him heartbroken. It would strain, at the very least, Auguste’s relationship with all of them.

    3. Damen would think with his dick and not his head, but try for an actual relationship with Laurent, only for one of them to do something that would lead to a – probably – messy breakup soon. It would strain, at the very least, Auguste’s relationship with all of them.

    4. Damen would think with his dick and not his head, but try for an actual relationship with Laurent, only for Damen to graduate and move on with his life plans, ultimately leading to a breakup because of the different points they would both be at in their lives. It would strain, at the very least, Auguste’s relationship with all of them.

Jord lamented as he looked down at his messy scrawl. This wasn’t good.

The next week played out much the same. Neither Jord nor Laurent seemed to get much work done. Laurent kept looking to his left, expression unreadable, as Damen worked and joked around with his project partners. Jord kept looking up at Laurent, wishing he had a superpower where he could change people’s thoughts. While he looked at Laurent, he tried his best to look on the bright side of things. Damen was a great guy and would never go out of his way to intentionally hurt Laurent. And Laurent was smart and practical and wouldn’t be petty should Damen, rightfully, turn him down.

Laurent was so quiet that there was a chance that no one outside of Jord would ever know anyway. Jord found himself asking within his own head, When was the last time Laurent shared his feelings with the group? The answer was an obvious “never.”

Jord also found his shoulders easing with the knowledge of how dense Damen could be. For a guy that hooked up as often as Damen did and had an endless line of people interested in him, Damen oftentimes missed that people were into him. Jord thought of Jokaste – or as the group fondly referred to her, Lady Macbeth – and how she had to walk up to Damen and declare “We should fuck” before he got the message.

There was hope.

The following Thursday went by about the same, only Jord thought he could feel Laurent’s heart beating all the way from his own seat. Damen, as always, was focused most of the time, only getting distracted when everyone else needed a break from thinking. Recognizing Laurent’s look meant he could recognize the look the girl with the beautiful dark hair was giving Damen as well.

The next week went by a bit different. For one, Damen was chattier, and he even went on to join Jord and Laurent as they made their way to the fourth floor of the library. Jord noted how good Laurent was at controlling himself. He looked unbothered by Damen’s presence, as though he could be doing any mundane task and would be more entertained, and Damen merely talked amicably to the both of them like he didn’t notice.

When they went their separate ways, Damen to his group and Jord and Laurent to their two tables, Jord awaited the settling that occurred before Laurent felt unwatched enough. But Damen’s group didn’t settle this time. They were rowdy, reminiscent of the way they were the first day they came to work on the project, and Jord quickly found out why; he could hear them talking, could hear one of the other guts say “Let’s look over everything one more time and call it.”

Soon (far too soon for an entire readthrough of the project) there was a too loud shriek of happiness from the beautiful dark-haired girl and Damen was clapping everyone on the shoulder. Goodbyes and “See you all on Wednesday!” and “Dress like you’re not hungover for once, Hendric!” were exchanged. Jord switched his view from the group to Laurent, in front of him as usual.

Laurent was outwardly engaged in whatever was on his laptop screen. He had the eraser-end of his pencil pressed against his mouth and one of his feet was tapping ever-so-quietly under the table. Jord had to hand it to him, Laurent could act out almost anything convincingly. He could act almost anything so that he didn’t look nervous or anticipatory as Damen walked over to them after giving one last wave to the project group.

“Hey,” Damen started, his voice much quieter than that of what he had left and Jord looked up only to realize Damen wasn’t addressing him. “We’re finally done with that awful project, but I’ve gotten used to coming to the library around this time. I was wondering if I could join you for the rest of the semester?” He looked earnest with his genuine smile and his bag swinging at his feet.

“I thought you went to the gym around this time,” Laurent simply said, no question or heat behind his words.

“I’ve actually been getting up early so I can work out before any of my classes.”

“Prioritizing studying and your health above your sleep? I’m shocked.”

“It’s a new semester, new me,” Damen laughed. “Well, sort of. A new half of a semester, a new me. So, what do you say?”

Laurent said nothing but went to busying his hands with moving around his laptop and notebooks. Damen didn’t repeat himself. Instead he turned to Jord and Jord shrugged. He wasn’t about to get involved in this now that they’d ignored him anyway.

“Oh, do sit down. I was merely making room for all your giantness to have a place.”

Damen’s grin was brilliant, and he pulled out the free chair to Laurent’s right and Jord’s left.

“If you’d like, I can bring you one of those lattes you love,” Damen said. Laurent hummed.

“We have a perfectly fine school café here on the second floor. I’ll have you fetch Jord and I something from there sometime.”

“I’m fetching now, am I?”

“Why else would I agree to you being here?”

Once the ribbing had gotten out of their systems, things got quiet. The next week, Damen beat the both of them there and had their table all ready. It was now that Jord realized, when Damen wasn’t working on a project he spent as much time, if not more, as Laurent when it came to staring at the other. Sometimes Jord would glance up only to find Damen completely enthralled in Laurent’s studious face. Sometimes Jord would glance up only to find Laurent scanning from the top of Damen’s head to the tips of his fingers. Jord felt intrusive.

Gently pulling his notebook out of his bag, Jord flipped to the page where had made his “If Laurent’s feelings were ever known” list. Some of the pencil had smudged from being jostled around while Jord walked about, but it was still plenty readable. Eyes down for the first time that day, Jord found himself adding to the list and laughing at himself for how stupid he was for making the list in the first place.

    5. Damen and Laurent would both think with their dicks and not their heads but would ultimately beat the odds stacked up against them. Auguste would be happy Laurent was happy.

    3. Jokaste

Even though she was a head-turning beauty, Jokaste wasn’t exactly the most popular person. There was a list of things that could be blamed for such a fact, and whilst Jokaste herself would list other peoples’ intimidation of a woman making her way in this world with no attention given to what others thought, the main reason was simply because she wasn’t kind.

Her pregnancy hadn’t changed that. Kastor had made a joke once that maybe she would lighten up a little when the baby decided to play with her hormones. She was six months into the ordeal now and not a thing was different. People still went out of their way to stay clear of her bad side, and her bad side still made appearances as often as she saw fit to keep things on track.

Though there was no softness about her, there was something the pregnancy had changed. She would never admit such a thing, of course, as it would be too vulnerable to say out loud, but as the baby kicked and shifted within her, she found herself wanting more and more to raise this child in a family.

It was obviously hormones putting a nasty toll on her body and mind, but it didn’t make it feel any less real. And the realness of it always hit her in the dead of night as Kastor slept soundly beside her.

There were some nights that her mind wandered to the time she was able to be part of something. The boys had been just that – boys. But they had been kind and funny and had gone out of their way for her more times than she could count. Sure, Nik only came to change her tire and Berenger only gave her his umbrella on a rainy Wednesday and Alexon only gave her his notes from their once-shared philosophy class for a day she had missed because she was Damen’s girlfriend and Damen’s girlfriend alone, but it had been something.

Inevitably, with a hand on her stomach and her head next to Kastor’s, her mind would wander to Damen and she would force it to cease its thinking immediately. But sometimes her wandering won, and she thought of him anyway.

There were a lot of things to think about when it came to Damen. Jokaste most often found herself thinking of the weight of his arm around her shoulder or the warmth of his laugh. Lately, the latter made her think of him laughing with his child – their child – and she would make herself face Kastor’s sleeping form and accept her decision to have his child instead.

It didn’t make it any easier.

The realistic part of her knew that even if this child was Damen’s (and it wasn’t, that had been made certain by Kastor), her relationship with Damen was unsalvageable. Fucking someone’s brother behind their back made trust impossible to rebuild. And even if Damen and his big heart wanted to give her another chance, she had witnessed the way Nik and Auguste and the rest of that group looked at her now. They were like bodyguards of Damen’s heart-covered sleeves.

The few times she had ran into any of them since The Incident had been brief, nothing but passings-by from people living in the same city. There was one time she had seen Nik in town and momentarily wondered if he had snipped the brakes in her car. Other than that, her run-ins with them were cold-shouldered and uneventful...until tonight, anyway.

She was grocery shopping. It was a mundane but necessary task, and Jokaste preferred to do it late into the evening. There were less people, less screaming children, and it gave her more time away from Kastor’s watchful eyes. She hadn’t been in the store long when she heard them. They were loud as ever and one indecipherable screech, from Orlant or Lazar, surely, almost made her drop the mango she was inspecting.

“Listen up,” came Auguste’s unmistakable leader voice, “we don’t have all night. Mostly because I have class at eight tomorrow morning. New Year’s is in three days. Our best way to do this is to assign sections and split up.”

“Sir, yes, sir!” That was Lazar.

“Orlant, Rochert, and Huet are in charge of chips and the like. Nik, Berenger, and Alexon are in charge of mixers. Jord, Pallas, and Lazar are with me to get the alcohol. Damen, you can go grab some ice and meet up with Nik, Berenger, and Alexon after. All clear?”

“What about me?”

“Laurent, you can go wherever you want. But you have to be out of here before we buy everything.”

There was a lot of laughing and Jokaste could imagine the elbows being shoved in rib cages at this exact moment.

“It’s because he’s a baby,” someone cooed.

“He’s going to get our drinks confiscated,” someone else teased.

“You’re all laughing, but he could kill you and make it look like an accident,” Auguste said all too seriously. “So, are we all clear?”

“Crystal, captain,” Orlant said, joining in on Lazar’s fun.

The shuffling of their feet as they split up was too loud in the otherwise quiet store. By the time Jokaste made it into her first aisle, they were long gone to their designated areas. As she wove in and out of the aisles, she caught glimpses of some of them. She saw the back of Orlant’s head across the way as she walked by the breads. She barely missed on running into Nik as she went to grab her juice. It wasn’t until she was almost done shopping, finishing up in the frozen foods’ aisle, that she first heard him.

