#this woman will drive me to murder one day I swear

[malachitezmeyka]

If my school administrator has a million haters, I’m one of them. If my school administrator has a thousand haters, I’m still one of them. If my school administrator has one hater, it’s me. If my school administrator has no haters, then I have left this world. If the world is with my school administrator, then I am against the world

[a-simple-imagine]

Too Cute to be Angry

Synopsis: A night spent talking to politicians and alt right superheroes is enough to drive anyone crazy but it's sister sage that puts you over the edge

Pairing: Victoria Neuman x fem!supe!reader (feline shifter)

Words: 3k+

A/N - self ingulgent little cat girl fic with my favourite supe written entirely for myself :)

WARNINGS - swearing, brief mention of murder and homophobia

Victoria Neuman was the busiest woman you know. if she wasn't spending her days in meetings or on Zoom calls, she was attending interviews or making speeches. she was a very driven woman. had big goals. ones you could hardly even fathom but not from lack of trying. you wanted to be part of her world but at the same time, it was so difficult to comprehend. it's not as simple as black and white. the people she surrounded herself with weren't always the best and for the most part, it's clear she tries to keep you out of it. possibly some misguided attempt to protect you.

it was a rare afternoon that was cleared just for you. nobody else around. no work calls or meetings. just the two of you sharing a quiet moment. laying on the couch with your head in her lap.A delicate hand scratches behind the feline ears that live upon your head. it feels good; and calming.a sluggish but continuous rhythm that was drawing you to drowsiness. She wouldn't mind. it wouldn't be the first time nor the last that you fell asleep on her.

"babe,"

"yeah?"

"how would you feel about going out tonight?" the answer was no. it was always going to be no. you were too content with a quiet evening to suddenly have plans thrust upon you.

"Where?" you question anyway and her hand slows.

"Tek knights." a mumbled answer that your ears pick up loud and clear. she couldn't be serious right now. there is absolutely zero reason why she would be going to see Tek Knight for anything but business and she already promised you no business tonight. it was just gonna be the two of you.

"Are you... serious?"

"some fancy party."

"no," replied snappily. "dude is creepy."

"When have you ever met tek knight?"

"once actually," you state, moving yourself up to look at her. "and he was fucking weird- asked inappropriate questions about my tail." you swish your tail, gently grazing it against her cheek.

"Well, you can just avoid him all night," Victoria insists, shoving your tail away. "I'd really like you to come."

"no thank you, can you go back to scratching behind my ears now." you lay back down.

"no,"

a heavy sigh. "Victoria," whined softly, as you nuzzled into her lap. you're tempted to gently bite her thigh but you don't. that would not help your case right now. "please?"

"if you agree to come I'll give you all the ear scratches you want."

"that's not fair."

"I need a buffer for when I can't take it anymore and that's you," she gives your side a firm pat. "I got you something pretty to wear."

"how pretty," mumbled against her legs.

"very," that meant expensive. you groan, stretching your arms and legs before sitting up. she raises a curious brow that makes you roll your eyes. She wasn't going to let this go.

"fine but you owe me," she places her hand on your head, ruffling your hair, making sure to get behind the ears. you naturally lean into her touch. this was gonna be a very long night.

Tek Knight lives in a mansion. like an actual massive mansion that's old and creepy but also kind of cool. gothic in nature and not an ounce of homeliness to its name. Victoria annoyingly leaves you alone pretty quickly and you're forced to find your own source of amusement. music plays as background noise and there really isn't anything to do here other than touch ornaments or talk with Republicans. She didn't tell you this was gonna be a party filled with right-wing nuts but here you are anyway. conversing with old white men about reproductive rights and how gay people are fine but need to stop shoving their lifestyle down Americans' throats. you observe the party from the corner of the room. helping yourself to the hors d'oeuvres as trays rush by. It's always a wonder why they don't just have actual food at these events or at least something a little less fancy. something actually tasty.

"you're Neuman's girl, right?" it's not inherently wrong so you allow the nickname especially when you realise who it comes from. she has never tried to hide your relationship but she hardly advertised it either. can't scare off the voters or whatever. you don't mind. you're not exactly in a rush to be hounded by the general public. Homelander stands beside you; strong and tall in his red, white and blue super suit. You've never been next to such a powerful supe before excluding Neuman. he was intimidating in real life.

"homelander," you declare obviously. you're not sure what else to say here. Victoria speaks about him a lot. he's also in the news all the time. you very recently watched him on TV. "I saw your trial," blurted out before you thought of the consequences. he probably didn't like to talk about him murdering a man.

"so you saw that I was found innocent,"

you nod a little. he'd been found not guilty despite the overwhelming evidence which was kind of insane but also expected. "Vicky says you should have been locked up," you agreed.

"and what do you think?" he turns his whole body towards you and you do the same. such intense eyes it's almost like he's looking right through you. you may be a supe but you were hardly on his level. Victoria says he's kinda unstable these days and anything can set him off so you try to think of something safe to say.

"I think... your eyes are really fucking blue- no wonder fascists love you," he smiles. you don't know if it's amusement or menacing but surely he understands you're joking. and if not, he likely won't attack at this fancy little party.

"calm down, I'm not going to hurt you."

"What makes you think I'm worried." he wasn't a mind reader that you knew for sure.

"your heartbeat," he replies. "but mostly the ears," the blonde points to the cat ears on the top of your head. "anyone else would call it cute," and with that, he walks away. he was a... confusing man. even from that short interaction, you can tell he can be elusive. alone once more you decide to go in search of a drink but it isn't long before Victoria is at your side.

"hi baby," you're happy to see her. you hope it means you can go home soon.

"hey,"

"What did he want?"

"Who? homelander?" why did she care? "just chatting about his trial and how cute I am."

"how cute you are?" she repeats back slowly.

"Hmm it's no surprise- everyone is obsessed with me so."

"you are adorable,"

a very bright exaggerated smile, showing your canines before your face immediately falls. "can we go yet?"

"you promised you'd hold out a couple of hours," and it was starting to feel like a lifetime.

"and I have," you groan dramatically.

"It's barely been an hour,"

"y'know, I literally got told women have too many rights," you reply. "too. many. rights- what does that even mean?"

Victoria sighs softly. "I know they can be... opinionated but just suck it up for me okay? it'll be over before you know it,"

"I wanna go now,"

"I know," she runs a gentle hand along your back. "but this is important."

"why is it so important?"

"I- I can't tell you that right now," Victoria replies. She never told you anything. it was always just important calls or important meetings or important parties. it made you want to roll your eyes. "just please behave for me," you put on a pout. "and I'll take you to the nice restaurant with the fancy cakes you love,"

"Really?" said cautiously. when in doubt she'll bribe you. not because she doubts you'll do it for free but rather as an insurance policy. better safe than sorry.

"Always so easy," she chuckles. "you gotta work on keeping your ears in check. perked right up when I said that,"

you frown a little, reaching up to cover your ears with your hands. "stupid ears."

"It's cute," she hums softly, a kiss placed against your temple.

"I hate you," said sharply.

"Just... mingle or something." Victoria pats your shoulder before leaving you alone again. you follow her with your eyes as she walks up to some old man. you decide to go for a walk and find that drink you were after.

"you arrived with Neuman," stated matter of factly. sister sage walks up from behind you. you cover your mouth as you finish the little pastry you stole off a tray.

"Sister Sage," mumbled through a mouthful before you swallowed. "newest member of the seven- I heard you're like the smartest woman ever."

"smartest person," she corrected.

"smartest person," you repeat. "what's someone so smart doing in a place like this?"

"we're surrounded by some of the most powerful people in the United States of America right now," Sage explains. you know on some level that should mean something to you but you hardly feel excited or proud. quite the opposite. you were in a room with some of the worst people in the United States of America. Almost all of them are against the very things you are.

"but not the nicest," you grab a champagne flute as it passes by, taking a long-needed sip of bubbly liquid.

"nice only gets you so far," she continues. "you're probably the nicest person here but also the least important."

wow. okay. rude. "I wouldn't call myself the least important."

"I would," she replies. "even the waiters are of more value right now. you're just Neuman's basically pet, cute but useless."

you're not sure what to say to that. is that why Victoria never shared anything with you? didn't think you were important? just a pet to be paraded about like some cute little mascot in her parade for power? "I'm not her pet."

"how do your ears and tail work? they're biological right?" the question catches you a little off guard. such a change.

"uhhhh shouldn't the smartest person alive be able to figure that out?"

"you're a shifter but only into a feline," her eyes trail over you like this was some sort of interview or examination. "do you keep the ears for aesthetic purposes? surely, you can get rid of the cat ears and tail."

"you'd think," you shrug. "but no, I'm cursed to be every nerdy incels wet fantasy." the cat ears and tail were considered cute by many, disgusting by others and a fetish by too many. for a long time, vought used you in a lot of advertisements and commercials until you quit. you still occasionally do some ads and stuff for extra cash. Not often do people see a real-life cat girl. a hand snakes across your back and you instinctively jerk away before realising it's Victoria. "hey,"

"Can we talk?" she wears the fakest smile ever.

"hmm," sage hums. you quirk your brow.

"What?"

"Nothing," she insists. "you have the exact dynamic I would expect. don't mind me." you'd ask what she meant but she is already walking away and Victoria is leading you in the opposite direction.

"what's up?" you wonder.

"I don't want you talking to sister sage."

"why?".

"Can you listen to me for once?"

"for once?" all you do is listen to her. this whole night was for her. "I'm here listening to old men tell me I deserve to go to hell for you. this is worse than that political banquet where that man followed me around the whole night and kept trying to pet me." you huff.

"you don't think I haven't thought about popping my own head every time one of these rich idiots tries to talk to me about reproductive health?" her voice is quiet but stern. she's trying not to cause a scene. "but I put up with it so just suck up. it's important."

"oh really? never would have guessed." you roll your eyes. "I'll just go sit in the corner and stare at the wall since I'm not important enough."

"That's not what I said,"

"no I get it, don't worry," you force a smile and brush past her. "I'll be a good kitty."

it's a quiet ride home. silent even. staring out the window as bright lights zoom past. you can hear Victoria chatting on the phone. much too busy to take note of your angry brow or vacant stare. you're angry at her. Sage's words weren't helping either. playing over and over in your mind. cute but useless. you couldn't necessarily disagree. Even Vought just wanted you because of how you looked. sure you had enhanced strength and senses but that was only compared to humans. there were plenty of much stronger supes. there were even more useful shifters. you just became a cat. agile. sneaky. but ultimately just a common house pet.

"Are you gonna pout all night?" Victoria eventually asks as you pull up outside her home. it pissed you off more.

"I'm sorry, I thought I wasn't allowed to speak." replies sharply as you exit the vehicle; a quick slam of the door. you hear her get out the other side and follow behind.

"I didn't say you couldn't speak,"

"semantics," you huff back. maybe she didn't say you couldn't talk but she did try to control every conversation. who you could and couldn't speak to. always checking in to make sure you weren't saying the wrong thing. "I don't feel like talking."

"We need to."

you just ignore her. That was much better than an argument right now. all you wanted was a hot shower and to go to bed. As soon as you get inside, you march upstairs. She doesn't follow, instead heading towards the kitchen.

the hot water was a welcomed distraction from your otherwise terrible evening. it was supposed to just be about you too and she just couldn't help but make it all about herself. propping herself up to important people. sneaking off for private meetings that you weren't allowed to attend. you go to bed alone. she was probably downstairs working like always. you don't know how long it is before she joins you.

"you have to talk to me eventually," Victoria hums. "can't sulk in your other form forever."

whenever you fought you liked to shift. being a cat was simpler. nobody had any expectations for cats. it was like the perfect excuse to not have difficult conversations. She couldn't understand you after all but you could understand her. loud and clear. "just tell me what's wrong."

you stretch out. fluffy kitty paws morph into human hands and legs sprawled out in the darkness. you sigh softly following on to your back. Victoria is sitting on the edge, looking down at you. "I'm not your pet," growled quietly.

"I never said you were,"

"that's all anyone sees me as," you reply. "Neuman's girl. neuman's pet. cute but useless/ that's what sage said."

"that is why I didn't want you talking to her," she replies.

"but she's right," you express. "you don't treat me like we're equals. you hide stuff from me. tell me it's too important and I won't understand. I'm not a fucking child or your silly little house cat, Victoria."

"Baby," a gentle hand moves to your arm but you shake her off. Moving onto your side and away from her.

"don't."

"Okay," she retracts her hands slowly. there's a moment of silence before she continues. "I don't see you as a child or some silly cat."

"Sure you do,"

"I don't," she insists. "I'm a politician there are some things I just can't share with you-"

"but you don't tell me anything," you interrupt

"but I admit I could share with you more," she proceeds with. "I just... I try to keep you out of all that bullshit. not because I think you're stupid or useless but because it's just easier. I don't want them tearing you down to get to me,"

"But I'm willing to take it,"

"you shouldn't have to. I don't want that for you- for us." she urges. "Sage can say whatever she wants but I don't believe those things about you. You're smart, beautiful and adorable sure but you're not useless. I'm so lucky to have someone as caring and wonderful as you."

"gross," said playfully after a moment. a small smile tugs at your lips though. "Victoria?"

"mhmm?"

"I'm sorry for acting like a spoilt brat tonight,"

"I'm sorry I made you spend an evening with all those awful people," you chuckle lightly as you roll over to look at her. they really were awful people. and maybe you weren't one of the most important people in America but you were a good person. a nice person. and that was much more interesting.

"World's worst and most boring party," you voice. "how did your private meeting go?"

she hesitates. probably a debate on whether to tell you or not. "...pretty well I think."

"Vice President Neuman has a nice ring to it," you tease. smiling up at her in the darkness. a strip of moonlight crosses her face. twinkling in her pretty eyes. it was a wild thought. one day soon you could be dating the vice president of America.

"how do you feel knowing you'll be the second lady?"

"oooh so official. so important."

"you're already so important,"

"to you maybe." you huff.

"does anyone else matter?"

"you of all people saying that is crazy," you semi-tease. it was kinda true. she cared a lot about her image. about how the world saw her. "let's just go to sleep."

Victoria doesn't answer but she does lie down, shuffling up behind you. there's a slight hesitation like she's not sure if you've truly forgiven her. you move closer to her, resting your head against her chest. listening to the way her heart thumped in her chest "night."

"good night," you hum softly as you let your eyes flutter closed. "I'm gonna get so many fancy cakes tomorrow."

[inklore]

🗡. KINKTOBER'23

who’s ready to get skanky spooky?!!! i swear i wait in anticipation every year for the sluttiest month to plague the tumblr tags. as we all know your girl has zero self control so here i am again bringing you some filthy feral content during this wonderful month.

minors please dni with the fics below, it is strictly eighteen+ content. i highly rec following @lorelibrary to stay updated.

WEEK ONE.

PARASITIC ( MARC SPECTOR ) ….. the one where marc goes searching in a cave and comes home with something attached to me. a leech who wants to do more than drain him.

⚠︎: succubus, haunting, mind control, somnophilia.

WEEK TWO.

PUNISHER ( JOEL MILLER ) ….. the one where your father owes a debt and joel is not opposed in taking what is owed to him. what is promised to him. and you’re the perfect little consolation prize.

⚠︎: purge au, claiming, praise kink, agegap, deceit.

WEEK THREE.

MY WOMAN ( CARMY BERZATTO + LUCA ) ….. the one where you can’t remember who came first carmy or luca, the lines having blurred the longer you split your time between the two.

⚠︎: threesome, double penetration, deep throating.

WEEK FOUR.

CRAWLING INTO YOU ( FLIP ZIMMERMAN + CLYDE LOGAN + OFFICER PETERSON ) ….. the one where hot pavement and rattle snakes are the least of your worries when driving through the desert turns into a game of survival you’ve already lost.

⚠︎: texas chainsaw au, hunter x prey, breeding, dubcon.

— BONUS DAYS.

tell me where it hurts — love quinn (choking, murder)

concentrate — jake ‘hangman’ seresin (phonesex)

figured you out — joe velasco (forbidden, hair pulling)

asteroid blues — poe dameron (sexpollen)

midnight snack — bruce wayne variants (spitting, cheating)

guilty of love — villanelle (restraints, forced voyeurism)

[cuteskunkz]

╭──────────.★..─╮

One Night With You

~ Part Two ~

╰─..★.──────────╯

(Mike Schmidt x Reader)

Summary~ After getting your number, Mike takes you out on a date to get to know you better. Read part one here.

Tags~ fluff, Mike is a gentleman aww, surprisingly no smut this time, reader is conflicted on their feelings, character building, Older Mike (Mike is 28 and reader is 20)

Note~ I've had a mean case of writers block lately, apologies for the well overdue update. Shorter fic tbh!!! My attention span is crying for help... This entire thing is pretty much me practicing my dialogue skills. Chapter 3 will definitely have smut, I just really want to build up before we get there ;)

⊱✿⊰

You drive home with Mike on your mind. It's been hard for you to connect with men lately due to your occupation, generalizing them to being horny and emotionally unavailable creatures. Something in you feels... different about Mike though.

As you reach your apartment you take a deep breath, feeling anxious. You walk in, dropping your bags at the door, and pop in the shower hoping to calm yourself down with a little pampering. After an hour of self care you get a call from Mike. You answer after a few rings, hoping to scope out his vibe a bit more before going out to drink with a random guy you just met.