It wasn’t just his voice, but the way he was speaking. There was a fondness to his tone, a softness in his approach, and when he laughed at something that was said back to him it was that laugh. Jokaste knew what that laugh was, what it meant. Finding herself in a moment of weakness, she peered around the corner.

There stood Damen and next to him a lithe blond. Jokaste almost laughed. They were in front of the ice creams and frozen juice concentrates and they were pressed shoulder to shoulder as though the aisle was swarmed with more people than just them.

“Okay, but consider,” Damen started. The blond didn’t seem to want to consider, however. He was talking too quietly, too lowly, for Jokaste to hear from where she stood, but he was making good of the argument he was voicing.

“I guess, but what about afterward?” Damen asked, but he was already decided to do whatever the blond wanted. Jokaste could see it in the way he was angled, nearly drowning the blond in his presence alone.

“Fine!” Damen was laughing that laugh again. “Since you clearly know what’s best, you get it all, Laurent.”

Laurent. Jokaste knew the name and not from the brief conversation she accidentally eavesdropped on when they all first arrived. It had been the only name she couldn’t put a face to, the only name that was new. But there was still something about the name that lit a memory in her mind.

Laurent threw open one of the freezer doors before nearly crawling in to grab at things. Instead of juggling it all, he shoved them all in Damen’s awaiting arms. He moved to the next freezer door and pulled another three things out of there as well. By the time he was done, Damen’s arms were loaded with items, and Laurent was shivering ever so slightly.

“I would offer you my jacket, but my hands are a little full,” Damen told Laurent and he was all too serious about the jacket.

They had moved close enough for Jokaste to hear Laurent say, “I appreciate the offer, but I refuse to walk around smelling like Axe body spray.”

Damen scoffed, shifting the grocery load precariously stacked in his hold.

“This is Creed, Laurent. Pierce Brosnan wears it.”

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

“He was James Bond!”

“And?”

“James. Bond. I feel like this isn’t something I should have to repeat.”

“If I say that I think that’s really, truly something spectacular, will you refrain from doing a James Bond impression?”

“No, because I know you’ll be lying.”

“What will it cost for you to not do a James Bond impression then?” Laurent deadpanned.

They continued to playfully bicker back and forth and Jokaste nearly couldn’t stomach it. Knowing they were going to see her sooner or later, she turned the corner with the intent of getting it over with. They didn’t notice her at first and it was only when she was facing them fully that she saw how close they were standing now. It wasn’t just shoulder to shoulder; it might as well have been chest to chest.

Damen, expectedly, noticed her first. She felt her heart go off its rhythm once. His eyes fell to her stomach and she had to turn away. She looked at Laurent instead.

He was a head-turning beauty also. His hair was white-blond, and it complimented the pellucid blue of his eyes and the flawless expanse of his skin. His lips, drawn tighter at her interruption, were full and a contrasting warmth in his otherwise cool-toned appearance. He had piano fingers, long boned and elegant, and they went along so well with the hold of his spine and the elegance of his frame. Yes, he was exactly Damen’s type, even moreso than she was.

“Hi, Jokaste,” Damen greeted her after the pause in conversation. Jokaste turned back to him.

“Hello, Damen,” she started. “I must say, this is one of the last places I would expect to run into you.”

“Likewise,” he agreed. “Is Kastor’s child keeping you up?”

She couldn’t help but let her eyes look down at her own protruding stomach and her right hand soon followed. The baby shifted.

“I suppose you could say that.” Her eyes turned to Laurent who was watching her with an unreadable expression. “Oh, Damen, do introduce me. We’re being quite rude to your,” she drew it out, “friend.”

“Right, of course. Jokaste this is Laurent DeVere.”

“Laurent DeVere? As in the little brother Auguste DeVere used to rave so much about?”

“He still raves as much,” Damen confirmed, and his eyes were on Laurent.

“Yes, I fear my brother has no self-control when it comes to even my smallest accomplishments.” The blond’s voice was like honey, soothing in the cold of winter and so smooth that viciousness would sound almost complimentary. He was dangerous for Damen, that she was certain of.

“Well, I’ve heard of many of them and they didn’t seem that small then and certainly not now.” Jokaste’s own voice couldn’t quite match.

Damen was still looking at Laurent and Jokaste realized what that look in Laurent’s eyes was. It wasn’t a surprise he would know about the past she shared with Damen and, upon further inspection, he very much could imagine strangling her. She almost giggled at how very Nik the look was.

Sighing too loudly, she put both of her hands back on the handle of her cart. Jokaste knew a lost cause when it was right in front of her and whatever was once there between her and Damen was long lost. It took her pushing the cart a few inches for Damen’s gaze to leave Laurent and come back to her.

“Your arms are going to freeze off if you don't take that armful to the registers soon. And your brother will be calling me soon if I don’t get home.” She took another deep breath before saying her most risky thing yet. “You should call him sometime, Damen. He does miss you.”

Once, such a suggestion would have been impossible. She hadn’t ever said it to him and, as far as she could assume, no one close to Damen would have made the same suggestion. She and Kastor were as good as dead in all their eyes. And it was easy to guess how Damen three years ago would have reacted. His anger at Kastor’s betrayal had been palpable then, physical in the way it took over him.

“I probably should,” Damen agreed now with ease. “Drive home safe.”

“You as well. It was nice meeting you, Laurent. Goodbye, Damen.”

With a bit more force, she kept on walking. She passed directly by them on Laurent’s right and when she got to the end of the aisle, she took one last look over her shoulder. Where once Damen would have stared after her with longing, he now didn’t look back, his eyes preoccupied with the one by his side.

It was almost bittersweet and as she turned into her final aisle for the night, she found herself hoping Laurent was less like her than he appeared.

    4. Lazar

The DeVere house was the unofficial-official meeting spot for the group. Auguste had made it clear from the day he moved to campus that his house was intended for anyone and everyone. It was a safe space if you needed a place to crash or needed a meal that wasn’t ramen, and that’s why it also became the unofficial-official party house. Lazar couldn’t count on both hands the number of times he had woken up from a drunken stupor at some odd place in Auguste’s house.

When Laurent had been about to start college and move in with his brother, many in the group quietly wondered if the DeVere house would stay the same. They hadn’t met Laurent at that point yet, but they had heard enough from Auguste to deduce that Laurent wasn’t quite the people person Auguste was. But when Laurent finally did move in nothing changed. If Laurent wanted privacy he simply went to his bedroom, but otherwise he was out and about the house with all the others that made their way in and out the DeVere front door.

The parties had continued too. Last night’s New Year’s party was no exception. After their grocery run three days earlier, putting things together had been easy and by seven o’clock yesterday, the thirty-first of December, the house had been packed with the usual suspects.

Music had blared from a handful of speakers and the kitchen counters had been cleared to make way for all the pizza boxes and drinks alike. The television in the living room had Dick Clark’s New Year’s Rockin’ Eve playing, but no one had given it much attention until the last minute of the year. Instead they had all made themselves busy by talking and laughing the rest of the year away.

When Lazar finally woke up, it was at least ten in the morning on the first day of the new year. His eyes didn’t open at first, too tired and hungover and all-around disoriented from the night, and he started to feel around to get an idea at where he was. It was always a fun game for Lazar on these types of mornings. Once he had felt around and proceeded to fall down the stairs that led to the front porch. Another time he had woken up only to immediately hit his head on a pipe and he swore then and there that he would never fall asleep underneath the kitchen sink again. Today was less dramatic than either of those events. With one hand he grabbed at, what he found to be, a dresser. Groaning as he forced himself to sit up, he opened his eyes and immediately squinted at the doomful shine of the sun. A blurry look around the room confirmed several things. The first was that this was Auguste’s bedroom and Auguste was quite present, passed out soundly on his own bed with his right arm thrown over his face. The second was that the reason Lazar couldn’t feel his leg was because Pallas had made it his pillow at some point during the evening. The third thing was that his other hand was stuck underneath the dresser, somehow having slotted its way in a too tight space.

It took longer than he’d ever admit to free his arm and he almost knocked over the entire dresser while he did it. Nevertheless, he gingerly – he was a gentleman after all – moved Pallas’ sleeping head to one of Auguste’s discarded sweatshirts and hoisted himself off the ground. Everything around him swam and his hand found its way back to the dresser, this time to the top of it, to balance himself.

“Oh, god,” he groaned, and he pressed his lips tightly together to stop himself from vomiting.

Finding his way to the bathroom reminded him of that stupid game where you put your head on a baseball bat or pole of some sort and spin round and round and round until you can’t move in a straight line. The hallway was an ocean and Lazar was a mere sailor trying to survive a dreadful trip. Orlant and Rochert were already gone to the waves, leaning against one another on the left side of the hallway, a picture frame precariously hanging loose above them.

Being in the bathroom made Lazar feel better. He threw up once, twice, and then found the coordination to relieve himself. Jord was passed out in the bathtub. When Lazar flushed the toilet, Jord jerked in his sleep but was otherwise unaffected. Lazar’s hands went for his pocket, looking for his phone, and came back empty.

“Do you know how funny it would be to turn the shower on right now?” he asked Jord as though Jord could hear him. Before that kind of fun, however, he needed coffee or water or bacon covered in all its grease. Or all that.

His journey to the kitchen was much better. Getting some of the alcohol sitting stagnant in his stomach cleared his head and he was able to laugh at Nik who was sleeping upside down in a recliner. Wanting his phone even more now, he was practically running to the kitchen when he heard two voices.

They were far too sober sounding. In fact, they were talking at normal speaking levels which meant, to hungover people, they were screaming. Lazar smelled coffee too.

“Question, do you actually like the taste of coffee or do you just like having a drink you can put four cups of sugar in if you like?”

It was Damen talking, his voice warm and bright and not at all hungover sounding.

“I like coffee just fine, but why not sweeten it up? It’s no different than people eating cinnamon rolls doused in a pound of icing for breakfast.”

Laurent?

Never the posterchild for self-control, Lazar peeked around the corner. Laurent was sitting on the turn of the countertop. A steaming cup of coffee was held between both his hands and his legs were swaying back and forth ever so slightly. Damen was leaning against the counter, back pressed to it and arms crossed over his bare chest.

“Besides,” Laurent continued, “if my morning vice is putting more sugar than you deem necessary in a cup of coffee, than yours is walking around here with no decency.”

“No decency?”

“Did you forget your shirt? Did it magically fall off sometime last night? It’s absolutely freezing outside. One might think you’re trying to show off.” Laurent took a long drink.

“How dare you imply such a thing?” Damen grinned and he made an obvious flex of his muscles, his arms bulging and his abs defining even more than usual.

Lazar would have fallen out of his seat if he was sitting in one. Damen was flirting – no, scratch that – Damen and Laurent were flirting with one another.

“I never sleep with a shirt on. I’m hot-blooded. I’d kill over if I slept with that many clothes on.” Damen had moved closer as he spoke and now his left arm was tight against the outside of one of Laurent’s swaying legs.

“So, you often wake up in strange houses and decide not to put your shirt on before wandering, I take it?”

“It’s your house so it’s hardly strange. Are you really that put out about my lack of shirt?”

“Put out isn’t the term I’d use,” Laurent said.

“Flustered then?”

“You’re walking a thin line, Damen.”

The line appeared thinner, Lazar thought, as Damen invaded what space was left and settled between Laurent’s legs. His hands weighted him on either side of Laurent’s waist and Laurent didn’t even put his coffee down. It was quiet for a moment, nothing but eye contact, and Lazar couldn’t be certain with as far away as he was, but he swore Laurent’s eyes flicked down to Damen’s mouth.

“My brother will be up soon. Hungover or not, he’s nothing but punctual.”

Even leaning and even with Laurent sitting on the countertop, Damen was almost at equal height with him. It made Lazar’s stomach hot. Of course, that reminded him how nauseous he was from last night.

Yawning louder than any human ever needed to and purposefully hit the wall as he stretched. Damen jumped back like he’d been shot.

“Is that coffee I smell?” Lazar asked all too innocently.

“It is, but I’m afraid there’s none for you. I made a pourover,” Laurent told him. He looked unfazed by Lazar’s interruption and merely acknowledged Lazar with a hint of amusement at his disheveled state.

“You’re saying words that I don’t understand. Is there coffee, yes or no?”

“Not at the moment, but I can get some on. Auguste will want some when he gets up anyway.”

“You want any, Damen?” Lazar asked. Damen lifted a coffee cup from the other end of the counter and tilted it.

“Pourover.”

“Both of you keep saying that word like I know what it means.”

“It’s a brewing method, Lazar.”

Laurent got off the counter more elegantly than anyone had any right to and grabbed at the coffee pot, filling it up with water and filling the basket with grounds. Sitting in one of the kitchen chairs with his feet on the table, Lazar had a perfect view of Laurent at work and had to give a silent round of kudos to Damen; the guy might get murdered by Auguste by the end of the year, but it would be way worth it if Laurent’s ass was anything to go by.

The smell of coffee permeated the whole house almost immediately after and it’s like it was an alarm. They could all three hear Auguste’s feet hit the floor, could hear him almost trip over Pallas still lying somewhere at the foot of his bed, and could hear him grumble at other sleeping bodies he walked by. Entering the kitchen, Auguste was a sight for sore eyes. His sandy blond hair was all on the right side of his head only, the left side being completely plastered to his face, and his eyes were bloodshot.

“You’ve looked better,” Laurent commented without missing a beat.

Auguste grunted, swiping none-too-gently at his eyes, before he managed to garble out “Coffee. Ibuprofen.”

Not even bothering to hide his eye roll, Laurent went about fetching both things. The coffee was kept black and the four small white pills were a miniscule weight in his hands as he carried everything and a glass of water over to Auguste.

Pretty soon after that, all the others seemed to follow suit and Laurent, Damen, and Lazar found themselves passing out pills like they were candy and brewing their third pot of coffee for the morning. The kitchen was overflowing with hungover boys. Nik, silent in his pain, had shuffled in and immediately pulled out one of the three stools at the breakfast bar. He was joined by the now-walking duo of Orlant and Rochert. Berenger and his boy toy (Lazar still wasn’t certain what that situation was) pulled out two of the chairs next to Auguste and Lazar himself. Pallas copied Laurent and hopped up on the counter at the other end right next to the refrigerator. Lazar briefly got lost in the idea of copying Damen and slithering his way between those muscular thighs.

Shaking himself out of that too-good daydream led to Lazar searching out the two that had put it there in the first place. Laurent had resumed his position on the countertop, legs still swaying. Damen was over at the breakfast bar with a gentle hand on Nik’s back. Everyone else was too miserable to notice how Laurent’s eyes never wavered from staring at Damen across his way. Lazar couldn’t tell if he was staring at Damen’s face, at the cut of his arms, or the expanse of bare skin left on display, but all were certainly tempting. Everyone else was too miserable to notice how Damen’s gaze fell on Laurent the moment Nik quit giving him much mind. They were all too miserable to notice his none-too-subtle head-nod in the direction of the front door.

Pulling a Lazar, Laurent fake yawned as he once again hopped off the counter more elegantly than he had any right to. The stretch of his arms lifted his shirt at the expense of exposing his hipbones.

“If I don’t get moving now, I fear I’m going to go back to sleep and waste my entire day.” The reasoning was good enough and no one truly cared anyway, not with how close they all were to collectively throwing up.

That’s why they didn’t notice, or seem suspicious of, Damen doing the exact same thing almost word-for-word not five minutes later. Within the next half hour, the front door opened and closed only one time and Lazar found himself hoping they were smart enough to at least travel separately on Laurent’s way home.

    5. Nicaise

When Auguste was thirteen years old, he had volunteered in an after-school program called Big Brothers for a Big Future. The program placed eighth graders with fourth graders in need of some guidance. After school, the eighth grade Big Brothers would head over to the elementary building alongside their teacher and they would do a range of activities with their fourth-grade companion. Most of the time that activity was academically focused. But sometimes it was something fun, like heading down to the ice cream shop on the corner or playing a few rounds of kickball on the otherwise-empty playground. The program was a benefit to all parties involved. The fourth graders got the attention and role models they needed, and the eighth graders got to leave feeling accomplished.

When Auguste had first signed up, Laurent had been eight and he had cried the day Auguste told him.

With pleading eyes, Auguste had followed the sounds of Laurent’s sobs all the way up to the boy’s white bright bedroom with chapter books scattered all over the floor. It had taken a while for Laurent’s crying to subside to coherent sentences. When it finally had he had broken Auguste’s heart.

“But you’re my big brother!” the then eight-year-old Laurent said, the words muffled by the wet pillow under his face. It had taken a few more minutes for Auguste to coax Laurent to sit up, but when he had he made certain the first thing he had done was hug him.

“Laurent, I’m always going to be your big brother,” he had begun explaining to the eight-year-old. “But don’t you think other little kids should get to see what it’s like having a big brother too? Some kids don’t have any brothers or even any sisters.”

It hadn’t taken much more explaining for Laurent to understand. From day one he had been bright and the drop of his shoulders when Auguste had told him other kids didn’t get to have what he had had been all the sympathy Auguste needed to see to know Laurent had gotten it.

Over the years, Auguste had stayed with Big Brothers for a Big Future. He had always been great at connecting to younger kids, something he attributed to being such a large part of Laurent’s life, and connecting to these kids had not only been second nature but had been rewarding in ways he had never imagined.

Then there was Nicaise.

Nicaise wasn’t a Big Brothers for a Big Future kid, though he might as well have been given his past. Instead, Nicaise was closer to the DeVere’s than anyone else...well, by blood anyway. To explain it simply, Nicaise was Hennike’s cousin’s child.

Depending on the family and depending on the relevance of distance, these types of cousins may or may not be close family members. But in the instance of Auguste and Laurent, Nicaise was their closest family member and had been for the last decade. After all, when there are only three of you left living, it’s hard to be picky.

Despite everything though – the lack of remaining family, how good Auguste had always been with kids, Nicaise’s short relationship with his now-dead mother – Auguste never managed to get through to Nicaise.

Auguste blamed himself for most of it. Laurent had told him repeatedly over the years that it wasn’t his fault. But Auguste would read off his failures as though he had them on a bulleted list somewhere: how he didn’t take action after Nicaise’s mother died, how he didn’t fight for Nicaise when Nicaise ended up in the system, how he didn’t seek Nicaise out for a long time afterward, etc. And every time there was a perfectly justifiable reason to every “failure” and Laurent would read off his own list:

“Perhaps you didn’t take action after Nicaise’s mother died because you were fifteen years old, Auguste. And perhaps you didn’t fight for Nicaise when Nicaise ended up in the system because you were, again, fifteen years old and by the time you were old enough to fight, you were fighting for me as we had just lost our own parents and uncle was pleading with the courts to take me home with him. And perhaps you didn’t seek Nicaise out for some time afterward because you could worry about yourself and your own future for once in your life.”

No matter how logical everything Laurent always said was, it didn’t soothe Auguste’s heart in any way. The only thing that did was that, out of all the people in the world, Nicaise did seem to seek out a (somewhat convoluted) kind of approval from was Laurent himself.

The two had an odd relationship. If somebody were to ask what each thought about the other, Laurent would no doubt shrug as though he couldn’t care less about the boy and Nicaise would probably spit on the ground to showcase his distaste. But sometimes they held hands as they walked, acting as though Nicaise didn’t try to sabotage Laurent’s entire day in some diabolical way. And sometimes Laurent read Nicaise to sleep out of children’s books Auguste and Laurent’s own mother had read to both.