After the 4th ring he speaks nervously, "H-hey! You got home safe?" He stares up at the ceiling, trying his hardest to speak confidently.

"Yeah! I have to say your bar suggestion sounds awfully tempting right now... you're not one of those dudes right? Yknow the 'I get girls drunk to make them more agreeable' type? Cause I swear to god I'll-"

He cuts you off, "I promise.... I just wanna take you out as a treat after the day you had... we don't even have to drink if you don't want to!" He hopes his words provide a bit of comfort to you. He couldn't imagine how tiring it must be to be a woman in the dating world, having to constantly stay vigilant about the dangers men can pose.

You sigh feeling embarrassed for accusing him of such a terrible thing. "I'm down to hang out now if you're not busy or anything! Which bar were you thinking?" You try to hide the excitement in your voice but the butterflies in your stomach are making it very challenging.

"There's this place not too far from me... I could scoop you and drive us down there, yeah?" He throws his head back and bites his lip to fight back the smile creeping up on his face. Mike can't get the mental image of your beauty off of his mind while talking.

You begin to blush from his raspy voice and reply, "Sounds good!! I'll see you soon then!!!"

"Text me your address and I'll be there asap, okay?"

"Yeah of course! I'm sending it now... lemme know when you get it." You text him your address with adrenaline running through body. Your heart feels like it's going to skip a beat from just talking to him.

"Yeah I got it...I'm on my way, I'll call when I'm outside... can't wait to see you..." Mike says, his voice dripping with elation. He hangs up and starts making his way to your house.

You run to your closet and begin picking outfit options, practically tearing it apart. After finally making your mind up, you apply some makeup and spray your most enticing perfume. You stare at yourself in the mirror, making note of the little details and suddenly feel a little confused on your giddiness. You don't know this guy, he could be some murderer on the prowl for a fresh kill for all you know.

The doorbell rings, you shake your mind of all of your anxious thoughts and make your way down to meet him. He greets you with a smile and presents you with a small bouquet of roses.

"I wasn't s-sure If you liked roses, but I wanted to bring you something as a thank you for even considering me" he mumbles, looking down at his feet. it was adorable seeing someone this shy because of you.

"They're very nice Mike... Thank you. I'm gonna go put these in a vase and then we can head out, hm?" After putting the flowers away you run back to the door, "Ready?"

"Extremely." Mike chuckles. He walks you out to his car, opening the passenger door for you. He gets it and connects his phone to play some music. "Hope you like Nirvana...it's like the only thing I listen to, not to sound like some rock elitist or something!"

You giggle and poke his arm, "Nirvana's fine, but I'm gonna have to put you on to something other than dad rock!" you tease. You watch his hands as he steers the car in the direction of the bar. They're callous and strong, his veins becoming more apparent as he gripped the wheel harder during turns. It's embarrassing to admit you got so turned on from staring his hands, Imagining what they would look like wrapped around your waist or better, your throat.

He pulls into a parking spot and pats your leg, "You're so beautiful, you know that?"

You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear and turn away from him to hide your rosy cheeks. "You mean it? Not just saying that to get into my pants Mike?"

"I would never... I definitely mean it, sweetheart"

He opens the door and guides you both into the bar. You hold onto him, arm locked around his bicep. It's a quaint little bar. Dimly lit and cozy, perfect for getting to know each other with the help of a couple shots.

"So... what's your drink of choice? I'm a tequila guy myself, especially with some salt and a lime"

You think for a second, "Hmmmm... I gotta go with Jager! Tastes like cough syrup a bit but the aftertaste isn't too bad"

"Bet." He walks up to the bar and orders the shots, bringing them back to the booth. "I got you a soda too y'know...in case you need a chaser"

"How thoughtful of you Mikey" you say sarcastically. What, does he think you can't take the shot like a big girl? 

He scoffs at the nickname. "I'm just looking out for you! I nearly died from fucking up a shot dude! It came out of my nose and everything." Mike laughs and rubs his nose as if he's having war flashbacks.

You laugh with him and pick up your glass and clink it on his. "Don't let it happen again!" You both tap your shot glasses on the table before knocking them back and sharing a drink of soda.

After a few minutes of small talk, asking the important questions like favorite colors and such, you start to feel the buzz. 

"Much better this time... my nose will live to see another day... or I guess... sniff another day? I don't fuckin' know anymore" He giggles and stares at you.

"S-something on my face?" you slur. A double shot wouldn't usually get you drunk this fast but you hadn't eaten all day, allowing the liquor to hit you harder than normal.

He shakes his head in defense, "Nah... you're just unbelievably hot." It's very clear the alcohol had made him lose his inhabitations.

"I could say the same about you y'know." you flirt back. "One more shot? Or are you scared it'll pour out of somewhere else?" You couldn't help but to snort and giggle at your own joke.

"Very funny little girl... One more won't hurt."

⊱✿⊰

*Read part 3 here*

Not gonna lie...self inserted twice here lmfao (I just turned 20 and JagerMeister is literally the best alcohol on earth).

@honey-eyed-munson this one's for you bbg, I wrote this today because your comment gave me so much inspiration :,)

[dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice]

The Grim Reaper's Guide to Breaking Every Rule of the Universe /// Chapter 2

Bruh. My back is HURTING from being hunched over my laptop lol. For some reason I've managed to shit out this next chapter at the speed of light, but I'm back at uni and deadlines are picking up so I can't guarantee another one for a couple weeks. ANYWAY - ALASTOR HAS FINALLY MADE AN APPEARANCE. Not in person yet, but he's here (in spirit). I also apologise to anyone not from Yorkshire, I've used some of our slang from there and it may not make sense, but MC's embracing her Northener crave for violence.

Summary: When touring America for the sake of it, you go to stay with your aunt in New Orleans for a while, taking up a peaceful part-time job restoring objects. But a few weeks in, a package arrives containing an old radio that's seen better days, along with a note seemingly written by someone who thinks they could fist-fight the Devil.

What you didn't know, was the hell of a path that was now set out in front of you. Not fist-fighting the Devil, but instead a very smug radio host who would have no problem spending the rest of his days driving you up the walls.

But two could play that game.

Tags: Demiromantic-Asexual Alastor x Demiromantic-Asexual OC/Reader - 1920s/30s New Orleans - fluff - angst - EXTREME slow burn - crack - Violence (It's Alastor what else)

Word Count: 6800

Warnings: Period-typical sexism, Period-typical attitudes towards neurodivergency, Swearing, Descriptions of murder and dismemberment. MC'S RACE IS DEFINED DUE TO PLOT REASONS (also because she is based off my OC)

Taglist - comment or message to be added!

Now available on Wattpad and AO3 (please let me know if links aren't working)

< Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3 >

PART 1: Chapter 2

Another box for my trinkets it's trinketville.

Meraki (Definition): To put something of yourself into your work. (Noun)

New Orleans, Louisiana, USA – Thursday, 7th November, 1929.

The first four months of your new apprenticeship had you thriving more than ever before since arriving in the US. The last time you had felt this joyous and satisfied you were nearly eighteen, the tickle of the long grass on your cheeks as you laid in the meadow at the height of spring, holding the bunch of wildflowers against the kaleidoscopic swirls of the evening tones of the sky above you, admiring the way the lowering sun hit the petals and the small bugs that floated around with its golden highlights. It was one of the few times you had managed to bring your racing mind to a stand-still; no voices; no random lines of songs in your head playing on replay; no worries about the chores you were procrastinating or the book your friend had recommended weeks ago that you were yet to touch. You remembered the feeling of the summer dress you wore, the texture of the leather messenger bag beside you gifted by the old woman who lived further down the lane of the village. She used to babysit you when your parents would travel to York days at a time for work or personal errands. You loved to skip down that lane, with your hand running along the rough stones of the ancient stone walls that lined the lanes of your little village you had spent your whole life in – also lining your mind with the cuts it gave you as you tried to climb over them with the twins over the years.

The routine of working at the repair shop had brought the blissful feeling of stability back, the hectic frenzy of travelling from hotel room to hotel room, checking your tickets a thousand times to make sure you were on the correct train platform, then checking again. You no longer had to worry about travel dates that would leave you feeling paralysed from doing anything else.

Mr LeBlanc had been an excellent teacher and manager, drilling skills into your mind since you stepped into the shop for your starter shift. It was certainly an experience: opening the double doors to a vintage collector’s dream, an antique emporium filled from floor to ceiling (and on the ceiling). Ralph had brought you behind the counter, to a room in the back that he gleefully revealed to be concealed by a door disguised as a bookshelf. The workshop hidden behind was every antique restorer’s sanctuary, and it was certainly yours. Drawers lining the walls filled with every tool that could file, chip away, or apply anything you could find. In the centre was a large wooden table – thick, sturdy planks covered in chips and splatters of paint and adhesives used over the years. This table would be the place you would spend the next four months, your hair tied back by a patterned silk bandana, Ralph showing you how to work with materials from wood to porcelain, metal to textiles. You would pour over books you had pulled from Mr LeBlanc’s bookshelves until late into the evening, until he sent you home with them in your bag, and you protected them with your life as you returned on the trams (or ‘streetcars’, as Americans called them) in the evening light.

Every Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday, he taught you everything he could, and you absorbed it all at the speed of light, your mind soaking up every piece of information like a dry sponge. By month three you had been given the go ahead to work on your first object from a customer – a small, spindly regency era chamber table belonging to a local gentleman. All it needed was some chips to be filled and repolishing, allowing Ralph to be confident enough in your abilities to complete it correctly. Your results came out on top, both Ralph and the customer being satisfied with your work, and you received the praise gleefully, along with the hefty tip the gentleman handed you over the counter. To you, everything was going fine and dandy.

Until October hit.

Apparently there were plenty of warning signs, according to most. They knew this was coming, your aunt knew this was coming. It was what she had said when you sat with her on the steps of the front porch.

“Shops are going to start disappearing.” She said, keeping her gaze ahead as she watched the cars sputter by. “With the rate this is going, I’m going to have to pull the boys out of school and get them working – I can’t keep the walls of this house up by myself.”

It had sent chills down your spine when you had picked up a newspaper, the words ‘Wall Street’ and ‘Stock Market Crash’ staining the pages for weeks. You put your mind and body into helping Mr LeBlanc, desperate for him to keep his business up and running. Unfortunately, as prices dropped, less people wanted to splurge the extra cash on something nice and antique, so you both lowered prices where you could, even going to lengths to hammer fliers to every street-post that advertised restoration jobs for any household item, promising customers that they would save money on repairs instead of buying it new.

It worked more than you thought, and it brought in enough income for Ralph to scratch by. He was also grateful you hadn’t asked for a raise to cope with the financial crisis, flat-out refusing when he had tried to hand you some tips he had received.

It was just the beginning of December when Ralph had called the house phone as you were getting ready for work. Ollie had yelled up the stairs to tell you and you scrambled down in your work trousers with your nightgown still on. Grabbing the phone, you listened to a raspy Mr LeBlanc as he told you he had falling ill with the usual winter flu. Unfortunately, being 63 meant that he was more susceptible to the illness, and was unsure if he would recover. If he did, it would still take a while, so he had asked you that morning if you were capable of running the shop solo. You had instantly said yes, refusing to let any sidetrack be his business’s downfall, so, with your head held high, you walked to his house, picking up any essential documents that he said you would need, and kept the shop up and running to the best of your abilities.

New Orleans, Louisiana, USA – Friday, 6th December, 1929.

It was the Friday of the first week of December when you were an hour away from closing. You had been lucky that it had been pretty quiet the last few days, allowing you to settle into working your first ever Monday to Friday and getting to know the everyday things that were essential to keep the doors open. You had brought an armchair behind the counter – the gap between the counter and the wall was spacey enough for you to fit the chair and a small side table.

After not seeing any customers for over an hour, you had wandered off to the small side kitchen hidden by a Persian rug hung over the doorway to fetch yourself a warm cup of tea and a slice of carrot cake that Agnes had slipped into your lunch bag that day. Returning to the front, you placed the food and beverage on the side table, and sank into the chair, propping your feet up and delving into the book you had bought a few months ago.

Your eyes were drooping by the time you finished the tea and cake, and you rested your head on the back of the cushion, lowering your eyelids shut but remaining awake, knowing you had to get up soon in order to close in a half hour. Though the sudden sound of the shop’s bell chiming had you shooting out of your seat like a cat on a hot tin roof.

Scrambling to your feet, you scooted over to plop yourself on the counter stool, fixing yourself to look as presentable as possible as you faced the person entering. It was the mailman, stomping his boots to rid of the snow from the mild blizzard outside on the shoe rug by the door whilst holding a semi-large parcel under his arm. You recognised him from his rounds of the area, normally dropping off the odd parcel here and there for Ralph. Making sure the curls you had pressed into your hair overnight weren’t flattened at the back, you straightened out the silk scarf tied round the front of your head, flicking a curl out of your eye, and faced the man with a warm smile, to which he returned. He was a tall, young looking lad, older than you, but youth still shone in his eager eyes as he approached you.

“Afternoon ma’am,” he greeted, tipping his snow patterned hat. “I apologise for the snow on the floor, m’fraid the storm doesn’t seem to be letting up anytime soon.”

You waved him off, assuring that you were going to be cleaning up soon anyway. He inquired about Mr LeBlanc’s whereabouts, and you explained that his illness wasn’t letting up any time soon.

“Shame,” he said. “I know you’re probably not getting overrun, but it still must be complicated being a young woman running someone else’s business – especially near Christmas, having to trek home in the cold and wet by yourself.”

“Oh, it’s quite alright.” You laughed with a shake of your head, trying to not let your frustration show at the thought of him doubting your skills because of your gender. “He’s given me everything I need, and I can deal with the weather just fine. Wet and cold is the norm where I’m from.” Changing the subject, you gestured to the half-damp parcel still under his arm. “Is that addressed to Ralph or the shop?”

As if suddenly remembering the reason he was here, he quickly hauled the parcel from under his arm and slid it onto the counter.

“It’s for the shop.” He explained, gesturing a gloved hand to it. “S’pose it’s a last minute repair for a Christmas gift or somethin’.”

Placing your hands on either side, you slid the large square box towards you. Standing up from the stool, you peered at the top. Brushing off the half-melted snow, you read the handwriting that ornately spelled out the address - this was probably another repair.

The parcel itself was probably the neatest you had ever seen anything wrapped. The parcel paper was thick and expensive, the water and snow running off without leaving any trace behind except for a slight sheen, and the edges were folded so crisp and perfectly shaped and flat you wondered if whoever had wrapped it was human. Tied round like a present was a thick twine, looping into a bow directly in the middle of the top. You admired the dedication of whoever had put in the time to wrap this, running your fingers over the corners only to jerk them back slightly as the folds were so sharp they felt like they were slicing at your skin.

Looking back at the mailman, you thanked him for the delivery, and hoped him safe travels back home. Tipping his hat at you, he turned away with a farewell, and the bell chimed again when he opened the door, dipping his head against the wind as he faded into the white wall outside.

When the howling wind finally allowed the door to shut, you began the closing routine, knowing that there wouldn’t be anyone else today with the severity of the weather outside. After locking the exits and pulling the shutters closed and the blinds down, you kept the shops lanterns on as you lifted the hefty parcel with a grunt and shuffled through the hidden doorway into the workshop.

Sliding it onto the table, you got to work opening it up, pulling the twine bow free and taking some small hand-held shears to slice open the glued down folds to reveal a cardboard box.

Pulling the thick brown paper and twine out from underneath, you chucked them onto the other workbench pushed against the wall to the right. Placing the shears down, you pushed your fingernails between the gap of the serrated cardboard and swung the flaps open. Inside was a lot of loose cotton wool, and you reached in, removing the protective layer and chucking it onto the table whilst simultaneously thanking whoever had spent their time padding the box out. This uncovered a semi-large shape swaddled in a maroon-coloured knitted blanket, and you reached your arms in deep to wrap around the object and haul it out.

Laying it on the table, you pushed the box and wool out of the way, and gently began unwrapping the blanket, mindful that some repair jobs may start out with several shattered pieces that you certainly didn’t want to accidentally drop an lose amongst everything. Coming to the final layer, your nails slotted through some of the holes of the knitting and clacked against what sounded like solid wood, and slipping the material off, you had your first look at your new potential project.

It was an old radio. Well, not that old, considering radios had only been in circulation for a decade or so, but it was one of the earlier models, the features you recognised from when you visited the county Mayor’s house when you were in your early teens. It was shaped with a resemblance to a cathedral arch, the wood panelling around the edge looking like pillars that began swirling and spiralling into gothic patterns the closer you got to the top. These patterns decorating the fine grated material that covered the speaker, and a few dials were situated on the bottom half, and you immediately noticed one was missing.

Pulling a stool over, you sat down to get a closer look, and you noted down the damages that came to light. It had obviously been looked after over the years, but, as always, people are prone to accidents, and this radio seemed to have gone through a few. Apart from the dial that was missing, there was a large split down one side, between two of the panels, and scratches and slight dents from where it had obviously been dropped. Grabbing your notebook, you jotted down your initial observations, before diving your hands into the left over cotton in the box to search for anything that could assist you.

To your luck, you found a small linen bag about the size of your palm, that you untied to reveal the missing dial and a few pieces of wood that had come off in some areas. Returning to your notes, you were just about to start a proposal form for treatment when something caught your eye. Looking over to the blanket you had put to the side, your eyes landed on a fancy looking envelope.