Now that Nicaise was a little older and a teenaged hellion, he had more freedom to go about as he pleased. The thought terrified Auguste and, frankly, Laurent wasn’t all too thrilled with it either. But his freedom allowed him to spend his spring breaks at Arles University with his dear cousins.

“I feel like we should be putting baby gates up or something,” Auguste lamented while Laurent made up his own futon as a makeshift bed.

“I’m just guessing, but I think he can climb over those now,” Laurent said. He was finishing tucking the corners of the comforter around the edges.

“He tell you about what he wants to do while he’s here?”

“Not really.” Laurent placed the last bit of decoration on the bed, a hand embroidered pillow Nicaise made in his home-ec class that was full of flowers and a lovingly stitched scrawl that said, “Fuck You.” “He called last week and said something along the lines of ‘Since I’m not allowed out of the country for legal purposes and I refuse to stay in this god-fucking-awful place a second longer than I have to, you should go ahead and get a bed ready for me. And not on that fucking excuse of a thing you call a futon.’ So honestly everything is all set as far as I’m concerned.”

About half an hour later there was a knock on the front door that made Auguste jump. Rolling his eyes, though whether it was at the door or Auguste’s jumpiness Auguste wasn’t quite sure, Laurent opened the door wide, revealing an already-disgruntled Nicaise.

Nicaise was a pretty thing, just on the cusp of leaving boyhood and entering that fun stage between boyhood and manhood. He had a mess of auburn curls atop his head that always seemed to look artfully tousled and his blue eyes were almost an exact match to Laurent’s, bright and clear and the color of the sea in the iciest places.

“You were supposed to call when you got to town,” Laurent told him, not bothering with a hello. Nicaise shouldered his way inside.

“What’s the fucking point of calling when I’m in town if I’m already here?” He dropped his bags with a resounding thud right in front of the door and kicked off his shoes like he belonged.

“How was your trip?” Auguste tried.

“Just peachy. I adore taking busses that stop every three minutes along the way and are full of passengers consisting of screaming babies and creepy old men. It’s truly my favorite thing.”

The first two days Nicaise spent with the DeVere brothers were uneventful, to say the least. Laurent woke Nicaise up at seven sharp every morning (“He needs to not wreck his entire schedule while he’s here. It will take him weeks to function normally again.”) and Nicaise, like a drowned tiger, growled and groaned at Laurent any time Laurent took a breath even a little louder than the last. After mostly sleeping, rifling through Auguste and Laurent’s belongings as though they were his own, and eating them out of Poptarts, waffles, and bags of chocolate chips, Nicaise felt as though he was sufficiently caught up on sleep and sweets and was ready to explore.

“Am I ever allowed to leave this dump, or am I being held prisoner until I am inevitably sent off to where I came from?” he asked after running and jumping on Laurent’s bed.

“I suppose that depends on you. You’re not seven, plan something and I’ll see if I can make it happen.”

“Oh, you’re impossible. I don’t know what’s here, so I don’t know how to plan anything. Take me exploring. I can work from there.”

Auguste, off in his classes for the moment, wasn’t privy to watch the two moan and groan as they got ready. Laurent didn’t find Nicaise’s first outfit appropriate and Nicaise thought Laurent looked like a Mennonite in his high necklines and wrist-covering shirts. It was going to rain so Laurent tossed a pair of closed-toed shoes for Nicaise to wear, but Nicaise found them ugly and tossed them right back. After a good twenty minutes of that they were both finally dressed and out the door. Other than Laurent’s black umbrella in hand and blond hair partially tucked out of his jacket collar, he and Nicaise could have been brothers.

“Where’s your car?” Nicaise asked after they walked to the end of the street.

“You wanted to explore so we’re exploring. You can’t explore in a car, Nicaise.”

“Fuck off. I’m not walking miles in this.”

“Then we can turn around.”

The rain wasn’t even bad. The raindrops that were falling were large and sparse in between, and the saturated sidewalks had hardly any puddles in their cracks and crevices. Laurent’s black boots still looked immaculate and, sure, they had only walked fifty yards or so, but it was enough to make Nicaise grunt and keep walking.

They walked a few blocks, bypassing some larger puddles and the few wandering students that were braving the rainy day, before they came across their first stop, Chastillon. It was March, and still chilly, and the inside of the coffee shop smelled of cinnamon, espresso, and raspberry danishes.

“Hi, Laurent!” the barista behind the counter said cheerily. His hair was sandy like Auguste’s, but he was tiny in stature and width and his smile was almost childlike in its purity. Laurent gave a nod in the barista’s direction.

“Isander,” Laurent greeted back with familiarity.

“Do you want your usual?”

“That would be wonderful. Can you also get me one of those disgusting large caramel blended things with all the whipped cream on top?”

“Sure thing,” Isander giggled. “You know you don’t have to pay.”

Laurent sighed, but it was accompanied with a small smile of fond exasperation. “Yes, I know.”

Isander got busy on the drinks, pressing and pulling espresso through the portafilters and putting vanilla and cinnamon in a medium hot cup and what seemed like a half pound of caramel in a blender, and Nicaise was done looking around so he turned to Laurent instead.

“Why don’t you have to pay?” Laurent’s eyes flicked down toward him. “Are you sleeping with the owner?”

“Don’t tell Auguste,” Laurent hummed.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.” The screech of the milk being steamed rang out before it quickly died into a muffled bubbling sound and Laurent continued. “I have what you could call a tab here. Only as I’m not the one picking it up, I can’t answer how much I owe.”

“Is he your boyfriend?” Nicaise asked, indicating at Isander.

“No.” Laurent’s smile was real this time though.

“But you do have a boyfriend then.”

“I didn’t say that.”

Isander waved them off as they exited back outside. It was raining a little harder and Nicaise had to huddle closer to Laurent under the umbrella to avoid his jacket from being soaked.

“Where are we going now?” Nicaise asked. By the next block his drink was halfway consumed, and Laurent was sipping at his.

“I thought we could do something educational. Perhaps stop by the historical library downtown. We could even read all the plaques on the buildings and learn their stories.”

“I can’t tell if you have a stick up your ass or if you’re fucking with me,” Nicaise grumbled loudly, earning a share of dirty looks from older passerbys.

“I’m always fucking with you. If you haven’t picked up on that yet, I fear for the other obvious things in life you’ve missed.”

It was a ways away, but their next stop was a small shopping district located in Arles. There was a strip mall further down the road, but Laurent and the others preferred the convenience and experience of staying in town. It was also nice to support local business owners as often as possible.

First was a shop called Treasure Chest. Treasure Chest was true to its name and had an array of items all created by local people. Some pieces were hanging art, some clothing items, and others were knick-knacks and creations that could change on a whim. Nicaise kept going back to a ring made of kyanite. Laurent made certain to place it on the counter to buy before they left. The next stop was a bookshop, unsurprisingly one of Laurent’s favorite places in town. The bookshop owner also recognized the blond and smiled cheerily at him. Nicaise didn’t know what to make of Laurent’s seemingly wanted presence by people. Nicaise perused the shelves silently behind Laurent until he got tired of doing so and voiced such a thing. Ignoring him, Laurent continued to look, eyes scanning high and low, until he plucked a red sleeved book from one of the bottom shelves. When he went to pay, Nicaise threw down a handful of bookmarks and pens.

“For school,” he said with an eye roll.

Their next several stops were all clothing stores. Laurent picked himself out a scarf from a post-winter sale at the haberdashery on Main and suggested that the closer they got to the next school year approaching Nicaise should come visit and get fitted for a suit. “It’s never a bad idea to have one nice suit in your closet,” Laurent pointed out. A tiny boutique next to it was geared for the younger crowd and Nicaise had an armful of shirts, jackets, and colorful socks that Laurent bought without even needing asked. Across the street was a shoe store where Laurent already had an order on hold that he picked up, telling Nicaise how the winter weather destroyed his favorite pair of brown-laced boots.

Though they had nowhere to be, they made a hurried few drop-ins at small shops as they made their way to the most important part of the day, a stop for food.

“You’re going to let me order for you at Mellos,” Laurent told Nicaise. The crinkle of their shopping bags matched in rhythm with the steps of Laurent’s boots.

“Why would I do that?”

“Because I know what you would like best.”

As it was only a Wednesday, Mellos wasn’t too packed at all. Laurent and Nicaise were seated right away at a little table by the window and Nicaise browsed the menu, pretending disdain. After a moment, he tossed the menu with a flick of his wrist.

“Something wrong?” Laurent asked, not looking up from his own menu.

“Well as you’re ordering for me, I don’t see the point in wasting my time looking,” Nicaise said. The waiter brought out coffee and water for the both of them and Nicaise made certain to bark a request for a raspberry lemonade instead.

“You need to ask nicely,” Laurent told him after the waiter walked away.

“Eat me,” Nicaise spat.

“You’re not better than him or any other person, Nicaise. Even if you don’t want to be kind, be polite.”

“Are we here to improve on my lacking personality traits?”

“I thought we were getting lunch,” Laurent said. He finally put his menu down and looked straight at Nicaise.

“Stop looking at me,” Nicaise said after a moment. Laurent smiled a bit but didn’t look away. The waiter was back and dropped off Nicaise’s raspberry lemonade. “Thank you.” Laurent’s smile quirked at the corners a bit more.

“Now that you’ve seen some of the town, is there anything you’d like to do before you go back to school?” Laurent asked him.

“There’s not much here. I don’t know how you and Auguste stand it here, it’s very boring.” Nicaise was slumped now, arms crossed over his chest.

Laurent made a noise of understanding and adjusted the placement of his silverware on the table. “I suppose it is boring here for a fourteen-year-old. When you’re here at school, it becomes much more important to find these places for life’s simple pleasures. Like a place to find a good book or a hole in the wall with warm food.”

“Auguste says it’s important to make good friends,” Nicaise said.

“I suppose that’s true as well. Auguste is very good at making friends. He has so many that he met through the university.”