Reaching over, your fingers clasped around the paper, the material just as thick and expensive feeling as the parcel wrap, and you brought it towards you, careful not to elbow anything in the process, because if they could afford fancy radios and paper during this crisis, then they certainly were expecting you to repair this with equally expensive standards. Holding the paper up you read the loopy handwriting on the front of the envelope:

To  the Owner.

Turning it over, you pried the even fancier wax seal apart as gently as you could as to not ruin the paper, and opening the flap, you reached in to slide out a folded piece of parchment. Unfolding it, you began to read the matching, loopy words.

---

December 4 th, 1929

Dear Owner,

I do hope this package finds you well. I am delivering this fine radio to be repaired at your establishment, as it belongs to my dear Mother and I would be overjoyed to have it completed in time for Christmas. Unfortunately, it has suffered its fair share of drops and bumps, but from what I have heard from others in our beloved city, you should be able to do an excellent job. The outside is obvious with what needs to be done, but there are areas within the interior mechanics that require some repairs. Now, I would take it to the radio shop, but the man who owns it is oh-so unpleasant, and would take weeks to be returned.

I am sure you would be happy to take on this challenge, for my mother’s sake, and that you will do a splendid job.

Regards,

Mr A. Boudreaux

---

You blinked. Then furrowing your brows, you read it again. And again. Did this guy want you to not only fix up the look of his mum’s radio, but magically know the ins and outs of radio technology? You shook your head, then did a quick once-over of the words scrawled onto the page. Yep, he wanted you to do a Frankenstein and completely resurrect the old thing.

Placing you elbow on the table, you rested your chin on your palm as you stared at the wall covered in tool across the room. There was no way you could do this, not without Mr LeBlanc still ill – though even if he was here, you didn’t know if he had any knowledge on radios. Sighing, you rubbed at your face tiredly, not caring if you smudged the mascara on your lashes, it wasn’t like anyone was going to walk in on you with panda eyes anyway. Letting out a prolonged groan, you came to the final decision of what to do.

Trudging back into the shop, you quickly made yourself another cup of tea, before snatching some of the letter paper and an envelope from under the counter. Slumping back onto the stool in the workshop, you placed the paper in front of you whilst reaching into one of the drawers attached to the table to grab a pen, then, taking a moment to think of what you were going to say, you began writing.

---

December 6 th, 1929

Dear Mr Boudreaux,

Thank you for your enquiry. As much asI would love to fulfil your request, there are some issues regarding certain stages of the repairs. Mr LeBlanc, who owns the company, has taken ill this last week, and it is not yet known when he will recover, and I am the only member of staff he has employed at the moment. Unfortunately, I am not experienced in radio mechanics, and strongly advise that you come and collect the radio and take it to be repaired at a radio shop.

The radio can be returned here for outer repairs, but I am afraid that is the only option I can offer you at this time. The radio will be ready for you to collect from 9am on Monday morning. I do apologise for the inconvenience.

Regards,

---

Signing the first letter of your name, along with you surname, you read over what you had written. Satisfied, you sealed it in the envelope and got to work wrapping the radio back up. Quickly taking a candle, you took a peek in between the crack in the wood, the light shining on the innards. You definitely had no chance of fixing that, if the absolute mess of dislodged coils, wires and metal pieces inside said anything. Reluctantly you placed it back in its box wrapped up and padded with the cotton, before taping it up and re-glueing the parcel paper and twine back in place. It was a shame that you had to reject the request, the payment for the repair would have benefited you and Ralph quite a bit, and it made you feel awfully guilty to prevent someone’s gift for their mother, but it was out of your control. So, with the guilt hanging over your head, you pushed the parcel into the corner under one of the tables on sale.

Doing one last round of the shop, you extinguished the candles dotted around and flipped the light switches off except the main one by the door. With your coat and gloves on, you made sure the scarf was wrapped tight round your neck before grabbing your bag and did one last sweep of the place. Glancing in the corner, you took one last lingering look at the sorrowful parcel that sat under the table, but quickly snatched your eyes away, and grabbing the keys, you flipped the final light switch and stepped out into the cold, looking for the nearest post-box with the letter grasped in your hand.

--------------------------------------------------------------

New Orleans, Louisiana, USA – Monday, 9th December, 1929.

Monday came rolling round as usual, and you began your usual weekday routine of washing and dressing yourself before heading downstairs for breakfast. Scooping some scrambled eggs onto the toast on your plate, you trudged from the kitchen to the dining room, the slap of your bare feet on the tiles echoing through the wide hallway.

Shuffling through the doorway, you sat opposite Ollie, who, by the looks of it, was still waking up as he shovelled buttered toast into his mouth with his head still lying sideways on the table. Reaching over, you slapped the handle of your fork against his ear that stuck out from between his loose, dark curls, and he let out a whine as he sat up to face you with one eye glued shut, the other barely open, bread hanging from between his frown.

“You’ll choke eating like that.” You said as you scooped egg into your mouth.

Ollie dropped the toast from his mouth onto his plate. “Good.” He mumbled. “S’better than Miss Sammie droning on and ooonnnn about nonsense.” He flopped his head back on the table.

“Well enjoy it while you can.” You snorted. “If this crash gets any worse Mum will be pulling you both out to find jobs. And I know you two wouldn’t last a day in the workplace.”

He jerked his head back, scrunching his face in offence. “Like you would be any better.”

You deadpanned. “I’m currently working 9 -5, Monday to Friday, dumbass.” You jabbed back in annoyance, throwing a piece of crust at his forehead.

“Shit, forgot about that.” He grumbled, but perked up suddenly. “Yea, but you’ve only been working full time since last week!”

You chucked another crust. “Running a shop full time on my own – something I’ve never done before??”

“Still.” He retorted, shrugging his shoulders.

You had opened your mouth to retort, but stopped halfway as Allie’s voice echoed through from the kitchen.

“There’s been another one!” he called out, almost excitedly, the thumping of his feet vibrating through the floorboards as he practically sprinted into the room with the morning newspaper grasped firmly in his hands. The two of us jerked back as he slammed it onto the table.

“Amuver!?” cried Ollie, voice muffled by food, though he quickly swallowed it. All evidence of his tiredness now gone, he snatched up the paper and brought it right up to his face. “It’s barely been a week!”

“I know!” Allie replied, his voice rising in volume every time he spoke. “At this point it could end up happening every month!”

You looked between the two of them confused since you couldn’t see what Ollie was reading. “What could happen?” you asked, perplexed.

The two of them froze, turning to stare at you. Their eyes darted to each other, before Ollie lowered the newspaper and spoke.

“…The murders?” He revealed, as if it was the most obvious thing.

You blinked, then looked between the two, more confused. “What murders?”

“What!?” Allie cried, bracing his hands on the table as he leant over it, eyes wide. “You’ve been gallivanting round town for seven months and don’t know about thee murders??”

You leant back slightly at the sight of your cousin’s crazy expression, and slowly shook your head. “I’m uh – not one to read the newspaper often.” You explained sheepishly.

He gaped, clearly shocked at your lack of knowledge about the subject. His head whipped to where his brother sat, and his hand reached out and snatched the newspaper from Ollie’s. You quickly moved your breakfast out of the way, saving your food from being flattened as Allie slammed the paper down and began aggressively prodding at the headline on the front page. Swatting his hand away, you read the giant words printed above a photograph of a lake you didn’t recognise.

‘BARRISTER FOUND BUTCHERED ON EMBANKMENT’

Suddenly intrigued, brought the paper closer to read the front column.

Tragedy strikes again in New Orleans as the remains of county barrister, Paul Morgan, were found on the embankment and in the water of Lake Cataouatche by visitors to the area. Morgan was reported missing last Wednesday by his wife, Martha, when he failed to return home for two days after a night out on Monday with his colleagues. It was reported that Morgan’s body was dismembered, and his head took several hours to locate. However, certain body parts are still missing, therefore the lake has been closed off to the public for the foreseeable future. Police are calling in and searching for potential suspects, and give their condolences to Paul’s close family and friends, stating that they are working overtime to bring the killer to justice and prevent any further deaths. Due to the nature and severity of the crime, it is possible that this is another victim of who the public dubs ‘The Bayou Butcher’. The Sheriff strongly encourages people to stick to an early curfew and remain indoors after nightfall, as the safety of the public cannot be guaranteed at this trying time. (More on Page 5)

You went to flip through, but the paper was pulled out your hands by Ollie who wanted to read it.

“You know what I’m thinking?” Allie hissed excitedly as he lowered himself onto the chair at the head of the table between you both. “This could be another Axeman!”

Ollie gasped, eyes sparkling. “Shit, it could!”

You perked up. “Another Axeman? How long has this guy been around?” you asked as you brought your breakfast back in front of you.

Allie turned to you, eyes shining in excitement. “The first body was found in 1927 – and the rest have been popping up every 2-3 months, but this is the first time there’s been two in less than two weeks!”

You narrowed your eyes in thought. “How do you know it’s all one guy?”

At this question he seemed to get more excited, practically vibrating in his seat as he gestured to his twin. “Ollie and I have been collecting newspaper clippings on every murder that’s happened, and we’ve tried to eliminate any outliers – like, different weapons, ones that are bleedin’ obvious who did it – the rest all have the same MO: they never find the whole body.” He yammered on at light speed, emphasising each word with a loud thump of his finger prodding the table. “Sometimes it’s not obvious, I think they try to throw the police off by going for something small – like a finger – but there’s always something missing, and we know it’s them.”

You frowned. “Them?”

He shrugged. “Could be a woman.” You raised an eyebrow. “What!? I don’t discriminate! Women can be scary!” You slowly sat back in your seat, staring your cousin down. He pointed at you as he looked at his brother with wide eyes. “See!? You wouldn’t be surprised if she dragged a body in?”

Ollie swallowed the food he was chewing. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she caused the second Great Fire of London because someone stole her food.” He said nonchalantly, before casually returning to his toast.

“Exactly!” cried Allie. “No wonder the government wants you all nice and buttoned up in a strait jacket!”

Dropping your fork with a clatter, you looked up at him in shock, mouth hanging open. He froze, quickly realising what he had said, and his face slowly scrunched up as he cringed.

“Too far?” he squeaked meekly as he glanced at you. “Sorry.”

Pouting, you glared silently before picking your fork back up.

A few moments of silence passed, before Ollie decided he had experienced enough of the dampened mood. “You know,” he began, catching your attention again. “We think the body parts aren’t just missing for the sake of it.”

“Oh?” you tilted your head, intrigued again.

He looked you directly in the eye. “We think they’re eating them.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Oo yummy, like a cannibal?” you queried, eyes darting to Allie, who perked back up, nodding. “So… there’s a cannibalistic serial killer running around New Orleans?”

Allie pointed a finger. “Serial killer, yes. Cannibal, possibly. We don’t actually have any proper evidence for that. I’m also going to skip the ‘yummy’ part, cuz I know you would never willingly consume human flesh.”

“You would be correct,” you confirmed with an amused smile, before glancing at the two. “Has mum ever suggested that you two should consider joining the police force?”

All you got were two matching cheshire grins in response.

----------------------------------------

After cleaning up your food, and disappointing the twins because no, you didn’t bring your serial killer books to America with you, because you didn’t want to be judged by the luggage inspectors on the ferry, besides, Jack the Ripper got a little boring after a while.

Even though it was interesting to learn about the current events of the city you were staying in, the subject of said current events did end up putting you on edge when you travelled to work that morning, with you clutching your bag a little tighter, and intensely staring down anyone who looked at you a little odd on the tram. It even got to the point where you had stepped off the tram, and spent the ten minute walk between there and the shop glancing down any alleyways as subtle as you could, even though you knew you would spot anyone against the white snow that reflected the morning sun into your poor, suffering eyes anyway.

Unlocking the shop doors, you stepped in, stomping the snow off of your boots on the mat before picking it up and shaking it off outside. Crossing the threshold of the room, you ducked under the rug into the kitchen, shrugging off your scarf and coat and hanging them up on the pegs.

You were just dusting off the old grandfather clock that was slotted between the shelves of smaller antique clocks when a knock echoed through the shop. Jumping slightly, you lowered the feather duster in your hand and looked over your shoulder to see the same mailman from Friday waving at you through the window in the door, his smile growing as you made eye contact with him . Placing the duster down, you quickly strode over to the door, twisting the locks before pulling it open and sticking you head through the gap.

“I do apologise Miss,” he began after you said hello. “I hate to interrupt you whilst your still getting ready to open, but my boss handed some priority mail to me – said I had to get it to you as soon as I could.” He held a letter out in front of you.

Frowning, confused, you slowly reached out and took the letter from his hands. “Okayyy…” Turning the letter around you came across some very familiar hand writing:

‘To Mr LeBlanc’s Employee.’

“Oh god.” You groaned quietly, your shoulders slumping. This could turn out to be quite nasty if this was going the way you thought it would.

The mailman glanced between the letter and your very prominent grimace. “Is everything alright?” he asked, concern shining in his eyes.

“Yea! Yea,” you breathed, glancing around the street with the dwindling hope that your client would show up to pick up his parcel, but the letter in your hand said otherwise. “Everything’s fine. Just some very small business issues.”

He glanced at your face again, and went to open his mouth, but hesitated, seemingly switching what he was going to say. “Well, uh, I hope everything goes well, ma’am. I’ll see you around?”

You nodded, still staring down the street. “Yea, sure. See you around.” You said distractedly. Quickly giving him a strained smile, you stepped back to close the door, and the man tipped his cap at you again before strolling away.

Walking over to the counter, you slumped onto the stool with a groan, chucking the letter down in front of you. Leaning your elbows on the surface, you rested your forehead against your palms as you glared at the words inked onto the paper. The way it was addressed to you already screamed passive-aggressive, and you hated confronting anything or anyone with a passion, and you certainly didn’t want to confront this Boudreaux guy because you denied his mum a Christmas present. With a loud whine, you slammed your head onto the counter before blindly patting the surface until you felt the thick paper and slowly dragged it towards you. Sitting back up, you held the seemingly innocent envelope in front of you, and stared at it for a couple more moments, before you couldn’t take it anymore and tore it open.

---

December 7 th, 1929

To the Employee of Mr LeBlanc,

I hope this letter has found you in post haste. I am deeply upset that you lack the skills of radio repair, after all it is a growing medium that most should be learning at this point. Therefore I have come to the conclusion that I will refuse your rejection. The fliers you put out stated very clearly that you could repair ANY object, and it would be very disappointing for people to hear that it no longer has that skill to offer, since the only other option for radio repair during these trying times is a very unpleasant experience with that owner I mentioned.

I do hope my Mother’s radio will be fixed on time, I do hate to disappoint her. If Mr LeBlanc does not recover within the period, or you have any queries about the repair, please call the number I have written below.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Best Wishes,

Mr A. Boudreaux

---

If your mouth hung open any further than you would be catching every insect that resided in the swamps surrounding the town.

Was this guy fucking for real??

You scoffed slightly. Then again. Eventually you scoffing spiralled into manic laughter as you guffawed at the audacity that this man thought he had. With wide eyes, you slammed the paper down back onto the counter, staring over at the wall because if you looked at those words any longer you would probably end up tracking this man down so you could shove his mother’s radio up his ass along with the fat metal rod that apparently already resided there.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed back the stool and stood up, deciding you needed you reset your mind before the first customers came in. Marching back to the kitchen, you spent the next five minutes sat in the middle of the floor, waiting for the kettle to boil as you very angrily stuffed the blueberry muffin you had brought in your mouth. You glanced at the clock and pouted as you realised you only had 15 minutes before you had to put on your best customer-friendly expression despite the metaphorical grey cloud that thundered above your head.

Thinking for a moment, you shot back up, chucking the muffin case as you strode back through to the counter, and snatched the letter up, marching back to the kitchen over to the rotary phone on the table in the corner. Picking up the handset, you pressed it to your ear as you spun the number written out on the paper in front of you.

It rang for a moment, and you tried to picture the man who would – hopefully – receive your call. You expected to hear the gruff voice of some 50 year old, that would start yelling down the line about how incompetent you were, especially when he found out you were a woman, before you heard a crackle as it was picked up and a polite and much younger sounding “Hello?” came through.

You froze for a moment, your vision of some rude, old guy whooshed away at the voice of a much younger, more spritely man, and you pictured someone like the mailman, until you heard a louder, drawn out “Hellooo?”, the man on the other end seemingly becoming amused at your lack of response.

Snapping yourself out of the character builder you had in your mind, you quickly spoke. “Hello, do I happen to be talking to–”

“Oh, I am sorry, my dear.” You blinked as you were interrupted. “But I do believe you’ve accidentally called an American number!” The man said chipperly, though there was a condescending undertone – his amusement clearly growing at the thought of your apparent mistake. You guessed it was when he heard your accent.

“I- what?” you stammered down the receiver.

“Oh you poor thing.” He simpered over the line like some fake grandma comforting you after you tripped over. He was clearly having fun – you could just picture the fake pout he was putting on. “Like I said, I’m afraid you have the wrong number.”

No, this was definitely the right one. His attitude over the phone matched his attitude in the letter precisely.

You could hear him being to move to put the phone down, and you quickly called out. “WAIT NO!!” you cried, on the verge of an outrage. “I definitely put the right number in! Now, am I or am I not speaking to a Mister Boudreaux?”