“You don’t have many friends, do you?” Nicaise asked. Laurent looked more closely at him and, for once, could see this wasn’t an attempt at maliciousness. There was an innocence in Nicaise’s curiosity here, something he didn’t often show since hitting double-digits.

“No, I don’t.” With a delicate hand, Laurent gently mixed the sugar and cream into his coffee. “I’ve never been very good at making friends. If it wasn’t for Auguste’s love of me, I often wonder if I would have any here. I’m sure it’s no secret that all of my friends are Auguste’s own. They’ve taken me in.”

“Like a stray cat.”

“That’s a good analogy for it.”

The waiter came by once more and this time Laurent placed their orders. For himself he ordered lemon mascarpone crepes with a bowl of fresh fruit salad. And for Nicaise he ordered Mellos’ specialty, a banana foster French toast bake.

“So, you don’t have any friends of your own then?” Nicaise asked, clearly still interested.

“Not really,” Laurent said honestly. “Everyone I talk to knew Auguste first.”

“What about the barista at the coffee shop we went to today? He seemed to like you. Or the boy at the bookstore?”

“The boy at the bookstore is simply used to seeing me. I’m in there quite often, unsurprisingly I’m sure. As for the coffee shop, I believe Erasmus looks forward to me coming in solely because of my usual coffee shop companion. You should see how red his face gets.”

“He does seem like the type to fall all over Auguste,” Nicaise said.

“Surprisingly, Auguste doesn’t have much effect on the poor boy. I thought he would as well, but Erasmus is usually preoccupied with watching one of Auguste’s friends instead,” Laurent explained. If Nicaise would have been a dog, his ears would have perked up noticeably.

“Do you often go to the coffee shop with one of Auguste’s friends? Or is Auguste usually with you?”

“It depends, I suppose,” Laurent answered flippantly.

“Maybe I’ll ask Auguste what his favorite drink at that shop is. The caramel drink you got me was fine, but maybe I’d like what he gets instead. It was called Chastillon, yes?” Nicaise asked, pulling his phone out from his back pocket. Laurent’s stare was full of warning.

“Auguste doesn’t attend Chastillon with me often, actually,” Laurent said. His voice was clear as crystal.

“Interesting.”

“I’m not quite sure what is interesting about it. But by all means, I can fish around and get other recommendations for drinks at Chastillon if you’d like.”

“We’ll see how your food taste compares to my own first,” Nicaise said, calculating.

Laurent and Nicaise must have inherited the same sweet tooth gene from their mothers’ side, which was something Laurent had been betting on anyway. Both of their plates came out dripping in syrups and berry compotes and both were eaten clean within twenty minutes. They didn’t get much talking done with their faces full, but Nicaise was quick to speak when he was done.

“I suppose that was...” he trailed off, right hand over his too-full stomach.

“Adequate?”

Nicaise hummed in agreement and wiped a dreg of syrup from his face. His hands were childlike-sticky, and he glared at the spring of unread notifications on his phone.

“I’m going to go wash my hands,” Nicaise said, pushing back from the table.

“Perfect. I’m going to run out the door and leave you with the bill,” Laurent said. He was already pulling his wallet out and rifling through his cash.

After paying and strolling out the door, Laurent repeated his most asked question once more.

“Alright, if you don’t have any places you want to go right now, I say we head back home. We can wait until Auguste gets back and go to the movies tonight,” Laurent suggested as they waited to cross the street.

Nicaise didn’t say anything at first, fine with whatever Laurent wanted to do next, but as they continued walking a bright pink and yellow sign caught Nicaise’s eye and he subconsciously slowed down. He could see inside and there wasn’t a line present to hold him back from immediate gratification.

“We could go there first,” he said, trying for a casual thumb-jab in the direction of the still-holding-his-eyesight pink and yellow sign.

“An ice cream shop?” Laurent asked, eyebrow raised. “Didn’t you get enough sugar at lunch?”

“I’m fourteen. There’s no such thing as too much sugar,” Nicaise said matter-of-fact.

“Fine, but the moment you start bouncing off the wall I’m handing you over to Auguste.”

The cold temperature of the ice cream shop hit them in a wave the moment they opened the door and the cute bell above rang out. They were greeted kindly by a young woman in a white hat and Nicaise immediately beelined to the counter so he could look up at the wide menu.

“Look,” Nicaise started, tugging on Laurent’s sleeve. “They have eight different kinds of strawberry ice cream.”

“There are over twenty different kinds of toppings you can get on them all, too.”

“Hello,” Nicaise said to the girl at the front. “On a scale of one to ten, how good is the strawberry cheesecake ice cream?”

Laurent was having too good a time watching Nicaise interact passionately about ice cream that he didn’t pay any mind to the bell above the door jingling. Instead he stepped up and made his own order and moved down to the register to pay.

“Actually, can you add a scoop of sea salt and honey ice cream to that order? I’ll get it.”

Nicaise wouldn’t have thought much of the voice, wouldn’t have noticed the man was adding something to his and Laurent’s order, but Laurent’s head actually whipped to the side in surprise and that was enough to turn Nicaise’s attention from the smooth push and scoop of the strawberry cheesecake ice cream into the cone.

When Nicaise turned around, he was met with the biggest man he’d ever seen this up close. The man had waves of dark brown hair that were slightly damp, no doubt from the earlier rain, two bulging biceps that were threatening to tear the thin material of his t-shirt, a wide and bright smile that only didn’t show when he was speaking with his warm voice, and a pair of kind brown eyes that hadn’t left Laurent’s face. It wasn’t odd for men to look at Laurent like that. It wasn’t even odd for men to look at Nicaise like that. But there was a softness in the gaze that Nicaise didn’t know how to read and the way Laurent’s ears matched the pink of the strawberry ice cream at the counter was even more unexpected.

“Did he get the affogato?” the man asked Nicaise. “He really likes those, but sometimes he’ll go for a chocolate heart attack, a disgusting display of chocolate ice cream, hot fudge, chocolate chips, and crushed Oreos.”

“Here’s your affogato!” the girl behind the counter said with a big smile, answering the man’s question. Laurent took it from her gently, ears still pink. The man handed the girl a twenty and when she handed him his almost seven dollars in change, he stuffed it all in the tip jar.

“Damen,” Laurent started, reaching for his own wallet, “let me at least pay for mine and Nicaise’s. And give you back money for the tip.” The man – Damen – made a face and took his own ice cream from the girl.

“I’ve got it.”

Laurent sighed and started out the door. Nicaise watched with interest as Damen followed and held the door open for Nicaise to exit out of first. The rain had long let up and the few tables outside of the ice cream shop were under an awning that had kept it all dry.

“Damen, this is Nicaise. He’s my cousin. Nicaise, this is Damen. He’s one of Auguste’s friends.”

“One of Auguste’s friends!” Damen exclaimed. His free hand went to his chest in mock-shock. “That hurts, Laurent. It hurts right here.”

“Oh, do stop,” Laurent said. It was as close to begging as Nicaise had ever heard from him

“Are you Laurent’s coffee shop companion as well as his ice cream shop companion then?” Nicaise asked. Damen turned to him. Nicaise’s stomach flipped a little.

“Coffee shop companion? Yes, I suppose that’s a fitting title,” Damen laughed. Laurent huffed. “That’s actually how I convinced him to get the affogato for the first time. He had been in an exam that day, so he didn’t get his morning coffee.”

“He’s dreadful without his coffee in the morning,” Nicaise commented.

“So, you know why it was so important to get him a sufficient amount of caffeine then?”

“I am not unbearable without coffee,” Lauren defended himself.

“But he still wanted something sweet,” Damen continued. He nodded once at Nicaise’s own ice cream cone, three scoops of strawberry cheesecake ice cream starting to drip down the sides, all of it covered in crushed graham crackers and chocolate drizzle. “It seems to run in the family. The affogato seemed to cover both of those wants, but I fear it’s made him an espresso monster instead.”

“Will you two stop talking about me as though I’m not here?” Laurent asked, but his almost smile was hidden behind his spoon.

“How are you?” Damen asked as he immediately gave in to Laurent’s request. His voice was low in his chest, smooth like the honey dripping down his own ice cream cone.

“I’m fine. I’ve been busy watching this one,” Laurent said.

“I don’t need babysat,” Nicaise protested.

“How are you?” Laurent asked back, ignoring Nicaise.

“I’m fine. Just had lunch with Nik. I’ve got my comparative history midterm in about thirty minutes.”

“Comparative history...is that the course with the professor who wears flip flops with his suit?”

Damen laughed.

“It is. He said there’s a surprise question at the end that isn’t not having to act out a speech given by a historical figure. So,” Damen said, eyebrows raised as though it was now dawning on him how terrible this midterm could be, “keep me in your thoughts so I survive the day.”

“I doubt me thinking about your poor life choices to be a history teacher will help ease your pain,” Laurent pointed out.

“Maybe not, but at least I know you’ll be thinking of me.”

Laurent said nothing, but the flush from his ears had conveniently moved to his face and that expression Nicaise was confused about earlier made a lot of sense. The intense shared eye contact was making him uncomfortable now though. He coughed once to regain their attention. It was granted.

“How long are you visiting your cousins, Nicaise?” Damen asked him.

“I’m leaving on Saturday.”

“Maybe we’ll run into one another again then,” Damen said.

“I have a feeling we will,” Nicaise told him. Damen grinned.

“Well, until then,” he trailed. “I’m off for what will be one of my weirder tests. Bye, Nicaise. It was wonderful to meet more of the DeVere family.”

“I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow?” Laurent asked, trying to sound indifferent and almost succeeding.

“I suppose you will. Goodbye, Laurent.”

“Bye. Until tomorrow.”

Damen had been smiling since the second Nicaise first turned around and saw him, but his smile at this moment rivaled the shine of the sun.

“Until tomorrow.”

With his ice cream still in hand, Damen turned and started back toward the university buildings. His bag was hitting at the back of his thigh as he walked and Nicaise and Laurent both watched as he waved to a few people he clearly knew down the road. Nicaise stopped watching Damen and instead watched Laurent once more. His eyes didn’t leave Damen until Damen disappeared behind a building further away. It seemed only then that he noticed Nicaise’s stare.

“What?”

“I thought you didn’t have a boyfriend.”

Laurent stood up and walked over to the trashcan near the entrance to the ice cream shop and dumped his empty cup into it. Silent, he grabbed the bags he had gathered along their trip and had sat on the table. Nicaise followed, still licking at his ice cream cone.

“I never said that either.”

    +1. Auguste

Auguste wasn’t a crier. None of the DeVere family were criers. Auguste could count the number of times he had seen both of his parents cry on one hand. Auguste could count the number of times he and Laurent had cried on his other, unused hand. It was a shock, then, that Auguste found himself tearing up on his graduation day.

Yes, graduation day had arrived in an unexpected fashion. It snuck up on everyone, eating up all their time and patience with long nights stuck in their books, and suddenly it was here. For most of them, it meant being one year closer to completing the seemingly impossible task of graduating. For Auguste and Jord, it meant moving on from Arles University and into the world around them.

Some people are fearful of what lies ahead after graduation. But Auguste wasn’t afraid of the path he’d made for himself. Seven years of hard work had made him confident in his field and he had a wonderful opportunity lined up for himself. His future was bright and clear.

But his future was also sending him off to Alier, a whole five hours from Arles. Most shakingly, a whole five hours from Laurent.

Five hours may not seem like an eternity of time, but it did put limitations on how often Auguste could come visit and how often Laurent could come visit him. The thought made his chest ache. Given their past and their lack of family to rely on, the two brothers had been inseparable as long as they could remember. Now Auguste was doing the separating and a small part of him worried that Laurent would never forgive him.

“Are you going to walk across stage like a normal human being, or are you going to do something inevitably embarrassing, like trying to backflip and falling on your face?”

Laurent had gone to fetch a proper tie for Auguste’s suit and Auguste turned and tried to wipe at his eyes before he was found out.

“I’m more worried about Lazar or someone trying to humiliate Jord and I by screaming an awful amount or doing that thing they did at the final match of the year,” Auguste confessed.

“You mean when Lazar moaned every time you scored?”

“Yeah, that thing.”

The conversation had Auguste thinking he was in the clear, but he should have known better. The moment he turned, Laurent saw. Auguste watched as his always-with-a-plan baby brother took an uncharacteristic pause to assess the situation and he watched as Laurent’s face dropped in confusion and, what almost appeared to be, fear.

“What’s wrong, Auguste?” he asked. His voice was quiet, unsure, and Auguste smiled true and wide to ease that away the best he could.

“Nothing.” He took a few steps forward and took the tie – blue – from Laurent’s hands. He looped it once around his neck and let it lie there undone and with another gentle movement, he pulled Laurent in close for a hug.

It took a moment for Laurent to catch up, but when he did his arms wrapped around Auguste with a strong grip. It was quiet except for their shared breathing and Auguste was taken back to the first time he held Laurent. That early spring morning twenty years ago was so vivid in Auguste’s mind. He had felt so big then, at the wonderful age of six, and Laurent had been handed to him to hold, one of his tiny little hands wrapped around Auguste’s own. And Auguste knew at that moment he would do anything to keep his little brother safe.

“I feel as though I’m abandoning you,” he admitted. Laurent pulled back, eyes searching, and then he smiled brilliantly.

“How on earth are you abandoning me?” Laurent sounded genuinely taken aback, and a bit amused, and Auguste took another step, this one backwards, to let them both breathe.

“I don’t know,” Auguste started. He began attempting to tie his tie, crossing the two ends and looping one of them around the other. “We’re all we’ve got, you know? We’re all we’ve ever had. I fought so hard to keep you from uncle after we lost mom and dad. I watched you work so hard on your own to be the best person you can be. And suddenly I’m leaving for Alier. I’m leaving you here on your own.”

The tears were starting to come back and Auguste was frustrated at their reappearance. He wiped his hand at them again and laughed at the ridiculousness of it all.

“Look at me crying and worrying as though I don’t know you’re not capable of taking care of yourself.”

“I am,” Laurent said. “But that’s only because of you.”

“You would have been more than fine on your own. You’re the strongest person I know, Laurent.” The tie was still hanging limp against Auguste’s dress shirt. Laurent stepped forward once more, reaching for the ends of the tie and beginning to loop it in a perfect Kelvin knot.

“That’s still because of you. And it is also because of you that I am going to be perfectly fine here. You’ve paid off this house so I have a place to live while I continue my education here. You’ve done nothing but encourage my career pursuits and ensured I was on the best path to see to those here at Arles.” Turning, Laurent plucked Auguste’s matching suit jacket from where it was resting on the chair. The tie was impeccably tied. “Don’t repeat this, either, but you’ve also introduced me to some pretty wonderful people.”

Auguste looked at him, eyebrows raised, as he shrugged into the jacket. Laurent smoothed down the lapels himself and rolled his eyes when he caught Auguste staring.

“Oh, don’t act surprised. You’ve befriended some nice people here. While I trust my own capabilities, I also believe that if something were to happen, I could go to any of them and they would help me,” Laurent said.

“They are all pretty great,” Auguste agreed with a wide smile. It was amazing how his shoulders had untensed with Laurent’s honesty and he found himself smiling even wider. If he smiled anymore his cheeks were going to ache. “So, you like my friends? You’ve never said that.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t know that already,” Laurent said. He walked over to the mirror and smoothed out his own clothes. “I wouldn’t be around them all the time if I didn’t somewhat enjoy their presence.”

“It’s still good to hear it.”

The graduation ceremony went by in perfect form. And perfect form meant it went the way everyone expected. It was long, speeches were given that put people to sleep, and the line of graduates was so extensive that people could hardly keep their focus for when their graduate was finally crossing the stage. That didn’t stop Lazar from doing what he’d said he’d do and, sure enough, when both Auguste and Jord crossed that stage, Lazar had the cowbell ready to clang as loudly as possible.

“You look very smart with your diploma,” Laurent said in greeting as Auguste and Jord managed to stumble out of the wild crowd of graduates and their families blocking at the convocation entrances following the ceremony.

“And you look far too pleased at Lazar’s antics,” Auguste laughed. He accepted the barrage of hugs from the entire group and continued to laugh as Jord was pulled from where he was a step behind Auguste and crushed by them all as well.

“Well it wasn’t all that funny until you tried to wave off the sound and that poor group of girls thought you were waving at them and they all swooned.”

“I thought I brought a well-needed amount of life to graduation,” Lazar defended, not sounding at all chastised.

“You brought a not-needed amount of obnoxiousness,” Nik said.

“You keep saying stuff like that, Nik, but before we graduate, we’re going to end up in bed together in a drunken tumble. We both know it.”

Nik made a face, and everyone elbowed at him suggestively. No one commented on the fact that Lazar’s arm hadn’t left from around Pallas’ shoulders for the last several months. Lazar would always be Lazar after all.

“Speaking of drunken stumbling and tumbling,” Auguste said, shaking his hair from its greased down look from underneath his grad cap, “let’s go back to my place and party one last time.”

As it was an expected thing, Auguste had long had the house prepared for a large party. The others had added their own personal touches to make it feel like a true graduation party. Laurent had ordered a graduation cake from Fortaine, a bakery on Main, with both Auguste and Jord’s names on it. Alexon was a bartender and could get alcohol at wholesale prices, so he had the kitchen counters well stocked and in need of a ton of mixers. Damen and Nik had provided those mixers along with food from a friend who wanted to try his hand at providing catering. Berenger, unintentionally, provided entertainment with his boy toy, Ancel, who still had everyone scratching their heads. Lazar had only provided his graduation gift to Auguste and Jord, a crude hand drawn picture of the three of them in bed, cuddling, that they had to share as it was such a masterpiece Lazar couldn’t have been expected to recreate greatness. And everyone else provided more and more guests to fill up the house with laughter and party-appropriate ruckus.

“I can’t believe this is our last party,” Orlant lamented. Though there were a good thirty other people in the house, the group was sitting together in the living room, drinks in their hands.

“It won’t be the last,” Auguste assured him. He was sitting on the arm of the couch, legs outstretched, and Laurent was sitting on the floor beside him, pressed between him and Damen. Lazar, boldly, had his head on Laurent’s own outstretched thigh and Damen took it as a prime opportunity to make Lazar’s stomach his footrest. Nik, on Damen’s other side on the couch, kept “accidently” swinging his feet and kicking Lazar in the crotch.

“But it won’t be the same,” Pallas agreed with Orlant. He was lying between Lazar’s legs, hand swatting playfully at Berenger’s untied shoelaces.

“Maybe not,” said Auguste, “but you’ll all still be here harassing Laurent and Laurent will put up with it. You can’t rule out that Jord and I won’t make visits here either.”

“Don’t give them permission to harass me,” Laurent said.

They fell into inane conversation. When Rochert and Huet got drunk, they tended to make up songs, and they made at least three in twenty minutes. By the third one they had at least half of everybody else singing along, off pitch and out of rhythm.

“Don’t yell at me for being cheesy, but the friendships I’ve made with all of you is what is making this place so hard to leave.”

Though there was music blaring and people walking all around them, it was impossible to not spend a moment quietly reminiscing. It got to them all though and a moment later a few of them were standing, dusting off their pants, clearing their throats, and it was Jord who said, “God, I need more alcohol. You all keep singing “Kumbaya” though.”

There were chuckles and affirmative agreements and the group all got up and wandered into the kitchen. All except Auguste and Laurent. From his place still in front of the couch, Laurent tilted his head back to look up at Auguste.