“Oh! Do pardon me.~” He practically sing-songed. Oh, so now he was willing to listen? “Yes that is I, and to who do I owe the pleasure to be called by an English dame such as yourself?” the fake flirtatious tone had you picturing the faceless man laid on his front, kicking his legs as he twirled the coil between his fingers. You pushed that amusing thought down, however, when you caught sight of the piece of paper in your hand.

“I got your letter.”

“Ah,” It was like a switch was flipped, the man’s tone darkening slightly. “I see.”

Rereading the words this guy had put down, you could barely control yourself, and you pictured the time your mother had marched you down the lane to the house of a boy in your school year. That boy had given you a large bruise on your forehead, and instead of telling you that he did it because he fancied you, your mum decided to give him and his family the verbal lashing of your life. ‘I’m not raising you to snap at the slightest pressure like those London lasses, my love’, she had said, ‘You’re gonna go down kicking and screaming like it’s the last thing you’ll do’.

And that’s exactly what you’re gonna do.

“Right,” you began, your Yorkshire accent coming on full force. “I’m gonna need you t’ open yer lug ole, lad, cuz I dunno how you lot do customer service over here in America, but bein’ passive aggressive t’ someone who’s literally done nowt to deserve the absolute shite you’ve just given me makes you out t’ be a right knob’ead, you hear me?” You reprimanded. “If you don’t get your arse down to the shop by the end of the week, I’m putting ya mum’s radio down as unclaimed and selling it t’ the next person I see!”

You quickly slammed the phone down, too fuming to hear anything that Mr Boudreaux had to say. The only reason you felt a little guilty was that you knew nothing about this guy’s mum – she could be the sweetest woman in the world, and you just up and went and threatened to sell her possession! Though, with the way her son behaved, you would be surprised if she turned out to be just like him. Ugh, then you would be dealing with two of them.

Letting out a sigh, you picked up the phone again, instead dialling the phone number pinned to the corkboard on the wall. It rang for longer this time, and when it picked up you received a very loud coughing fit. When it died down, you finally spoke.

“Ralph I need your help.” You groaned, plopping yourself down on the spindly chair next to you with a defeated sigh.

“I’ve got the worst customer in the world.”

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

Does uh, anyone want more memes?

I hope you've enjoyed what I've given you so far, and I do apologise for the sudden dialect change, I was desperate for MC to finally speak the way I do lol. See you soon for Chapter 3!!

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[call-sign-shark]

Heaven in Your Eyes || Arthur Shelby x Reader!OC

Summary:  Danger lurks in every corner of Small Heath now, a place in which you're forced to stay. A place where Changretta and Section D are ready to get you. As you're trying to work things out with Arthur following your violent argument, Polly tells you something that will definitely complicate your role in the Vendetta.

Words: 6.8k

TW: Angst, mention of drug use, canonical violence, mention of murder, mention of self-harm, co-dependent relationship, grieving.

Notes:

✞ This is chapter 13 of the Arthur Shelby x You series Heaven in Your Eyes. Each chapter can be read as stand-alone but reading the whole series will make the experience far more intense and better.

✞ Quite a long chapter I admit, certainly the longer. The future chapters won't be as long I swear -- it's just that there was a lot of small "plot twists".

✞ Lucy is @emotionalcadaver's OC.

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The thick fog of the night danced in front of the car’s headlights, swirling at the wind’s discretion. The driver, keeping an eagle eye on your dainty silhouette, had started the engine as soon as he saw you storming out of your house, disheveled and crying.  He only waited five seconds before driving at a very slow pace, scanning the misty streets of foul-smelling Small Heath to find you. For a short while, he was convinced you had managed to escape from his watch and, admittedly, the persistent fog only complicated the task further. “Fucking bitch”, he pestered, turning left on the next street as the car’s wheels squealed against the wet concrete of the road but you didn’t hear, far too deafened by the unremitting drumming of your own heart. You stopped your race near a field, and sat on a small wall, feeling your body wear out now that the adrenaline's effects were dispersing. Once settled, you buried your face in your cold palms and squeezed your eyes shut. Where should you go? What should you do? Were all of Arthur's promises empty? What will happen to your marriage now? Will Tommy keep ruining your life? All these questions played on repeat in your skull, like the unsettling loop of a broken record echoing in a murky abandoned house. And along the haunting tune resonated your and Arthur's voice, from a not-so-far memory.

"I'll marry you one day."

"You're already married, Arthur."

"I don't bloody care, it's you I want ay. Fook Linda, fook the family, fook the rest of the world. It's you. It has always been you."

A shiver ran down your spine as your mind went back to the night you had this conversation. You could almost feel the warm sensation of his naked skin against yours, as he cradled you to his chest, legs entangled, and his cologne all over your bedsheet. The first time you made love.

"Listen, I know you're scared and I know I’ve got a bad reputation. But if you give me the chance to be your man, I swear to God you'll be the only one for me. Look at ya. How could I want another woman? They can all die. I'll never, fucking never, cheat on you."

"But with Linda--"

"It ain't the same. We're talking about you. My sweet angel. My soul mate. My saving grace. The other part of me broken self."

"... Alright. Promise it then."

"Cross me heart and hope to die."

"No drugs either? Like, a bit of snow occasionally never killed anyone but apart from this, no relapse okay?"

"No drugs but..." He paused, gently taking your hand in his, and kissed all your fingers one by one "But in exchange I want ye to stop hurting yourself. I saw the inside of your thighs so please, no more cuts ay?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die." You smiled, interlocking your little fingers together in a sweet pinky promise.

You pressed one trembling hand against your mouth at the bittersweet memory, tears tingling your eyes and blurring your vision. A muffled sob escaped from your plumped lips, then a second, and finally tears came in waterfalls. It's been a long time since you really cried, and here you were. Weeping like a lost kid.

Despite the darkness of the night and the patchy coat of the fog, the stalker caught sight of the long crimson streaks that ran down one of your frail arms. He moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue as his hand reached for the gun hidden in the glove box. Finally, he thought, he was a short moment away from a very sweet vengeance he had spent years carefully planning. A little excited sigh escaped from his mouth while his fingers caressed the cold barrel of the gun, already aroused at the idea of pointing the canon against your head the moment he would force you to get in his car. Even if he knew that the wisest thing to do after your capture was to drive you to them, he thought about going on a little stroll with you. Maybe he'll bring you to an isolated land to shove you on the muddy ground, and make you regret the day you decided to murder his brother in the small mountainous town of Haute-Falaise. Only after he had ruined you enough, stealing every ounce of your dignity, he would drive you to Section D's headquarters. With a bit of luck, he could keep hurting you a little bit more before they decide to pull the trigger and repaint the walls with the contents of your brain.

The roots of his hatred had started the day he realized that each time he closed his lids, his brother's eyes haunted him. Or at least, the two hollow and dark holes on his face since his eyes had been gouged out. There was also the blood, running from his mouth, ears, nose, and even streaming down his cheeks in crimson tears. Maybe he should have listened to the local police when they told him not to look at the corpse, but he had to do it. To his questions, even the forensic pathologist couldn’t answer. The only certainty the experts agreed on was that Christian’s lungs and heart had been smashed to a pulp from the inside and that he had stab wounds all over his body just like the other four corpses found. Five corpses and nothing else. The murderer was nowhere to be seen: no one had witnessed something, not even heard the slightest muffled scream. It was as if Death came, struck them with his scythe, and left without a trace.

Closer. A little bit closer...

You jumped at the sudden and unexpected sensation of a man’s hand squeezing your frail shoulder. As nimble as a cat and as quick as a lightning bolt, you jumped from the wall and unsheathed the dagger you kept hidden in your right lace garter, “Who the fuck are you?!” You hissed, voice burning with fury and frozen eyes darting at the stranger. You had been so quick to react that the man, vaguely confused by what just happened, found himself in quite a poor situation. Indeed, he didn’t expect a young woman to press the tip of a sharp blade against his carotid artery, ready to slit it.  God knew he was a fearless fighter, but you had been too unpredictable, even for him. And yet, he didn’t move nor particularly react despite the unpleasant surprise.

“Heaven Shelby?” He asked.

You snarled and bared your teeth at this unfamiliar voice calling you by your name. If marrying Arthur Shelby had taught you what real love was, you had also learned how to become even more deadly than you already were. Seemed like the Shelby's wariness had turned you feral.

“Make one more step and I’ll bleed you like a fucking pig.” You warned. The cold wind of the night blew in your hair, making your long white locks dance behind you like the ghostly veil of a dead bride. He frowned, unsettled by its uncommon color. What disturbed him the most though was maybe the pale and haunting color of your eyes, whose shade reminded him of two cursed aquamarine stones.

“Mrs. Shelby. I mean no harm, ‘specially not when facing such a young and delicate lady,” He started, the corner of his lips stretching in a fathomless smile despite the awe you inspired him. His small and cunning fox-like eyes squinted as he grinned. Somehow, he didn't seem to mind the blade that was still threatening him as if such a situation was casual -- and it was. If anything, he was impressed by your fierceness and the hatred that shone in your iris, which created a striking contrast with your little frame and doll face, “Well not as delicate as I’ve been told.” His smile widened at his own comment, “It’s dangerous out’here m’lady, I’ve spotted you by chance and thought I’d bring you home safe.”

“Dangerous.” You snorted, unable to hold your sarcasm. “Get the fuck away from me.” Each word from your mouth was dripping with caustic vitriol, leaving no doubt about your hostility and lethal potential. Judging by your quick and deadly reaction, you were certainly more than capable of taking care of yourself -- in truth, he could tell you wouldn't hesitate to end his life. But instead of backing up, the man carefully brought his fingertips on the shining surface of the dagger and pried it away from his throat in a slow movement without breaking eye contact with you.

“A car is following you.” He informed you.

“What?” This phrase hit you like a train, impairing the fierceness and self-confidence you’ve been showing. Surveying your surroundings quickly, you did notice the shadow of a car not so far away in the distance with its headlights shut and two glistening eyes staring at you from the driver's seat. The moment the shadow understood that you had spotted him, the car headed away from you in a loud engine roar and disappeared in the misty night. Fuck, the lad was right: someone had been following you. You sniffed, still in shock, and quickly wiped your tears with the brush of one knuckle before tricking your anxiety into focusing on your unexpected savior again. Your armed hand might be hanging loosely from your slim body, but your fingers were still firmly wrapped around the dagger’s handle. It was an expensive and deadly blade, gifted by one mysterious red-head woman whose hair reminded you of a wildfire. You had trouble remembering the name — Lucy? Something like this. What you knew though was that this troubled soul was called ‘Tommy’s little spy” by the Shelby's family, but since you couldn’t care less about your brother-in-law’s personal life you didn’t investigate further. The girl had been nice with you, that was all that mattered.

Even armed and feral, you felt vulnerable. At your big confused eyes and at the sight of mascara running down your cheeks, the man couldn’t help but feel sorry for you. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that you could pass off for his daughter or maybe because you were just a few years older than his own son? He slightly tilted his body to one side to let the weak beam of a street light disclose his face and overall appearance: long and messy gray hair, thin lips, small glistening eyes, and a mysterious and slightly disturbing grin.

“Mrs. Shelby, you should come with me.” He advised, then he extended his arm, about to lay his strong hand on your shoulder a second time when you stepped back to avoid his touch with a dissuasive hiss. He stopped, “Lemme bring you back to your husband. It’s Arthur Shelby, ‘m I right?” This time, he simply offered you his palm and waited for you to make the first step. You replied to his invitation by looking dagger at him: if your eyes could kill, this one would already be sleeping with the fishes.

“No.” You protested, as stubborn as a Shelby by birth. Your heart squeezed in your chest at the mention of Arthur, the thought of him coming back home all coked up and intoxicated was still fueling your rage like gasoline thrown at a destructive fire. The last thing you wanted at the moment was to see your husband. If someone had asked you, you’d have answer that what you sincerely wanted was John and his comforting arms. John and his beaming smile. John and his way of teasing you, his jokes, his softness, his cockiness... Yes, that was John you wanted, and you wanted him now. But the cruel truth was that John wasn’t there anymore. He was lying dead and cold in a morgue, leaving you with nothing but the insufferable pain of his loss and your head screaming. “I don’t want to see him.” You asserted and fled the man’s gaze, who soon understood the situation — with age came experience, and from experience he could recognize the aching expression of a young woman wounded by the hazards of love. These Shelby men… He thought with a certain disdain. Oh, he had not been irreproachable all his life either, but a woman’s heart was a gift he missed every day of his life since his wife’s death. The mysterious lad softly reached for your wrist and, not minding your feral nature anymore, he brought it closer to his face to examine the open gash on your porcelain skin.

“Did he hurt you?”

“I did this to myself.” You broke the physical contact right away and pressed your palm firmly on the still-bleeding wound. Adrenaline had pumped so hard through your veins that the pain had been numbed: only now your nerves were slowly wakening up,  sending unpleasant tingles where the cut was. While he observed you carefully, the man wondered why such a young and fragile thing like you would do this to herself.

“Seems like you had a harsh night, kitten.” He stated with a slight fatherly tone which surprised you before he noticed the goosebumps on your skin. The situation had been so exceptional that he completely obliterated that you were barefoot outside, in the freezing temperature of Birmingham’s night, wearing nothing but a short dress. Without further ado, the man took his long black coat off and put it over your shoulders. While you still shot him a suspicious look, the warmth in which he wrapped you felt good. Your muscles relaxed and your hand closed on the two sides you brought together near your throat to protect it from the wind. “While I get why y’don’t wanna go home, ‘specially if you fought with your man, you have to understand that being alone at night in Small Heath is not safe. Let alone currently, with Changretta’s men trying to murder you all. Maybe you’d like me to bring you to Thomas instead?”

A shiver ran down your spine at the simple mention of your brother-in-law’s name. The sensation of his lips against yours was still burning your flesh and even hours after your last encounter you couldn’t get rid of his cologne’s scent that was still lingering on your hair and skin, “I’d rather get fucked by a horse than deal with this bastard.” The man blinked in surprise. He hadn’t expected you to have such a foul mouth -- that was why let out a soft chuckle, to which you replied with a very faint smile.

“Alright kitten… I get it. No Shelby men. And what about coming with me to my vardo? My son has lit a campfire and he is cooking some rabbits. Would you like that?” He suggested, one brow raised and his fox-like grin widening almost to his ears. 

“You still haven't told me who you are.”

The man took off his brown hat at your clever comment, “Ah yes. Where are my manners ay?” His dark blue eyes glistened with a cunning gleam as he slowly nodded “The name’s Aberama Gold. Nice to meet you.” 

“You bloody idiot… Sit here and don’t do anything stupid anymore.” Polly instructed her oldest nephew as soon as he had entered the room, pointing to an empty chair with her half-consumed cigarette. All alone with Ada and his aunt, who were still waiting for the other guests to come, Arthur took place and kept his head down. Polly simply took a long drag from her black cigarette and exhaled, smoke coming out of her mouth like the Devil as she quietly observed Arthur’s eyebags and bloody knuckles. Soon after your departure, she had heard the cacophony of screams and thuds coming from his house in Watery Lane. When she witnessed all the blood, destroyed furniture, and shards of glass in the living room, she had been was convinced that Arthur had murdered you out of jealousy or something. Fortunately enough, the situation wasn't that dramatic -- at least for her. After throwing herself at her nephew and forcing him to calm the fuck down, she did her best to keep the oldest Shelby brother from hurting himself more than he already did. When things got quieter, she had even scolded him as she did when he was a kid — except that all the other sermons he had been through in his childhood were nothing compared to the anger she had unleashed when he had confessed about taking drugs again.

“Is she coming to the meeting?” She finally inquired, one of her elbows resting on the wooden table and her cigarette consuming itself between her fingers.

“Don’t know Pol.” Arthur’s usual loud and gruff voice was reduced to a shy, hoarse, and saddened whisper. No matter his attempt at distracting his mind, his thoughts always came back to you. Only you. He didn’t know where you were nor if you’d come back to him and that was slowly driving him crazy. Or more than he already was. Arthur felt his fragile sanity slipping through his fingers and knew it wouldn't be long before he went berserk if it turned out you really left. Also, he was growing frustrated and agitated about sitting here in the betting shop, waiting for a useless meeting to start instead of looking for you. All he wanted was to burn this city to the ground and make it bleed until he found you and brought you back home where you belonged. That is to say by his side. Nevertheless, Polly had advised him against this decision, convinced it would only fuel your rage against him even more. She wasn’t wrong though, you needed space.

The fierce Aunt stubbed her cigarette out in the nearest ashtray and leaned toward her nephew to grab his wrist with one of her cold and sly hands. It snapped him out of his crumbling mind. “You’re insanely lucky to have a woman like her in your life, Arthur. Don’t be an ungrateful cunt by letting your addictions ruin the most precious thing you have. The bland and momentarily relief snow grants you will never hold a candle to Heaven. Understand?” She warned with the same tone she used when a young Arthur came back home all bloody after fighting at school. “Hey. Look at me.”  The gangster sniffed and raised his steel blue eyes to his Aunt, his lips trembling and dimples appearing on his cheeks as he clenched his jaws. How right she was. Even when snorting a ridiculously huge amount of snow he didn’t feel better. In fact, his high had been insipid when compared with how you made him feel, blissed out and in pure ecstasy, when his lips crashed against yours. An unpleasant surge of electricity crossed his body at this thought as he remembered how his whole being yearned for you. “She’ll come back. I know she will, and you’ll make up for your idiocy. But let me warn you, boy. Witches usually don’t believe in second chances. If she gives you one, don’t ever fuck it all up anymore, or she’ll tear your bloody heart from your chest and smash it in front of your beseeching eyes. And you’ll consider yourself lucky if she only did it figuratively. ” At these murderous words, which felt like another stab, Arthur bit the inside of his cheek until he could taste blood on his tongue.