“You should try to enjoy yourself,” he told Auguste over the roar of the music.

“I am enjoying myself,” Auguste said, smiling softly. “But it’s a bit bittersweet at the moment.”

“Well then you’re clearly not drinking enough.” Laurent pulled himself up to stand and then extended his hands to help Auguste up. “Go have fun. Drink like you’re a freshman again and don’t focus on the bitter part.”

“And what are you going to do?” Auguste asked, shaking at the melting ice cubes in his glass to unstick them from one another.

“Supervise,” Laurent commented drily. As if cued, a crash of glass sounded out, making both Auguste and Laurent whip their heads toward the back porch. “It seems very needed right now.”

Hugging Laurent briefly with one arm around his shoulders, Auguste muttered a quick “Thank you,” and set forth into the cacophony of sound and the flood of people all in the kitchen. With smiles and exclamations of congratulations, Auguste was swarmed with love from acquaintances and casual friends who admired him as much as everybody else. He poured himself another drink, this one a bit stiffer, and fell into a pleasant conversation with Kyrina. After a few minutes he began to wonder if tonight would end as a lot of his and Kyrina’s past nights did, with them tumbling into bed after a different kind of pleasant conversation.

Eventually he got sidetracked into a different kind of conversation with Hendric. They were both going to Alier and exchanged phone numbers in hopes of having at least one familiar face. Hendric was in the middle of telling Auguste about the firm he was starting at when Ancel decided it was an opportune time to give Berenger a lap dance. All fifty-something people in the house wolf-whistled and hollered as Berenger’s normally stoic face went as red as Ancel’s waving hair.

Auguste was pouring himself his third drink when the subject of Berenger and Ancel came up from the welcome source of Kyrina and her hand on Auguste’s arm then down to his thigh made him smile.

“Laurent told me to celebrate tonight like I was a freshman again.” He covered her hand with his own, reveling in the softness of the back of her palm under his own rougher one.

“I remember when you were a freshman,” Kyrina commented lowly. “Do you remember finals week that spring?”

“You mean when you had me wear your panties to my introduction into poetry final?” Auguste asked back even lower.

“They were my prettiest blue pair. Matched your eyes,” she practically purred, hand cupping his chin.

“Coincidentally,” Auguste started, “I did make sure that my tie and boxers both matched my eyes today.”

“Boxers? How scandalous, Auguste.”

“Did you do anything as scandalous, Ky?” Auguste asked.

“Today or just in general?” Kyrina asked back.

“Oh, I know what you’ve done in general,” Auguste laughed. “But how about today?”

Kyrina put a finger to her mouth in a mock thinking pose, scrunching her eyebrows up for fun too, and Auguste wanted to kiss her.

“My underwear matches my lipstick,” she told him, smile bright. “I know it lacks creativity, but it was the best I could do on such a short notice.”

The room seemed too hot suddenly and Auguste found that the bottom of his glass was empty again. Forcing himself to pull back, to think, he maneuvered to the counter where all the mixers were long drained. He refilled his glass with ice and topped it over with cheap bourbon. Kyrina was behind him, fingers dancing over his shoulder blades.

“We still have time to make up something more fun, if you’d like.”

Auguste took a deep drink and it felt warm going down. “I very much would like that.”

“Then I tell you what,” she said, fingers still dancing. “I’m going to head upstairs to your room and you’re going to wait fifteen minutes before you follow me.”

“And then what?” Auguste turned, smile teasing. Kyrina’s lips grazed his jaw in answer and she did her own turn, winking at him as she sauntered up the staircase. The clock on the oven read 1:04. With a happy sigh and another long drink of his bourbon, Auguste began his countdown to 1:19.

It was only then that he noticed how empty the house had become. Somewhere between Kyrina and Hendric and Ancel and Berenger and Kyrina once more, the party had died down significantly to a small trickle of people consisting of his friends.

Nik and Alexon were muttering to one another in the living room, sitting across from each other in the chairs they had scooted across the floor. Huet was using Nik’s calf as a pillow and Auguste swore he could see Huet drooling from all the way across the room. On the couch was the cuddliest pile Auguste had ever seen in his life; Orlant, Rochert, Lazar, and Pallas were squished onto the worn gray cushions, each pillowed on various body parts of the other. It was sentimentality that kept Auguste at the threshold, watching his friends sleep and ramble drunkenly. They’re all so odd, he mused.

Berenger was nowhere in sight and Auguste took that as a good sign, for him and for the soon-to-be veterinarian. There was no doubt he was off with his redhead somewhere and Auguste felt a welcome flush of relief that he didn’t have to see them going at it...again...like they had during their St. Patrick’s Day party...in Auguste’s bedroom.

He knew Jord had left some hours ago with one of his own old flames. As Auguste slowly stepped about the house, he almost laughed out loud to himself at his and Jord’s luck. His laughter was only subdued by the too-sober hope that this would let Jord get over Aimeric.

The clock on the wall said 1:11. Anticipation rolled pleasantly in his gut. He set about looking for Laurent. It wasn’t in the need to overshare or posture that Auguste gave Laurent warning before he hooked up with a girl. It was more because of the time Laurent had visited over the holidays, years before he was set to start at Arles, and Auguste had hooked up with a girl one night. That following morning had been quiet, and Auguste hadn’t given it any thought after he walked the girl out to her car. But when Laurent had said calmly, over the rim of his coffee cup, “I never wanted to know that your voice range covers four separate octaves when you come,” Auguste had sworn then and there he would always give Laurent proper warning before hooking up in the bedroom next door.

“Little brother,” Auguste sing-songed, side stepping a pile of shoes. “Laurent! I know you’re not drunk because there are too many not broken things left in the house.”

He wasn’t in the living room, Auguste knew, and he couldn’t have been in the kitchen because Auguste had just been there. It took a moment for Auguste to get his bearings about him, but when he did, he started his sweep of the house. The laundry room was empty, as was the study. The lights were on in the bathroom, but the only evidence of a person in there was in the soap bubbles still sitting on the sink drain.

“Laurent, if you’re up in your room already...I’m sorry in advance,” Auguste called out loudly. It was 1:16. He was about to drag himself up the stairs, knowing full and well it would take him three minutes in his current state, when a flash of gold from outside the front door caught his eye.

Squinting, Auguste walked over and peered out the glass of the door. The gold must have been the watch on Damen’s wrist because it was still glinting softly in the dim lighting from the porch. It matched the glint coming from Laurent’s hair. It took Auguste a moment to process what he was seeing out there.

Laurent was talking away. It wasn’t the type of talking he did when he was giving someone the correct answer or eviscerating them with words alone. Auguste had seen that enough times to recognize it for what it was. No, Laurent was talking away, hands moving with some of his words and eyes swimming with exposed emotion. Auguste had seen that enough times to recognize it for what it was as well, but he couldn’t recall in that moment if he had ever seen Laurent speak that way to anyone other than himself.

Damen was listening raptly, eyes never straying from Laurent’s face. Damen’s always open emotions, these ones of concern and something Auguste couldn’t place yet, were worn out on his sleeve. He seemed utterly captivated in whatever Laurent was talking about.

Auguste watched as Laurent sighed. His shoulders heaved then dropped and his head fell forward, hair covering everything that had been so exposed. He must have said something else from underneath his curtain of hair because Auguste saw Damen smile. It was such a fond smile and it made Auguste’s eyebrows furrow together. Damen’s hand, the one free of his watch, moved forward suddenly and, with his smile still in place, he brushed that curtain of hair from the right side of Laurent’s face. His touch looked soft as he tucked the hair behind Laurent’s ear.

If Auguste had been totally sober, he probably would have raised his eyebrows in his shock. But as he was about three-quarters drunk, he physically took a step backward in the entryway, almost knocking over the table he and Laurent always threw their keys on.

His brain was so busy trying to process what he was seeing that he almost missed the way Laurent leaned into the touch, his cheek squishing adorably against Damen’s palm. Damen must have said something then because Laurent’s face was once again exposed, and his smile was a mirror of Damen’s own. His head came back up and he retucked a few stray strands behind his ear again. He said something else and looked directly at Damen, eyes dancing.

Auguste hadn’t given much thought to the way Laurent would kiss. It didn’t seem particularly important or brotherly to think about such a thing. But in those moments that he had contemplated Laurent in relationships, he didn’t expect Laurent to initiate a kiss. So, when he did, hands fisting in the front of Damen’s white tee to haul him forward, Auguste did, in fact, stumble backward and knock over the table. It was enough to garner the attention of a mostly sober Nik and Alexon. Lazar, always in tune to things with drama surrounding them, snuffled as he awoke. He excavated himself from his cuddly pile of bodies to run to the door as well.

“Oh, for god’s sake,” Nik mumbled as soon as he helped Auguste off the ground. If Auguste wouldn’t have just knocked the table over, Lazar would have done so in his own play of shock.

“Is he a dead man? Absolutely. Does it look worth it? Ab-so-lute-ly,” he whistled.

Auguste’s mouth was gaping. It seemed like an eternity, though in actuality it was one minute, that the two stayed pressed together. In his head, Auguste knew he should stop; stop watching, stop the others from watching, or stop both things, but he couldn’t quite comprehend what he was seeing.

Laurent must have sensed the audience. Auguste watched as he gently, softly, pulled back, lingering for only a moment. Then his eyes opened and found the door. He didn’t turn red like Auguste thought he would, but his jaw clenched. It seemed to take Damen a second longer to gather his wits, but when he turned around, he was the one flushing red instead.

There were about twenty seconds of awkward staring between Damen and Laurent and everyone else. Then Laurent leaned forward again, this time to tell Damen something, and he stood. Auguste couldn’t not watch the way their fingertips slid apart with such reluctance.

“Not a word,” Laurent said as soon as the door opened. Damen was behind him, hand that was just holding Laurent’s own rubbing sheepishly at the back of his neck.