“I’ll do that.” He concluded, closing his hands in fists in a vain attempt to keep his temper quiet despite his spiraling thoughts. Thoughts that revolve around either you and how he would end his damn life if you ever left him. With a loud bang, a strong rope, or hell, his own razor blade, he didn’t care. Polly simply nodded and sat straight again as the other members of the clan entered the room one by one and took place, waiting for Tommy. At each footstep, Arthur raised his head with impatience, wishing it was you and internally screaming when he realized it wasn’t. HeavenHeavenHeavenHeaven… It never stopped, the thought of you compulsive and maddening. He cleared his throat and grunted nervously, his gaze glaring at an invisible dot on the wall that was facing him.

Tommy erupted in the room, a placid expression etched on his face as always, giving the impression he was in complete control of the situation. Was he? No one was truly sure about that. He stood fearlessly in front of the small crowd, far from being impressed by public speeches, and let his turquoise eyes wander on every face. Sometimes you wondered if Thomas Shelby would better drop the criminal life and start a political career. After all, he had all the required qualities: manipulative, sweet-talking, dishonest, and heartless. Tommy took one look at his brother’s face and quickly got a broad understanding of what had happened -- It wasn't particularly difficult though considering how Arthur belonged to the expressive kind. His eyes usually talked before he even opened his mouth. Yet he couldn’t help but wonder if it was his fault. If it was because of the... kiss, or his moment of confusion as he liked to call it. Yet, his sharp instincts knew that Arthur hadn’t been informed of this little event otherwise he would have certainly gone straight for his throat no matter the family blood running in their veins. Loyalty had its limits, and the limits bore your name. When he noticed your absence, Tommy discreetly clenched his sharp jaws for even if he loathed you, you had your place among the family for the meeting and the rest of them would probably not vote if you weren’t there. Nevermind, he thought. He had barely parted his lips when he heard the clicking sound of heels approaching and with the sound came your perfume. Just like Arthur, he immediately recognized the spring-like fragrances of your scent, especially now that he had buried his nose in your silvery mane.

Arthur’s heart made a leap in his tight ribcage as he saw you bathed in the warm light of the betting shop, dressed like the day you left the house except for your hair that was styled in two French braids cascading down the small of your back. He wanted to get up and embrace you, choke you in a hug, or fall on his knees to beg for forgiveness without minding the other people in the room but Polly’s strong hand squeezed his thigh to prevent him from doing so. Thus, all he did was just staring at you with pitiful and beseeching eyes. But you didn’t look at him. In truth, you didn’t look at anyone. Ignoring the burning sensation of Tommy’s turquoise iris following you, you passed by him and headed right to the free chair between Polly and Arthur. As soon as you sat next to him, he obliterated the world in favor of your heavenly presence as he usually did when you were around. The lanky gangster tried his chance and his fingers shyly searched for yours under the table. He was dying to feel your touch again, the coldness of your frosty skin being the only remedy to his troubled soul and broken mind. However, you denied him your affection by slightly shifting your hand away from him no matter how hard it was for you too. Your rejection stung him more painfully than a white-hot blade. Arthur bit the inside of his cheek harder but instead of making a scene or bursting with both rage and frustration, he tried his best to be a good boy and simply lowered his head as an unruly child who had just been scolded. His lonely hand rested on his thigh he nervously rubbed, desperately trying to chase away his sadness.

“John is dead.” Tommy exhaled loudly and made a short pause as if he was still processing the awful truth. John. Is. Dead. Your frail fingers fidgeted the fabric of your dress at Tommy’s statement, doing so only to avoid digging them into your own flesh and scratching it until you bleed. For a micro while, Tommy's self-confidence flickered, afflicted by his baby brother’s savage murder, before he regained composure and his eyes darkened again, “Esme’s back on the road with the Lees. She’s taken the kids. Michael is badly wounded, they say it’s 60/40 in his favor.”

“There’s no number, there’s no percentages” Polly cut him off, “So the hand, the hand beneath him stops his falling. Spoke to someone… My son will live.” It was more or less all you’ve heard of the conversation, for your mind soon drifted. As Tommy kept talking, your frozen eyes as glacial as Dante’s latest ring of Hell locked on your husband. Observing him with great attention, you tried to look for anything that would prove he was high. But despite a huge deal of effort, you didn’t see any grain of white powder near his nostrils. Arthur’s eyes weren’t dilated, his hands didn’t shake and his breathing was as soft as quiet. If anything, he looked awfully tired and miserable. To be honest, you could not help but think about how bad you missed him and how handsome he was in his suit even if your mood was still sour and resentful.

Arthur grunted, distracting himself from the pain by following the conversation and playing his henchman role. He took a golden bullet out of the pocket of his trousers and, holding it between his thumb and his index finger, looking at its shiny surface on which he had carved Luca’s name: “Yeah, Well… The bullet’s been written… It says Luca.” He paused, a glimpse of John’s face reflecting on the gold for half a second. “When the time comes and it will come… Me as the oldest brother —“ He swallowed again, John had disappeared, “Will put this bullet into his fucking head.” He concluded his speech by putting the said bullet on the table, the metallic sound echoed in the room and chilled you to the bones. Your eyes were still focusing on Arthur, but this time it was because you felt worried for him. Despite his rough and tough demeanor, the slight tremor in his voice and his need to take short pauses had betrayed his profound sorrow. You closed your fists on your dress because of how much you hated to see him in pain. All you wanted was to hold his arm and support him in these difficult times but you were certainly as pretty as stubborn.

“There’s been some bad blood between us.” While he had ignored you for most of his speech, Tommy’s intense gaze fell on you. Feeling the ice of his eyes burning you, you cocked an eyebrow. Was it a pathetic attempt to apologize? Or was he blaming you for it?

Bad blood… Polly scoffed. You snort. That was the least he could say.

It felt like an eternity before little King Shelby spoke again, not paying attention to his Aunt’s and your attitude. He looked at the ceiling, looking for his words then he went on, “Until this business is settled we stay together. We stay here…” To assert his claim, Tommy explained how the family would be safe as long as they stayed together, surrounded by an army of faces they already knew. His plan was simple: all the family remained together until they manage to kill Luca Changretta. Until then, no one was allowed to stray away from Small Heath. Arthur's first reaction following this suggestion was to turn his head towards you, looking with concern for far too well he knew you didn't wish to stay. A small sigh escaped from your plumped lips as you dived into his sad eyes, but you remained silent. Worst, you remained awfully placid and hated yourself for looking so much like Tommy for a short while. The rest bored you to hell and blurred into a mush of unintelligible bribes of conversation, except for the mention of Aberama Gold and Johnny Dogs’ complaints about the man. Savages he had said. The same word he had used the first time you met him. She's a freakin' savage, Arthur. An evil creature straight from the woods! Rolling your eyes, you bit your tongue to keep your mouth shut, and not scream at Dogs to tell him that Aberama Gold might be a savage but at least he took care of you these last few days better than any members of the Shelby clan did. At least not before interminable months of insults and death/suspicious stares. As the conversation went on, Polly put a glass of whisky in front of you but you pushed it away almost immediately -- you've been feeling nauseous since you left Watery Lane so drinking strong alcohol was the last thing you had in mind. Thus, you simply passed the glass to Arthur, who certainly needed it more than you.

“… Which means we have to agree to end this war between us.” Thomas Shelby might be addressing the whole family, but you knew his words were mainly aimed at you, which only made you move your foot impatiently under the table. Ending this war, of course, you thought. And what about the last two years of misery you’ve made me undergo each time we met? What about the moment you strangled me? And what about all the awful things you said after thrusting your tongue in my fucking mouth?  These would have been all the things you would have screamed at him if your legendary coldness had broken. Which, fortunately for everyone in the room, hadn’t.

Truthful to himself, Tommy asked for the family to vote.

“Peace.” Arthur finally decided, taking the glass and gulping down the amber liquid it contained in hope it would numb him. It didn’t. As surprising as it was to hear the oldest sibling choosing a non-violent approach to a conflict, you knew it was the best decision to make. So as everyone shared their opinion, you thought deeply about yours until your turn came. At first, you didn’t realize it was already your time to speak — only the sudden silence and the weight of a dozen eyes on you could snatch you from your mind. And among the pair of eyes, the one that burnt the fiercest was Tommy’s.  

“Now we’re asking for my opinion?” You said, sarcastic venom coating your words.

“Angel, please…” Arthur whispered, but you waved off his comment with a disdainful gesture of the hand. He currently wasn’t in the position to advise you. Not after hurting you like he did. 

“Truce.” You stated, coldly. The word left your mouth with the power of a guillotine’s blade on an inmate’s neck and surprised everyone in the room. In truth, they were all convinced you would disagree with the idea. Polly and Ada offered you a warm smile, while Tommy lowkey nodded in approval at your wise decision.

“Five for peace, two for truce.  Let’s get on with the war.” He concluded, turning around and walking out of the betting shop without one last glance at any of his family’s members: his scheming mind already focused on the next part of his plan.

As always, Tommy couldn't live without pulling the strings.

As the room cleared out and people left, you remained alone with Arthur in an uncomfortable silence. Because you had nothing to tell him, you got up from your chair and proceeded to walk to the exit without uttering a single word but the tall gangster caught you by the wrist, forcing you to stop. His long fingers closed around you a bit too bluntly than he intended though. You winced and as a result, he immediately let go of you, showing his palm open to indicate that he didn't mean to hurt you.

“Heaven, please." His gravelly voice called. "Enough with the cold treatment…  I can’t. It’s hurting me.” He said rather slowly, for putting words on his emotions was not something he was used to. Most of the time he just yelled and resorted to violence. , “I beg ye, go back home, angel.”

"You had promised me, Arthur." You articulated.

"And you had also promised me not to hurt yourself anymore." His gruff voice raised a little bit, threatening to turn into frustrated yellings because he didn’t know how to properly communicate his emotions, especially not when they were so obsessive and overwhelming. But Arthur didn’t want to scream at you so what he did was take a deep inhale to force himself not to be his usual loud and rude self. “You also promised to me, love.” He repeated in a calmer tone even if his quivering upper lip and twitching mustache showed how much he was struggling.

“So now we both understand how it feels when the other part of your soul breaks a promise. What a great step forward we’ve made.” That was mean. So mean you could barely believe that such an awful taunt came from your tantalizing mouth — but even though you instantly regretted it, you didn’t falter. No matter your mad love for Arthur and the untamable desire to throw yourself in his arms, you weren’t going to bend: things needed to be clear right now or they’ll never never be.

“I’m sorry, love. I’m fucking sorry alright?!" He growled, opening his arms as to silently ask you what he had to do for you to believe him. "I swear there isn’t a second during which I’m not regretting everything I did and said to you.” He finally admitted, long arms falling along his slim body, “I wasn’t meself even if I know this ain’t no excuse. I won't do it again. But…Please Heaven I can’t go on without you. And I don’t want to.” The only answer to his pleadings was a heavy silence combined with your frost-like gaze.

Arthur’s eyes lingered over your arm until they fell on the deep cut you had inflicted upon yourself. This is what it feels like when you take drugs. The powerlessness he had felt when he watched the blood running down your skin and soaking the fabric of your clothes was etched in his mind: he, who had promised to protect you against everything, realized he couldn’t save you from yourself if you chose to destroy you… And that powerlessness was the same you experienced when he egoistically relapsed. That was a harsh lesson, but a lesson he had learned.  “Please forgive me.” He begged and sucked in a sharp breath as if he was physically in pain, yet he still took your arm in his hand with indescribable softness and, with his free one, caressed your still swollen and red gash.

Your dainty body stood still, trying not to give in to the delightful sensation of his warm skin against yours but your heart sunk in your chest “You have to understand that you cannot act like a jerk, hurt me, treat me like shit and then come back with your puppy eyes, and beg for forgiveness. It doesn’t work like that." You said.

“So you're not coming back...” His voice broke, warm hand closing on your wound.

Your touch. I need it. It's a damn physical need.

“Don’t be stupid Arthur…” You sighed, the traits of your angelic face softening, “That’s not what I said."

"So please, love. Forgive me. I'll do whatever ye want. I'll get on my knees right now if that's what you want." His body shifted, closing the distance between the two of you until his arms wrapped around your waist. Butterflies swarmed in your stomach at the sight of his enchanting blue eyes, whose color was so different from his brothers. Slightly darker, far less colder. With your heart beating fast and your mind buzzing, you couldn't keep your fingers from gently grazing one of his cheeks. He half closed his eyelids at the sensation, the tremors of his body already calming down now that you were touching him.

"I don't want you to get on your knees. And I don't want to make a dog out of you like Linda did. All I ask for is my husband, who I know is a wonderfully strong man who doesn't need any chemicals to face the world. Not anymore." Your holy voice sounded like the purest melody in his ears like God's mercy whispered to him. Lulled by your words and strokes, Arthur would have purred if he wasn't already fighting against tears of relief.

"I've been such a fucking bastard... What the fuck is wrong with me eh? I still can't believe every mean thing I've screamed. The words I told ya, they're eating me sick brain." He gritted his teeth, "I don't fucking deserve you." Noticing that his breathing was getting faster, you wrapped his neck with your arms and lifted yourself on your tiptoes to lay a kiss on his chin.

"Stop it, Art. Don't beat yourself." You whispered in his ear, one hand lost in his perfectly slicked hair. "You want me to forgive you? Well; show me that all these promises you made weren’t empty. That our wedding can overcome everything, even the worst. Prove it to me." As you spoke, you softly rocked him from left to right, trying to calm his anxiety. A sigh escaped from your lips: you just couldn't abandon him as everyone else did. And part of you cursed him for making you feel so weak, especially when he was looking at you with his confused puppy eyes.

“I’ll show you then, angel. I’ll show you because without you birds don’t sing anymore.”  He nodded, softly rubbing his cheek against yours. You could feel his heart drumming against your bosom, crying for yours to open up to him again. “I'll show you I'm still a good husband." His lips trailed down your cheek to capture yours, but the moment he tried to kiss them you slightly turned your head to the other side to deny him access to your mouth. He clenched his jaws.

“Go find Thomas and organize the funerals with him." You simply instructed, taking a step back to free yourself from his arms. The lanky gangster nodded and left, head down and arms swinging as he walked away.

All you wished now was that he truly meant what he said.

All alone in the betting shop, you leaned against a wall and closed your eyes, needing a bit of peace to reorganize your thoughts and soothe your overwhelming emotions. Moreover, you had to come to terms with the idea of living near Tommy, here in Small Heath. It has been only weeks since you left your small house in the forest but you already missed it. Suddenly, you jumped at the feeling of two cold hands grasping you by the shoulders. When you reopened your eyelids, you were met by Polly’s motherly smile and dark gaze. Eyes so black it outmatched the bark of the most ancient trees you had ever seen. And just like these trees, they had something mystical, as if they were keeping the Earth's secrets and infinite wisdom. For sure, Elizabeth Gray was a woman of nature, born in the wilderness and raised among the soft whispers of the leaves. You even wonder if her body contained blood or if it was amber sap that was coursing through her veins.

“I’m happy you came back, white Devil.” She said with a soft smile. Since the day she heard Tommy spat the insult at your face, she decided to reverse the curse and use it as an affectionate nickname for you -- an idea you found absolutely delightful.

“I’m a Shelby now, everyone says so… So I suppose my place is here.” The melancholy of your grin betrayed your thoughts and Polly understood that only now you were starting to understand what bearing this family name truly meant. “I'm not gonna lie, Polly, I didn’t want to come. That’s Mr. Gold who convinced me I needed to. After hours of bargaining, he got me by telling me it would get under Tommy's skin.” 

“You call him Tommy now?” She teased, trying to make you smile but little she knew her remark had the opposite effect. You pursed your juicy lips and looked away.

“Something happened with him right.” The fierce Aunt frowned, observing your face as if she would be able to find an answer to her question hidden in your holy traits. Now sincerely concerned, her grip tightened on your shoulders, like benevolent roots anchoring you to reality. While she knew the difficult and rocky relationship you had with little King Shelby, she had never seen you display such a dreadful expression when his name was mentioned. 

“Something always happens with him anyway. But that’s not important.” You closed the topic, not wanting to talk about him any longer. The fucker had done enough to infect your brain, so you didn’t want to give him more space. "Do you think Johnny Dogs says the truth about the Gold? I mean, I'm not Romani but the Gold are nice to me and--"

"Heaven. Oh Lord." She cut you off, her smile swept away from her face so quickly you blinked several times.

"What's the matter, Pol?" You asked, eyebrows frowned.

Freeing your shoulders, her left hand grabbed one of your breasts to squeeze it softly while the right one felt your abdomen at different places, looking for something you didn't know. The more she touched you, the more her facial expression seemed concerned. Completely taken aback by her sudden behavior, your lips parted in surprise as you watched her.