There was a lot going on at that exact moment. Nik was glaring daggers and it wasn’t obvious if Damen was avoiding eye contact with him or Auguste the hardest. Lazar was beginning to sing “Damen and Laurent, sitting in a tree, K-I” and was silenced by Alexon slapping a hand over his mouth. Auguste was apparently still open-mouthed like a fish.

“Come on.” Laurent was talking to him. And he was following Laurent up the stairs.

Climbing the stairs felt like doing a trail run. He could feel his quads straining and heart racing, but whether the latter was because of the stair climb, his current blood-alcohol level, or his brain repeating the phrase “What the fuck?” over and over again, he couldn’t be certain.

“Is something the matter?”

Kyrina was standing in Auguste’s bedroom doorway with a sheet wrapped around her and nothing more. Auguste wanted to slap himself for forgetting her. He was grateful Laurent was still sober.

“Auguste will join you momentarily,” he told her calmly, and he ushered Auguste into his bedroom. He shut the door.

“Laurent –”

“No, you are going to let me speak before you say anything,” Laurent said, demanded. “I love you, Auguste. You know that I do. There is no one on this planet that I seek the approval of more. I am aware of the sacrifices you’ve made for me ever since we lost mom and dad. And I hope I’m, at the very least, on the right path to making you proud. But you had no right intervening in my personal relationships before I even got the chance to make them.”

Auguste was sitting on Laurent’s bed. It was meticulously made, as Laurent made it every morning, and the comforter was soft underneath Auguste’s hands. He scratched at the textured surface.

“I understand the protectiveness. Given my past, it was, and is, welcome. But if you trusted these people as your friends than it should have been a welcome thought that I would, perhaps,” Laurent paused, “engage in consensual relations with one of them. If they were your friends, you should have trusted them to treat me with kindness as they have treated you. And I should have said something earlier than now, I know that. But I am saying it now and I need you to take it to heart.”

It was a sobering conversation. Auguste took in the way Laurent was pacing, walking from his bookshelf to the edge of his desk. His copy of The Emerald Peacock was lying face down on the floor, opened to about halfway through. Auguste’s eyebrows furrowed together again, this time at the genuine worry Laurent was radiating, and he sank back further onto the mattress.

“Laurent,” Auguste tried.

“No, I need you to understand.”

“I do.” Auguste was standing now, and the room wasn’t spinning. His hands were on Laurent’s shoulders so Laurent had no choice but to look at him. “You really like him, don’t you?”

It wasn’t a question. It was enough, however, to make Laurent flush bright. Auguste smiled brilliantly. Laurent’s eyes, downcast, flicked down to avoid that smile. But when they came back up, they were accompanied by an almost reluctant head nod.

“Don’t make it a thing,” he begged.

“I’m not,” Auguste lied.

“You definitely are. I can already see the evil thoughts swirling in your brain,” Laurent said.

“Am I allowed to ask questions?”

“No.” Laurent stepped back, sighing, and Auguste followed him as he walked out the door. Kyrina was still standing in Auguste’s doorway.

“When did it start? How did it start? Have you been sneaking around like illicit lovers in the night? I never knew you were that romantic, Laurent.”

“Oh, fuck off. Go join Kyrina,” Laurent said, but he was laughing beautifully. He started down the staircase and Auguste held a finger up to Kyrina, indicating he’d be with her in a minute.

All those awake were back in the kitchen. Lazar was sitting in one of the kitchen chairs, feet up on the table, and Alexon was in another chair, his feet also on the table and kicking at Lazar’s, trying to shove them off. Damen and Nik were leaning against the countertop and stopped talking abruptly when Laurent and Auguste entered.

“Friends,” Auguste began, doing his best not to laugh when Laurent pulled out another of the chairs and slumped in it, “thank you for a great graduation party. I could ramble about my gratefulness for you all being there for me during these years, but that would take too long and we’re all far too tired to deal with that tonight. I’m off to bed with a beautiful girl I’m probably going to disappoint when I fall asleep immediately. I’m letting you all know that I want breakfast at Toutaine’s tomorrow, so you better have your asses up at a decent time.”

He rubbed his knuckles hard against Laurent’s head, reminiscent of how they roughhoused when they were children, and started back for the staircase after a few bids of goodnight from the others.

“Damen?” Auguste had one foot on the first step, and he could see Damen’s eyes leave Laurent and find him. “We’re talking before breakfast.”

“Auguste!”

Morning came too quickly for everyone’s liking. Auguste woke up bleary-eyed and with a sleeping Kyrina drooling against his shoulder. Maneuvering out of bed without waking her was more difficult than it should have been, but he managed. Looking at her, he laughed quietly at his luck and hoped that they could make up for last night’s loss at another point in time. He couldn’t hear anything going on downstairs and Laurent’s bedroom door was still closed. It wouldn’t hurt to make a pot of coffee while he rounded up the group, he thought.

The stairs were a whole different kind of daunting this morning. Instead of spinning underneath his feet they felt like riding the rock of the ocean’s waves which could be comforting when he wasn’t nauseous. The smell of brewing coffee calmed the nausea down some.

Damen was leaning against the same countertop he had been leaning against last night. The coffee pot was three-quarters of the way full and steaming. There were two cups next to Damen. One was almost empty, but the other one full.

“For you,” Damen told him, handing him the almost full cup. “With a splash of cream.”

“Thanks.”

The coffee was a welcome warmth and the two spent a few moments in silence. Auguste noted that it was a comfortable kind of silence.

“I always laugh when I go get coffee with Laurent,” Auguste started. “I typically end up ordering first and I get a coffee with some room for cream. Those poor, overworked baristas always look thrilled. Then Laurent goes up and orders his honey-cinnamon-vanilla or whatever with oat milk and three shots of espresso and you see their shoulders drop.”

Damen smiled.

“Yeah, you can almost guarantee that Laurent will order the most complicated thing anywhere you go.”

They both took a drink of their coffee and fell back into silence. There were a lot of things Auguste wanted to say, but his mouth didn’t want to move, it wanted to keep drinking his coffee. Luckily for Auguste, Damen wanted to talk instead.

“I can’t apologize,” Damen said. His free arm was crossed over his chest and Auguste could see the muscle in his forearm twitch. “A part of me knows I should, but I can’t.”

“Why should you apologize?” Auguste asked genuinely.

“Because you asked us all to do one thing and I couldn’t do that for you. I went behind your back in pursuing Laurent.” Damen took a deep breath. “I don’t feel like it’s necessary for me to make you promises. All the promises I need to make, all the ones I’ve already made, need to be to Laurent.”

Auguste brought his coffee cup up to hide his smile.

“But I need you to have some faith in me,” Damen pleaded.

“Damen, if anyone should apologize, it’s me,” Auguste said. “Moreso to Laurent than anyone else, but to you as well.”

Damen swallowed once, the sound audible with the click of his throat, and he shifted his shoulders as though he was preparing for a blow.

“Laurent’s always been the smartest one out of all of us. And last night he gave me a well-deserved lecture about controlling parts of his life before he ever got the chance to live first.

You see, I’ve felt such a need to protect Laurent my whole life. And, overall, I feel like I’ve done a good job at balancing protection with encouragement to live. But then I think about the things I’ve done – guilting him into coming here to Arles because I conveniently bought a house for the two of us to live in and controlling his love life before he ever got a chance to start a relationship – and I realize how unfair I’ve been. Then, not only was I unfair, I missed out on watching,” Auguste gestured with his hands at Damen and then vaguely at the ceiling, “this.”

“Given Laurent’s past, and your own, I can’t blame you for doing the things you’ve done,” Damen said quietly.

“Still…”

The coffee cup in his hand was almost empty. Somehow, even with the talking, he had drained the whole thing. Auguste pushed off from where he was leaning and placed the cup in the sink. He was right by Damen then.

“Take care of him next year,” Auguste said with as much sincerity in his voice as he could muster. “I know he can take care of himself, but I feel immensely comforted knowing you’ll be here for him.”

“I will be,” Damen made one promise to Auguste. “You know I will be.”

“Am I interrupting?”

Laurent was standing at the bottom of the stairs, hair sleep-mussed and shirt rumpled. Auguste was close enough to see Damen’s eyes soften with his smile. He cleared his throat and stepped back, a step closer to the living room.

“Not at all. I’m off to wake up the troupe. Let’s say be ready to leave in half an hour?” Auguste asked. Laurent raised an eyebrow and his eyes flicked between Auguste and Damen once.

“Sure. I’ll give Jord and Berenger a call. But I’m telling Berenger to leave his entertainment at home.”

Thirty minutes turned into forty-five minutes. Over half of them looked worse for wear and it took two cars and some illegal seating arrangements to get everyone in two cars. Toutaine’s seating was fairly open when they arrived, and they were immediately seated at a long party table.

“What a surprise you order a mimosa,” Laurent said to Ancel after drinks were ordered.

“If I have to deal with you all morning, I’ll need six just to get through the day,” Ancel snapped back.

The table was cramped. Everyone was bumping elbows with everyone around them and there wasn’t enough room for all the food and drinks ordered. They were so loud, too. Auguste was more than aware of the looks some of the other customers were throwing them and he couldn’t bring himself to care.

There was so much laughter. Auguste’s cheeks hurt from smiling and he knew everyone else’s had to be hurting too. When Huet threw a whole handful of grapes at Pallas, the bittersweet knowledge that he was going to miss this hit him hard.

“Are you feeling what I’m feeling?” Jord asked him over the noise.

“I think so,” Auguste said.

Across the table, Laurent was leaning into Damen ever so slightly. They also were talking over the noise, but Auguste couldn’t make out what they were saying. Instead he watched them for a moment, trying to see what he had missed this year. He watched Laurent take a drink of his coffee and he watched Damen kiss the taste of it away.

He watched as Laurent smiled. He looked free.

Auguste had a strong feeling next year at Arles University would be Laurent’s best.