"Does Arthur know it?!" She inquired, her dark eyes switching between you and your tummy.

“Does Arthur know what?"

“That you’re pregnant.”

✞ Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivate me and keep me alive, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language.

✞ taglist: @adaydreamaway08 @theshelbyclan @jomarch-wannabe @esposadomd @zablife @woofgocows @anathemasworld @anastasia000 @kate654 @kxnnxy @babayaga67 @meowtastick @shelbyssins @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @bluevenus19 @raincoffeeandfandoms @kishie8 @zablife @alexandra-001 @dearshelby @alexizodd @helen06dreamer @kmc1989 @emotionalcadaver @peakyswritings @peakyltd @bluevenus19

[imagine-a-life-like-this]

Veil of Shadows : Prologue

Word Count : 2.1k

Warnings : swearing, mentions of death, mentions of murder, drinking, weed, edibles, food, brief mention of sex

A/N : So it begins. A little slow, but it'll pick up, I promise! Hope you enjoy!

⚠️Minors do not interact⚠️

            Looking around, all anyone could see was carnage. Blood pooled on the floor, corpses of people who were once best friends, lovers. A group much like a family. One person stood amongst it all, tears pooling in their eyes, wondering how it could all end like this. The sun rising on what was meant to be the second day of their vacation, sirens getting closer. All the plans made left with the deaths of those loved ones. Where did it all go wrong?

            Everyone was excited. Since the start of university, the group of friends started a tradition. It started with twelve of them, Jia and Yuri not yet a part of the group. Yuri had come along the next year, and it was just the thirteen of them the year after that as well. Jia and Yeosang had only recently began dating when she offered her vacation house for the groups vacation tradition. How could they turn it down?

            Jia and Yeosang decided to drive there in a car by themselves, the other couples split into three cars trailing behind them. Mae, Wooyoung, San, and Des were in the car directly behind them, with Yunho, Mingi, Jongho, and Yuri following them. Hongjoong, Y/n, Seonghwa, and Kayla brought up the rear, making sure no one got lost or split off from the group.

            Y/n, Des, Mingi, and Yeosang were on call periodically throughout the drive, mostly for pitstop purposes, sometimes for exchanging snacks. It took a few hours for them to get to the house, but Jia promised it would be worth it.

            And when they pulled up, everyone gawking at the size of the place as they got out of the cars, they knew she wasn’t lying. “I asked my parents to make sure everything would be set up by the time we arrived. So no one should bother us the entire weekend.” Jia explained as they started walking up to the house, mansion might be a more fitting word, they would be staying in.

            By set up she meant everything being cleaned, the rooms being made up, and the fridge being stocked. And set up they did. It was ready for them to party the entire weekend and forget about all their problems, forget about looming exams, homework, and projects that were far from finished. For one weekend, they were just a group of friends with no responsibilities.

            “Fuck this place is huge.” Wooyoung said as he looked around. It was like a mansion out of a catalogue. High ceilings, chandeliers, winding staircase, a pool and hot tub in the backyard. It had everything you could want for a vacation.

            “Should we put our stuff away and get this vacation started?” Y/n spoke up with hopefulness in her voice. Her, Mae, Kayla, and Des were always the most excited to get started with the vacation. Ready to get so high they forget where they are.

            “Of course, my darling.” Hongjoong replied, wrapping his arms around her from behind and giving her cheek a quick kiss. Before she could protest, he grabbed her bag and ran upstairs.

            “Hey! I’m an independent woman!” She called after him as she chased him up the stairs.

            “Well I hated that.” Wooyoung joked. Mae glared at him, then looked down at her bag, and glared at him again. “Oh bunny, let me, your big, strong boyfriend, take that for you.” He said as he grabbed their bags. “After you.”

            “Good boy.”

            “Are there any normal couples in this group?” Jia asked Yeosang, but the others who had yet to head upstairs heard her. They all exchanged looks with each other, all knowing what they had to do.

            “Come here princess.” Yunho said to his husband. He was already holding their bags, he was asking Mingi to jump in his arms so he could carry him up the stairs like he did on their wedding day.

            “Always the romantic!” Mingi exclaimed before jumping into Yunho’s arms. And Yunho whisked him up the stairs.

            “Think we’ll be like that when we get married?” Seonghwa asked Kayla with a lovesick smile. Kayla looked at Seonghwa and then at the stairs, pretending to think for a moment, before nodding.

            “In our own way.” She added. He agreed, grabbing their bags, and gesturing for her to link her arm through his. He gave her a quick kiss before the two walked up the stairs, never breaking eye contact.

            “You’re not going to expect us to be like that, right?” Jia asked. Yeosang looked at the two other couples still downstairs, his eyes meeting those of the person he woke up next to early this morning, before they left him alone in his bed.

            “I can carry my own bag.” Des said as San tried to take it out of her grasp. He was pouting at her, but she wasn’t relenting, despite her thinking he was really cute when he pouted at her like this. “Fine, you can carry my bag. But only if I can carry yours.”

            “That defeats the whole purpose!” Des giggled, shrugging her shoulders. But he agreed, the couple swapping bags, and holding hands as they made their way upstairs.

            “Shall we?” Jongho asked, holding out his hand for Yuri to take. The couple decided on sharing a bag since it was only a weekend trip, and Jongho already had it in his other hand. Yuri thought for a second before going to his other side and grabbing the handle alongside Jongho.

            “Let’s carry it together.” Jongho smiled, glancing back at Yeosang one last time, before him and Yuri headed up the winding staircase.

            “God I can’t wait to get drunk.” Jia said exasperated, grabbing her bag and heading up the stairs, Yeosang following behind.

            Each of the rooms had a sign with names on them, which is how everyone found their rooms. Yeosang thought that was smart, but he never would have thought of that. Not that he would ever have the money for a place with more than one spare room. “The rooms are nice.” He commented when he and Jia got into their room.

            “I made sure we got the nicest room of course.” She smiled, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Nice, big bed. Soundproof walls.” He wrapped his arms around her waist as she brought him in for a kiss. “Your friends can enjoy the luxuries this house has to offer, and we can stay in here.” She says, kissing him again. But before it can get too heated, the door bursts open.

            “We’re going to be making some drinks, rolling some joints, and heading for the pool if you two want to join.” Y/n stood there in her swimsuit, a towel draped across her shoulders. She was always the one trying to include Jia in group activities, even when the others told her not to bother. Yeosang knows no one likes his girlfriend, but he’s glad that they’re always trying. If only his girlfriend could give them the same courtesy.  

            “We’ll change and be right down.” Yeosang replied, and Jia sighed, reminding herself to not date someone with a big friend group once this was over. The group are always hanging out together when they have free time. So why did they want to spend even more time together during a vacation?

            Ever since she started dating Yeosang, Jia has been confused how they don’t get sick of each other. She’s never known anyone that she’d want to spend every single day with. Never known anyone she wouldn’t grow sick of eventually. So she watches them in confusion, wondering how they can still be so excited to see each other.

            By the time Jia and Yeosang made it to the backyard, now in their swimsuits, everyone else was spread out across the yard. Some in the pool, some in the hot tub, some just standing around talking. But everyone had a drink of some sort in their hands, a couple groups were passing around some joints, and Y/n seemed to be passing out edibles among her little group.

            “You wanted a drink, right?” Yeosang asked Jia, pointing towards Wooyoung, who usually played the groups mixologist. He was making drinks for Hongjoong and Seonghwa when Yeosang and Jia approached. “He makes really good drinks.” Yeosang’s smile is met with an eye roll, and the three guys standing there all had to bite their tongues as to not say anything to Jia in that moment.

            “Anything to get me drunk.” She told Wooyoung, cocking her head to the side expectantly. Out of all Yeosang’s friends, Wooyoung has been the only one vocal about his dislike of her.

            “Are you nicer when you’re drunk?” Wooyoung asks with a sarcastic smile. Hongjoong shot him a look that was basically telling him to shut the fuck up, before looking at Jia and Yeosang, telling them that Wooyoung was just kidding around. Everyone knew he wasn’t though, but they’ll play along.

~

            “Can you believe the nerve of that bitch saying what she did?” Kayla asked, mostly directed towards Des and Yuri. Y/n and Mae were intrigued, having already been upstairs when Jia started with her commentary about the group.

            “You can’t just say that and not tell us what was said!” Mae exclaimed. The boys that were in the pool, looked over at the group of girls sitting in the hot tub, very obviously gossiping, and immediately knew who they were gossiping about.

            Jia was a popular topic among their gossip sessions, ever since Yeosang introduced her to everyone when they started dating. It was obvious that they didn’t like Jia, and Jia thought she was better than them. She was oil to their glass of water, they would just never mix. But for Yeosang, they were willing to try.

            The other girls filled Mae and Y/n in on what they missed, and Des continued with what happened after Kayla had left. Yuri finished the story with what she heard as her and Jongho were going up the stairs.

            “That bitch is honestly just lucky that murder is illegal because I’m sure there are plenty of people that would gladly kill her.” Des grumbled, taking a sip of her drink, glaring in the direction Jia was.

            “I know twelve for certain. Jury’s still out on Yeosang.” Y/n added, watching as Yeosang brought Jia another drink, a smile on his face that was met with nothing. Not a smile, not even a thank you, but he didn’t seem phased.

            “How would you do it?” Mae asked, a sinister grin on her face as she took a drink. Des and Y/n turned back around to face Mae, before exchanging looks with the other girls. “I’m kidding! Oh my jeez guys. I’m not that crazy.”

            “Wouldn’t this weekend be the perfect time though?” Yuri piped up, shrugging her shoulders.

            “Perfect time for what?” San asked, causing the girls to jump, making him and the others in the pool with him laugh.

            “Talking about something illegal? Why so jumpy?” Yunho joked, but the girls just rolled their eyes.

            “Whatever.” Mae mumbled, reaching over the small wall between the pool and hot tub, and splashing the guys with some water. San splashed water back, which made Des splash more water towards the guys. And they ended up in some kind of splash fight, screaming and laughing while yelling insults at each other.

            “You seriously need normal friends.”

            “Or you just need to learn to have fun.” Mae countered from the hot tub before splashing Jia. “That felt good.” Mae said softly to her friends, which made everyone start to laugh. Even Yeosang found some humor in the situation, giggling himself, and trying to lighten the mood by telling his girlfriend to just splash them back.

            “No fucking thanks.” She replied before storming back into the house.

            “Her loss. That was fun!” Mingi exclaimed, shrugging his shoulders, and leaving to get new drinks for everyone.

            “I should go check on her.” Yeosang said, his smile faltering for a quick second as he said goodbye to his friends, and heading back inside after his girlfriend.

            “I cannot wait until she’s gone.” Kayla said, rolling her eyes.

            “Dead or break up?” Yunho asked. The rest of the group, sans Jia and Yeosang, started to gather together, handing out drinks to everyone, and joining in the conversation.

            “At this point, I don’t care.” Kayla replied, while the rest of the group pretended to think on the question, before letting out a chorus of dead. And they all exchanged looks.

            “I’ll drink to that!” Hongjoong exclaimed, holding his drink up, and everyone else followed suit. “She won’t ruin our vacation. We’re all still together, and that’s all that matters.”   

back to masterlist

@mxnsxngie @maeleelee @hgema @itswaffleberry

[collecting-stories]

okay so i've never requested a platonic fic before, but if you're interested, i'd love to see a best friend!jake seresin x platonic!reader! i dunno anything fluff or just silliness with the guy :)

like when i think about being friends with him, i acknowledge 100% that he is a CertifiedPrettyBoy™ but he's just not my type 😭

but yeah, platonic!jake seresin x fem!reader please :)) i could see sarcasm thrown at him from reader and him spinning it into one of his flirting bits

I was super excited about this request because I'm ace and I love platonic/best friend fics so much.

-

"What do we need for fondue?" Jake asked, leaning against the basket of your shopping cart, flexing his arms when a woman walked passed, looking over at him and smiling. You rolled your eyes, you should have known that going shopping for game day would've been easier by yourself. Although you hated driving and Jake was always happy to drive. And brave the absolute headache that was Trader Joes on a Saturday. 

"Broccoli, some kind of bread, apples, sausage..." You read over the list that you had unfolded on top of a bag of bagels. You looked up from the list to see him looking behind him, still following the same woman, "Seresin, I swear to god-"

"I'm paying attention darling," he joked, turning back and smiling at you. 

"You are not paying attention," you replied, "but I will pretend that you are. What do you wanna get?" 

"Hmm," he hummed meaningfully before standing up straight, "broccoli, apples, sausage." 

"You just want me to have to go back over to the bread cause you know I hate that lady," you muttered.

"I think you come here too often if you have a literal vendetta against a woman stocking shelves," he replied, "but also, I saw the guy with the kids headed to the veggies and I don't want you to commit murder over a bag of tiny trees."

"A true american hero Hangman," you laughed, turning the cart in the opposite direction.

The first time you met Jake Seresin he'd been out with some friends at the bar you worked at and he'd laid on the charm, pleasantly surprised but unbothered that you weren't interested. From there, something of a strange friendship developed and eventually evolved into him moving in with you when he officially moved to the area and didn't wanna live on base. The whole thing worked out better than you ever imagined that it would, mostly because he was the first roommate you didn't actively hate. You even did things you weren't entirely excited to do, like host Super Bowl parties for his friends. 

"Look at this!" Jake interrupted your stare down with the bread shelves, trying to decide between the ciabatta and the french loaves. When you turned he was holding a chocolate cake shaped like a heart, "for Valentines."

"I have a date," you reminded him.

"On Valentines?" He asked, looking down at the cake and then back at you.

"Yeah remember, I told you? I literally put it on the calendar." 

"Then we can have it the day before." He insisted, putting it in the cart.

"On Galentine's day?"

"More like Pal-entines day."

"Ehh," you cringed and laughed when he rolled his eyes at you. "Did you get everything?"

"Yeah, and that girl's number too," he smiled, waving his phone at you.

"Naturally," you replied, "hey maybe you can share the cake with her."

Jake shook his head, "first date on Valentines? Yikes," he said and then, "you aren't going on a first date on Valentines are you?"

"No...it's like our third date." You replied, "I've literally detailed both previous dates."

"Yeah and you still haven't told me, your nearest and dearest friend, who it is you're going out with," Jake pointed out. He was right, obviously. You hadn't mentioned who you had been dating. You were usually too transparent with each other and you wanted to tell him it was just that...it was someone he knew and if things didn't go well or fizzled out or anything, you didn't want Jake to feel like he needed to get involved. You loved him and he was your best friend but sometimes he went into older brother mode and you didn't need him thinking he needed to fix something or move something along that didn't need to be fixed or moved along. 

"I will...but not right now, when we're supposed to be grocery shopping," you replied. 

Jake stuck his tongue out at you and grabbed the grocery list from the cart, scanning over the items you hadn't crossed out yet, "does this guy like football?"

"Why would that matter?" You asked, grabbing the ciabatta bread finally and putting it in your cart, "I don't like football."

"Don't like football?" He practically laughed out loud as he said it, "darling you were literally screaming at the TV during play-offs." 

"Um," you dragged out the 'm' as you shot him a skeptical look, feigning disbelief at his claim, "I don't remember that."

"I definitely remember that. Coyote as my witness, I have never seen someone that excited about football outside my dad," he replied. "Hey, it's not Coyote is it?"

"What's not Coyote?" 

"This guy you're dating."

"It is not Coyote," you replied, "I promise you will be the first to know if I feel like it's definitely going somewhere...and it won't be Coyote."

"Just checking." 

You rolled your eyes, taking back the grocery list from him, "grocery shopping Hangman, grocery shopping." 

[cillians-sweetheart]

𝓟𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓮𝓬𝓾𝓽𝓸𝓻𝔂 ☣︎ Chapter 25

Description: Johnathan Crane x Patient Reader. An 18 year old girl suffers from a mental disorder that Dr Crane takes an interest in, but It isn't just the disorder that catches his eye. Their love becomes so strong it drives her dangerously mad... more mad then she or him could ever imagine. 

ROMANCE + HORROR + SMUT STORY

No Batman and not everything about crane that's mentioned is correct to the actual character in DC.

TW: Violence, Sexual Content, Alcohol/Drug Use, Gore, Mental Illness, Parental Issues, Smut, Murder, Extreme Kinks (dom/crane, blood, choking, hair pulling, spanking, age gap, toys, dub-con and daddy kink) and Mention of Abuse, Assault and SA.

Not all warnings shown will be used in this exact chapter! Bold warnings are some to be expected throughout the chapter below!

"Now this process is long and gross so feel free to sit out" Johnathan I entered the empty asylum. He had the box in one hand and my hand in his other.

"Okay... are there other workers here?"

"No. No one else would be able to get in without me."

"Are the patients still here?"

"Oh yes"

"Who is taking care of them?"

"They will be fine for a few days" Johnathan and I enter his office where he lays down his things. "So you wanna come with me or are you staying up here?"

"I think I'm gonna look around a bit. Then I'll meet you back down there"

"You stay on this floor and this floor only unless its coming to me, Do not open any cells or doors and don't tease the patients."

"Okay."

"Good. Now go on. Meet me one floor down from here, room 213. Okay?"

"Yes" I kisses his cheek then left and began to stroll through the long, dim halls. My heels clicked and clacked every step.

"ROOF ROOF" An old man behind a cell barked at me as I walked past. His teeth were rotted and his hair and beard were white. He continued making animal sounds at me as I walked past. All the rest of the patients ran up to the edge of their cells.

"Hey, girl" An older woman called out to me as I was about to pass her cell. I stopped and listened. "You aren't supposed to be here."

"What?"

"You heard me.. You're gonna die in here. He will shave your head and make your pretty hair into a wig!" She laughed. I immediately began to walk away from the cell.

"Hey Nurse!" A younger man yelled at me. Younger as if around my age. He had a Boston accent.

"Not a nurse" I said back continuing to walk.

"Stop walking I gotta talk to ya. It's important doll face I swear" He smirked. I stopped and turned around, but kept my distance from the cell. "May I say you look like a model, gorgeous."

"Yeah okay"

"Oh I mean it sweetheart." He looked weirdly familiar. "You open this door here, I'll show you what a real man can do" He smirked.

"Ugh gross" I began to walk away again.

"Come on baby! I wont hurt ya!" I ignored him. "Y/N!"

I stopped and slowly began to approach the cell again.

"How do you know my name.."

"Oh come on you remember me don't ya?" He held his hand up showing the small circular scar. "Stabbed me with a pencil"

I saw it now. It really was the boy from my elementary school. Just minus all the innocence.

"How did you recognize me?"

"Hard to forget ya. You crazy bitch" He smiled.

"Why the hell are you in here?" I slowly approached the cell.

"After my mom made me move schools, we moved to Boston. I got hooked up on some stuff few years back and joined this gang."

"A gang?"

"Yeah yeah you know, butchering those who don't listen eh? Hear this, a guy didn't pay me once so I gutted him and hung him from a tree. Just everyday business." He smiled proudly.

"How did you make it back here?"

"Asylums are better here than Boston. The ones there are practically rehabs. Luckily judges let me pick which one"

"Oh.."

"So what you still some psycho?"

"Funny."

"Im serious, I mean look where we are"

"Im just visiting"

"Who, me?"

"No Im just here while my husband works"

"Husband?"

"Yeah"

"He one of the nurses?"

"No, head psychiatrist"

"Your joking, tell me your joking"

"No?"

"Dr Crane?"

"Yeah?"

"Damn, I will pray for you there little lady. That man is more of a nut case than most of the people here. I don't even know how he's still running this place." He chucked to himself. "But I guess them psychos go for each other right?"

"I will stab you again"

"Oh boo hoo would ya already? It's shit in here I'd rather be dead"

I looked down at my feet. "I should probably go now, wouldn't want my doctor to be worried"

"Oh come on, we were having fun!" He yelled as I began to walk away.

I was utter shock of what I had just seen, more so who I just seen.

On my way to the floor below I didn't stop for anything and just kept walking until I found where I was supposed to be. 213. I slowly opened the door to find a lab. Surgical tools, lights and machines scattered the room. Then I saw Johnathan come out from a corner.

"How was your tour?"

"Did you know that the boy I stabbed in elementary school was here?"

"Pardon?"

"He's a patient here"

"Oh yes, right. He was admitted before I even knew you. I must've forgotten to mention it."

"Oh.. okay." I closed the lab door and walked further in. "How is it going?"

"You can't see yet"

"Then why did you want me down here?"

"Just sit over there and don't look. I wouldn't wanna spoil your wedding gift" I grinned and sat onto a chair across the room. Johnathan had his back faced to me while he picked the skin off the skull.

"Why didn't you get that Randy guy to do that for you? Doesn't seem very fun"

"It wouldn't be as special if someone else did it"

I grinned and snuggled myself into the chair. My eyes continued to stare at his head, his back and his legs. He looked perfect even from the back.

"How about a short break yeah?" Johnathan turned around pulling his bloody gloves off.

"Thought you didn't need breaks" I smirked.

"From work I don't need breaks. This I wouldn't consider work, more of a personal job" He walked over to a sink and washed his hands. He turned back again and approached me. "Stand up" He reached his arm down. I held onto his hand and stood. Johnathan immediately pulled me into a deep hug. It caught me off guard as this much of affection was rare.

Instead of questioning it I wrapped my arms around him and laid my head into his chest, closing my eyes. His hand reached up my back and gently stroked my hair. I felt his lips gently presses onto the top of my head.

"Okay back to work" He snapped back into focus,letting go of me. He became so lost into the hug he forgot who he was for a moment.

"Johnathan.."

"It'll be done soon I promise" He took a pair of latex gloves from a box.

"No listen.."

He stopped. "What?"

"You don't have to hide what you feel. Even the scariest of people feel love sometimes. It's okay to hug you know."

"Im sorry but that's just not who I am. I lost myself for a moment" The elastic band from the glove snapped against his wrist.

"Yes it is. I know you want to hug and kiss me but you feel like you can't because it'll ruin your ego."

Johnathan turned around, facing me and crossed his arms.

"But it doesn't Johnathan. You can still love me and be big and scary if you want to. I want you to love me.. because I love you"

"I do love you. I'm doing this for you"

"I know. But just know you're aloud to show that love in more ways than just saying it. No one will stop you."

"Yes I'm aware no one will stop me."

"Good." I sat back down into the chair. "You can go back to work now if you want."

But he didn't turn back around yet he still just stood there looking at the floor.

"Okay." He finally, after thinking, turned around and continued.

[stilespeters]

SALVATION (series)

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5) (part 6)

pairing: colin zabel x reader

words: 3863

a/n: Im so excited for the next couple of chapters because reader's whole world is gonna turn upside down (again) plus, Kai is a piece of shit in this universe (multiverse?) he will show his wrath when he finally gets to shine and do what he does best🤭

summary: the killer is revealed, but Colin found something in room 64 in the Cortez that might twist the whole case. What happened in room 64? What did Colin see?

warnings: swearing, murder, switch from present to past

part 6: room 64

Thursday, two days ago 01:19 am

Location: Marie and Bernard Allen’s residence

“What did you see, Adelaide?” Colin asked carefully and the little girl in front of him looked up at the sky for a few seconds before answering. “I heard the ice cream song. I looked outside and saw a big car with ice cream on it. A clown was driving it. I love clowns.” She explained before rubbing her eyes. “Were you the ice cream man?”

Colin flipped to the new page of his notebook.

“Can you maybe describe him for me?”

She looked up and placed her index finger on her chin. In the meantime, he grabbed a recording device and started recording. “He wore a black jacket, and his head was gray. He had multiple heads. One face was happy and another face was sad. I don’t remember what the other two faces were. Oh, and all the faces had really long noses!” She giggled and Colin wrote everything she said on his notes. “He also wore a funny black hat.”

“Anything else you noticed?”

“Nope.” she placed emphasis on the p. She then yawned “Grandma, to be honest I am kind of tired, can I get ice cream tomorrow? Please?”

“I know sweetheart. And yes of course, we’re gonna get ice cream tomorrow.” The woman looked at Colin before he nodded at her, giving her a signal that he was done here. “If your granddaughter in any way remembers something else, something she left out just now, can you call me? It could be the smallest detail, if you hear anything, please contact me.” He handed the woman a card and she nodded.

Colin then walked back to the house.

“Janssen,” Colin walked up to the perimeter. “I got a witness mentioning something about a clown, she described it for me, maybe we can make a sketch and see if people recognize it. Someone had to have bought it somewhere.”

“Alright, send the description over and we’ll look at it. I can see if we can get a composite sketch,” Janssen patted Colin on his back “Great work detective. There isn't anything you can do at the moment, so why don't you go home and rest.”

“Alright, I’ll go through the files tomorrow. I can see if there are any more witnesses and I can thoroughly see if there are any correlations with the previous case.” Colin remembered the two invitations to the Hotel Cortez that were in the living rooms of the previous victims. Maybe Marie and Bernard also had an invitation somewhere. Once is an accident, twice is a coincidence, three times is a partern.

“I’ll call you when I have the results of the CLA, we’ll find a match of the DNA found and then we can look further into it. Send me the description of the clown’s mask and I’ll call someone to make a sketch.” Janssen walked back to the crime scene and Colin grabbed his notebook again.

Black jacket

gray head

multiple heads

different expressions -happy, sad etc

long noses

black hat

Colin sighed as he read it aloud. Where the hell could he find something like this?

--

Saturday, present time, 10:12 pm

location: the Hotel Cortez

After you showed Colin the list, you and he made eye contact for a brief moment. It didn't take long for you to know you were on the same page. You had to rush to Alma Irwin. You had to make sure she was alright, but you feared the worst.

Colin took your hand and together you ran through the halls of the Cortez once again. Your heart was beating erratically and there was sweat evident on your forehead. Your feet hurt like hell from the stilettos you were wearing, and after meters running, you stopped Colin. He shot you a look of question before you gestured to him to wait a minute.

After you crouched down to take off your heels, you adjusted the hair in your face, and you grabbed Colin’s hand again.

You decided to take the stairs, and when you reached the ground floor, you saw James March stopped talking to a man. He glanced at you and Colin who ran to the lobby, and you took one last look behind you before you ran outside. You could see in your last glance that James pressed his lips together in a thin line. He didn't look happy, sad or angry. He just looked. You were afraid for a second that he knew you had the guest list in your bag.

As the cold breeze hit your skin outside, you and Colin ran through the dark streets away from the Cortez, and a few people who were on an evening stroll raised an eyebrow at your dress and Colin's suit. However, you didn't care. You had to be as fast as possible. You were basically flying towards Colin's car.

“I know where Alma lives.” You said as you got into the passenger's seat, and Colin started the ignition. “She and her boyfriend own the Woodall Gasoline, a tankstation and auto repair shop. It’s near the edge of Brookfield Heights. I crashed my car into a traffic sign while trying to parallel park like a week ago. I went there just to get it fixed, my car is still there.”

“Alright, lead the way Miss Goode.” You typed the address of Alma and her boyfriend Kit's residence on the navigation and you tapped your foot onto the floor of the car. You were stressed as hell, since you knew Alma. Deep down you hoped that the list had it wrong, but after checking again for the 100th time, everything stayed the same. Alma was the only one who didn't show up and has an I as first letter of her last name. You tried to convince yourself that she may have canceled because she had the flu or something, but deep down a nasty feeling crept upon you.

Colin rested his hand on your knee to stop it from trembling, and you made short eye contact with him before he focused back on to the road. You got shivers as his hand rested on your thigh, and you started breathing steady again. After a short while, he retrieved his hand back to the steering wheel.

“The cops are on their way to the Cortez.” Colin spoke and his hands gripped the wheel tightly. His knuckles turned white. You frowned. “What? Why? What happened?”

“I went to room 64.”

“What did you see?”

Colin didn't answer, instead he clenched his jaws and seemed to be thinking long and hard. “Colin, what did you see in room 64?”

Colin didn't answer again, instead, he gulped and his adam’s apple wobbled. “I don’t know exactly, I’m still trying to process what I saw.” You could see he was visibly tense. His eyes darted nervously around, and you knew that you should leave it to him for now. He would tell you once he felt comfortable. It obviously bothered him. Seeing the reaction of Colin’s face by only asking what he saw, made you believe that it must have been something really serious. Whatever he saw in room 64 was enough to call the cops.

It felt weird knowing that the police would arrive at the Cortez soon. It was the opening week full of elites in the Hotel. Police infiltrating the place definitely did not look good.

What could he have seen in room 64?

After thirty minutes of driving, you neared the edge of Brookfield Heights. Alma’s home was in sight, and as Colin parked in front of Alma’s car in the driveway, you saw that there were no lights on in the home. It was nearing 11 pm, and it was already pitch black outside.

“Stay behind me.” Colin said as he approached the house. He’d rather have you stay back in the car, but he wanted to keep an eye out on you. Yes he knew that you could handle yourself easily, but he was carrying a weapon at the moment. He could protect you with it, and he’d be damned if he let you stay in the car if something serious really was happening.

Colin reached for his side, and when you saw the lantern illuminate it the slightest, you quickly realized it was a gun. You gulped at the sight. It wasn't like you’ve never seen a gun before, but seeing it again after so many years made you nervous as hell.

You didn't know if you were supposed to feel safer because of it, or more scared.

When you reached the front door, you saw that the door was ajar, and you stayed behind Colin as he pushed it open carefully. Your legs were kind of wobbly but you remained steady. “Alma?” he questioned. No answer.

“Ms Irwin?” still no answer. You two stood there for about five minutes before Colin walked into the house.

Everything was dark, and as you walked further, you saw a light coming from the kitchen and you heard soft music. Colin approached it slowly with his gun in his hands. Once you and Colin rounded the corner, you saw nothing out of the ordinary.

TRING

You almost got a heart attack as Colin’s phone buzzed. Someone was calling him. Colin quickly declined the call. Luckily nothing was happening, and everything looked normal.

That’s until you looked down and were met with the horrendous sight of a man crouching over something. The thing that stood out was that a puddle of crimson liquid surrounded the thing lying beneath the man, and your eyes widened.

Colin immediately held out his arm in a protective manner to shield you from the man, and he raised his gun. “Hands in the air, turn around slowly.”

The man slowly stood up with his back turned against you, and when he slowly turned around, his hands were covered with blood and his face was contorted in pure fear. You recognized him as the boyfriend of Alma, the one who was gonna fix your car. “It's not what it looks like. I saw her like this. I swear." He had a Boston accent and his words were slurred out.

When he didn't block the thing he was crouching down to, you saw what it actually was. It was a body. Not just some body, it was the body of Alma Irwin. You had spoken to her last week with her and you got a nasty taste in your mouth. You immediately covered your mouth with your hand and your eyes went wide.

“Hands where I can see them,” Colin stated clearly and the man on the ground began sobbing. “Please, it isn’t what it looks like.”

Colin still aimed the gun at him, and he grabbed his phone to call for backup. However, when he looked at his screen, he saw he got a text message from Janssen.

Got a call from the CLA, forensics examiner Anya Lewis. Call me ASAP, it’s urgent. We found a DNA match from the Bernard’s house

Colin immediately called Janssen back and still watched the man closely.

“Colin, we found traces of fingerprints at Marie and Bernard’s place, it matches the fingerprints of Kit Walker, the boyfriend of Alma Irwin. The cops are on their way, where are you?”

“I’m already here.”

Colin eyed you for a second before he looked at Kit Walker who looked like a scared puppy. He then lowered his phone.

“I didn't do it.” Kit let out in a silent sob.

Your eyes were still on the corpse of Alma.

You didn't know her that well, but you had small talk with her last week. It felt weird knowing that she was gone, murdered by the person standing in front of you.

It felt like you were standing there for eternity.

All you remembered was the room lighting up in blue and red lights through the windows, and the vague sounds of police cars. It felt like you were underwater. Like you couldn't breathe. The next thing you knew was three officers walking into the room and taking Kit with them. Kit looked back at his wife on the ground, and it looked like his heart shattered to pieces. He then glanced back at you and Colib, before he disappeared behind the corner.

"Are you alright?" Colin asked, his voice laced with concern. He held your arms steady so you wouldn't fall.

"Yeah, I'm- I'm fine." you looked him in the eyes and you gulped.

He held you closer in his arms and he then noticed you were trembling. He took off his black coat and hung it over your bare shoulders. It was too big, but it was comfortable and warm. You sank into the warm feeling of the jackwt. Colin was now only left with his white blouse, and it hugged his upper body perfectly. However, your eyes were still set on Alma, and you couldn't help but feel guilty. The goal was to prevent this from happening, but you were too late. Too late to save Alma.

"Y/n," You turned to look at Colin and he saw your eyes were glossy. "Let me take you home, it's been a long night."

You nodded, and he supported you by placing an arm around your waist and walking you outside. You still wore your dress and heels, and you saw multiple police officers look up at the two of you. It was kind of odd that two people dressed in attire were leaving the murder scene.

--

You opened your front door and stepped inside. As soon as the cold air left your skin, you could finally let out a sigh of relief. What a night this had been. You had attended an elite opening of the Hotel previously owned by your parents, you had stolen the guest list from the woman you helped become who she really is, you had been the first to step foot on the crime scene together with Colin, and you saw the person that was going to fix your car crouched over his girlfriend’s dead corpse.

Saying you were tired was an understatement.

You dropped your bag on the kitchen counter, and you looked outside the window to see Colin drive away. After he brought you home, he was called back to the crime scene, and he promised to call you tomorrow morning. He said that for now you needed to rest.

The weirdest feeling was knowing that you two had catched the killer. Something just felt weird about everything. It felt too easy. This person was too smart to just leave DNA at the previous crime scene, since there was no DNA found at the other crime scenes, and it felt really convenient that you two had gotten to the crime scene at the perfect time.

However, you didn't question it any further. It had to have been Kit. You didn't know the motive, but you knew that one person could be driven to madness fairly easily.

You walked upstairs with your heels in your hands, and your body ached for a warm bath. When you reached the first floor, you saw both Zoe’s door and Violet’s door were closed. You decided to enter Zoe’s door first, and when you opened the door a little, you saw that all the lights were out and that she lay in her bed. You heard her soft snores, and you closed the door again. You then moved to the other side of the hall.

When you walked to Violet’s door and opened it, you saw that her lights were on. She was seated next to her window with her cigarette in hand. For some reason however, you weren't mad. Usually, you'd scold her for lying to you, but at the moment you were too tired to start an argument.

Violet looked startled when she heard the door open and saw you standing in the doorway, and she tried to hide the cigarette. “It’s not what it looks like.”

It’s not what it looks like

The words that rolled out of her mouth were the same words of Kit, and it replayed in your head as you visioned him towering over Alma’s body. The way crimson as red as the color of your dress painted his face. It was a horrendous sight. When you closed your eyes, that was your only vision.

You stood there for a split second before walking into the room. Violet was scared of you, but as you stood in front of her, you held out your hand.

“Hand me the cigarette.”

She slowly reached her hand up to give you her cigarette, and she expected you to throw it out of the window again. However, once you had the cigarette in your fingers, you placed it between your lips. You inhaled and closed your eyes.

Violet was absolutely baffled to see you smoking in front of her. She had so many questions.

Even though so many questions had been answered tonight, it didn't feel satisfying at all. You knew that the killer finally got caught, the police were at the crime scene AND at the Hotel Cortez, but you couldn't help but feel like something wasn’t right.

You just couldn't help but wonder what Colin saw when he was searching for physical evidence while you were in room 53 with Liz. It must have been something big and serious, since he called the police.

So what the hell happened in room 64?

--

Saturday 09:46 pm

location: the Hotel Cortez

“You’re a good person, Detective.” you gave him a smile and he looked at the ground. Hearing those words come out of your mouth was different than when other people say it. Everything that came out of your mouth just seemed majestic.

“Now let’s get this list and figure out who the next target is, before we’re too late. I’ll go to room 53”

“Alright, in the meantime I’ll look around to see if there is anything suspicious in the hotel. There has to be some sort of physical evidence.”

“Okay, I’ll call you when I get the list.”

Even though he only knew you for a few days. He felt drawn to you, you had this aura that attracted him. He was intoxicated by your presence and he somehow felt like he knew you for years.

That's the reason why he wanted you to be safe. He trusted you, yes. It were others that he didn't trust.

Before you could walk away, he grabbed your hand and pulled you back. His touch was like velvet silk and you looked at your intertwined hands.

“Please, Y/n. I know you can handle yourself but I… I…” he didn't finish his sentence. “Just be careful, not everyone is as nice as they seem.”

“I know, I’ll be careful.” you gave him a smile, a smile he adores. “You too, stay safe.”

Colin nodded “I will. See you soon.”

As he saw you leave for the elevator, Colin thought about where he could look first. He scanned the room with his eyes and he saw James March already returned from whatever Iris asked him. He didn't like James one bit. Colin was usually the person to give people the benefit of the doubt, but after James slipped out information that hadn't been released to the public yet, he felt weird about him. Especially when James flirted with you in front of him. Okay, you and him didn't date, but James didn't know that. And still he had the nerve to kiss your hand in front of Colin. The problem was that Colin didn't know if it was just James' charm or because he was taunting him.

James looked angry about something as he was talking to a woman with platinum blonde hair. He seemed to be in some kind of argument with her, and as Colin narrowed his eyes, James suddenly looked his way. Colin immediately turned to look at something else and cursed under his breath.

His head snapped the wrong way, however, since he was now looking at a lone woman who stood next to the bar. She eyed him, and when she saw he made eye contact, she made her way over to him. Colin cursed again as he quickly glanced away again.

He suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder and a presence next to him.

“Hello, Mr. My-date-ditched-me.” She tried to joke but Colin didn't know if she was serious or not. “In need of a companion?”

Colin didn't give her attention and instead looked at the vacant spot where James just stood. It was almost as if he could teleport.

“No, sorry.” he mumbled and she clicked her tongue. “That’s a shame, a handsome man like you shouldn't be alone on a gorgeous evening like this in a beautiful place.” Colin didn't know what to say to that. “I don't have any money.” Colin referred to the other men who were loaded.

She laughed at that like it was the funniest joke in the world and she ran her fingers on his chest. Colin felt uncomfortable. Sure, she was pretty, but she wasn't you. And the way she acted made him feel kind of weirded out.

“Excuse me.” he said as he tried to pry her off of him and he heard her scoff. However, that was the least of his worries, since he now had to search for James March.

After Colin lost sight of James he just decided to look for anything suspicious. Anything that was out of the ordinary. Colin was walking through the endless halls of the Cortez as he tried to find something. He didn't know anything of how the Cortez was structured, and so he cursed under his breath that you and him split up. If you were there with him, you could've shown the way. It felt like he was lost in the halls, as if the walls were eating him up.

A nasty feeling crept up on him when he thought about you in room 53. Should he have left you there alone? Again, he knew you could handle yourself, but he just wanted you safe.

That’s when he suddenly heard the deep voice of James, and Colin stopped in his tracks and stepped back to stand behind the corner to be out of sight. When Colin peeked, he saw James enter a room. It was room number 64.

Colin stayed put behind the corner of the hall. He heard nothing, and when he stood there for several minutes, he sighed. He was aout to walk back, but he stopped again in his track as he heard the door open. He peeked again and saw James marching outside of the room with his phone against his ear. He seemed angry and annoyed again, and he walked through the halls as his voice raised.

When his back was facing Colin, Colin tiptoed to room 64 and just when the door was about to close, he slipped inside.

Compared to the hallways, it was really cold inside of room 64. It was clear that it was the room of James March, since there was a photograph on the small table against the wall, that showed James standing next to the Cortez while it was still being built. Colin saw more photographs of James on the wall. There were only pictures of him in suit. When Colin looked around once more, the right side of the room looked a bit like an office. There was a laptop and papers on the desk and a bookshelf on his left.

Colin didn't see anything out of the ordinary, and he was afraid that James could be back any minute. He unfortunately didn't have any success, so he hoped that you had more luck.

He leaned against the desk and tapped his foot, and when he stood up, he knocked the cup that stood tall on the desk behind him. He cursed as his reflex tried to correct it, but he was too late. The cup fell down with the head towards the laptop. How was Colin gonna explain that coffee spilled on James' laptop?

However, when he widened his eyes, his scared expression turned intl a frown. No liquid came out of the cup. Instead, the bookshelf on the left side opened.

“What the-” he muttered and he slowly moved to face the bookshelf. All he saw was black, until his head looked down. He saw a set of stairs and a light. With adrenaline running through his veins and his heart beating erratic, he slowly walked down the stairs.

How was this even possible? Why would there be some sort of basement in a hotel room?

Colin was faced with another big book shelf as he stood in the room, and as he made his way around it, he saw a brown couch in the center. There were some cabinets against the wall. On the right was a table with two chairs, and a well lit lamp, and in front of the couch was a tv. It looked kind of like a mancave.

Except, there was one thing that Colin immediately noticed when he walked down the stairs into this weird room. It was an object that caught his eye that lay on the small table in front of the tv.

He walked towards it and crouched down till his face was at level with the object. In the bright light of the lamp above him, he could clearly see what it was. However, his mind couldn't seem to comprehend it. It couldn't be real...

It was a mask, but not just some mask. It was A gray clown mask with four different face expressions and a long nose with a black hat.

Thursday, Colin had given the descriptions of the mask to Janssen, and he said to get an Composition sketch of the clown's mask, but he hadn't gotten word from Janssen. But staring at the clown's hat right now, made him 100% sure that this was the one the little girl was talking about. Colin stood there for a short while to take it all in, and he gripped the mask tightly. It was as if he was afraid that it would slip out of his fingers. It was as if he was afraid his mind was playing tricks on him. But no, this was solid matter in his hands.

He fisted his phone out of his pocket, and he then dialed the authorities. This was enough evidence to link James and the Cortez to the murders.

“My name is Detective Colin Zabel, I need immediate backup. I’m at the Hotel Cortez.”

Colin gulped and he started to feel really warm all of the sudden as he kept staring at the faces of the mask. The expression that looked at him was the sad face. His mouth was shaped in an U shape but downwards, and it looked menacing in this light. Was this the mask of James March? Was James the person in the ice cream truck?Colin scanned the mask, each of it's faces until his hands reached into the hat. He pulled out a strand of hair.

A strand of long, blue hair.

Colin carefully picked it up and looked around for some sort of bag. This was evidence that should be restored. He rushed to the cabinets that stood against the wall, and as he opened them one by one, he saw a box with ziplock bags.

Luck was on his side today.

He carefully laid the blue hair in the small bag, and placed the rest of the box back. He then placed the small bag in his pocket and scanned the room one more time. His eyes settled once again on the gray mask, and Colin felt weirded out. It looked so... disturbing. Could it he true that the person who wore this, killed Marie and Bernard, plus all the others? Why would someone get off on that?

Colin felt like the walls were shrinking. He didn't want to be here in this room any longer. He rushed upstairs and walked to the door of the hotel room. He'd wait for the authorities to arrive. That's when his phone buzzed. He shrieked at the sound. It wasn't that loud, but due to the previous silence, it was as if it was a bullet next to his ear. He looked at the screen and your caller ID was visible. He immediately pressed his phone against his ear and walked outside of room 64. He then heard you suddenly yell his name through the phone.

"Colin!"

Colin immediately stopped in his tracks. “Y/n? What’s wrong? Are you okay? Are you hurt?” He started walkinf through the halls with his phone to his ear.

“No, everything is fine, I just- I know who the next target is.”

“You saw the list?”

“Yeah, I’m on the second floor,”

“So am I.” Just as he said that, your figure appeared from behind the bordeaux walls, and you both stood in front of each other, about 5 meters away as you both lowered your phones.

Colin saw that you had the list in your hands and you then both ran towards each other to meet each other in the middle. He stopped in front of you and saw you were catching your breath. Your hands were placed on your knees and you breathed heavily “I know who the next victim will be.”

Colin's eyes widened “Who?”

“Alma,” you said “Alma Irwin.”

Colin’s heart beated erratically and he had his hand over the small bag in his pocket. In that bag was the blue strand of hair he found in the mask. He didn't know what he was gonna do, all he knew was that Alma was in danger. And so he grabbed your hand and together you ran away. He was going to get to the bottom of this.

Saturday, present time, 11:32 pm

location: Colin's car

After he had dropped you off at your house, Colin watched as you closed the door nehind you. He wanted to make sure you were safe inside before he'd drive off.

As he saw you stand in the kitchen, he grabbed the bag with the blue hair from his pocket. He couldn't help but wonder to whom it belonged to.

Whose hair was in the mask? Why was it blue? James and Kit certainly didn't have blue, long hair, so who could it possibly be? Colin didn't know what it meant. All he knew was that it couldn't be good.

Something just didn't make any sense about Kit being the killer. But then why was his DNA found at the previous crime scene? Was he being framed? It was plausible, but why would someone do that?

There were just so many questions with so little answers. Colin knew that they had enough evidence to claim Kit as their killer, but something deep down said that that wasn't right.

Colin tried to push those thoughts away but they kept resurfing. It was plaguing his mind and he rested his head against his steering wheel.

He knew that there was only one way to find out to whom the blue hair belonged to. He grabbed his phone, dialed a number that he hadn't called in ages, and he waited for a response. It was a woman he met the first day of his training as officer. A woman who worked as a Crime Laboratory Analyst. When he finally got her on the line, he cleared his throat.

"Hey, uhh it's Colin. I know it's been a while, but I need to ask you a favor."

"Holy shit, Colin fucking Zabel, It's been a long long time since I heard your voice," Colin heard her chuckle. "What kind of favor?"

"I need you to run something in the database." Colin stared at the blue hair in his hands, and the woman on the other side of the line clicked her tongue. "You know what, why not. It'll be just like the old days."

[moon-spirit-yue]

Rayaari pregnancy headcanons for the soul:

Namaari was the one to bring up the idea of kids a couple years after they got married

She’s always known she wanted a kid or two

Raya was pretty apprehensive to the idea at first, mainly because she lacked a mother figure growing up and was worried she’d be a bad mom because of it

(Boun and Noi softened her up to the idea because she loves them more than she likes to admit)

After much reassurance, Raya was on board on the condition that they would only have one

Namaari was more than okay with that

So they started looking into adoption for obvious reasons but they’re a little sad they can’t have a child together that’s biologically theirs

Raya mentioned it to Sisu one day so then Sisu was like “oh don’t even stress we have magic for this very reason! We’ve helped plenty of same sex couples have bio kids before the Druun”

Raya brought it up to Namaari and she was all for it

They ultimately decided Raya would carry the pregnancy. A big reason is because of how much of a workaholic Namaari is

When Raya actually becomes pregnant Namaari is SO supportive but she is also SO protective. Like Raya simply does not leave Namaari’s sight

Raya winced one time because the baby kicked and Namaari sprinted her down to the emergency room

“MOVE BINTURIS MY WIFE IS IN PAIN” “can you maybe chill babe-“

Namaari is a worried wife

Raya also experienced INTENSE mood swings

She will go from laughing to crying to murderous to apologetic in the span of three minutes

Namaari is very good at soothing her

“Maari? I’m sorry for, ahem, threatening to shove you off a five story building” “Oh don’t worry about it, it’s like we were teens again. I enjoyed it very much”

Namaari telling Raya how beautiful she is 24/7

“Why are you staring at me, you freak?” “Because you’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen” “I’m the size of a planet” “I know what I said”

Raya gets very irritated when she can’t do things she typically would. Not being able to train slowly drives her insane

“I WANNA PUNCH SOMETHING! I WANNA SWING MY SWORDS” “Raya you are in your third trimester DONT SWING SWORDS”

The serlots become Raya’s bodyguards. She is the queen of the kitties

Tuk Tuk gets annoyed that other animals follow Raya around like cmon he was there first

During the actual birth Raya cusses Namaari out so hard

“I SWEAR TO GOD IF THIS BABY INHERITED YOUR BIG ASS HEAD I AM RUNNING AWAY TO JOIN THE CIRCUS” “Okay, that’s fair, I completely understand”

(Benja had a really hard time in the delivery room because it reminded him too much of when his wife was in labour but he stuck through it)

It was long and difficult, but they both ended up being okay

Everyone in the room was crying

Namaari was probably crying more than anyone tbh

“I just- I’m- I can’t” “There there, dep la. There there”

Raya held her first and then she started crying more too

“I was so worried that she was going be born with like 18 fingers and 23 toes. She’s actually really cute for a baby that was just born” “We do have superior genes”

They’re a happy family that love each other very much!

[our-future-is-up-to-us-2]

Chain Reaction

Kinda just posting fics on both Tumblr and AO3 now? It's fun <33 (I've posted WAY MORE on my AO3 tho, and I'm consistent there)

BUT BUT BUT IT'S ANOTHER DAY OF THE JACKAL FIC, YAYYYY!!!

PLEASE BEWARE THO. SPOILERS FOR EPISODE 8 ARE AHEAD. IF YOU DON'T WANNA BE SPOILED THEN DON'T READ THIS <3

Word Count: 878

Relationships: Bianca Pullman & Vincent Pyne

Warnings: Murder, blood, canon-compliant things related to episode 8 (which are triggering to most but I won't spoil)

~ Read the fic under the cut ~

“Hey, hey– Bianca. Listen to me. Listen to me, I swear to god, you’re ok!” 

The bathroom is cramped and she is shaking, trying to breathe again. She’s spinning out of control, and she hates every second. How the fuck does this happen?! And to her, of all people. 

It drives the knife right in. 

The images flash through her mind, unrelenting: Larry, there, in prison, actually talking to her, talking to her– And she swears she hears something rattling, but that could be anything, anywhere. And the poor guy scoffs at her and refuses her help, her genuine check-in on his life and wellbeing. 

Well, so much for a truly spoken apology. With her reputation, it doesn’t get her anywhere. 

It’s fair enough that Bianca Pullman, black, woman, MI6, is treated poorly. People look the other way. Most don’t expect someone like her at the investigative helm, and the rest don’t expect her to be this fucking ruthless. 

It’s in her nature, with what she’s surrounded by, and what she’s dealt with. 

This mission is worse than the last, though, by far. Her determination to track down The Jackal has led her to murdering a family, one by one. 

Emma was the first to fall. A cardiac arrest killed her, but who got her into police custody in the first place? 

Second was Alison, if she even remembers correctly. She remembers the clouds forming in the sky, grey and dismal, as they inspect the hotel where her body remained. 

“Yeah,” Bianca had said, “That’s Sparrow. My asset.” 

Not just an asset, a friend. But it doesn’t feel like that. 

She only fell thanks to Larry, and Larry wasn’t even the next one to go. 

Norman Stoke. The gunmaker. Right, he was a fine fellow. Taking his sweet time in Belarus, only to rush like the wind… Hosting The Jackal in his company, too. 

She wonders, in that moment, how people even become friends with an assassin. 

Someone killed Norman before they could get him to talk. She shudders at those dull tones that rattle through her skull, “ I don’t have the foggiest idea what you’re talkin’ about… ” 

And finally, Larry. Brothers to the end, they were. 

And he admitted it to Bianca, exactly what she’d done: The connections, she’d used Alison to get to Emma, and vice versa, and the same cycle with himself and Norman. 

That drove him to one place, a place she didn’t expect him to go. 

The rattling noise grew louder, until the man yelled something, and he was gone. 

‘Rattling noise’ was, of course, the cause of death. 

The blood is on her hands with that one, well and truly– 

“I’ve got you, Bianca.” Vincent has to repeat, “You’re in a fucking bathroom, with me, and nowhere else.” 

The MI6 agent gasps and rests a hand over her heart, hearing its erratic beats. She is alive. She is safe. Her best friend is here. 

“Fuck…” She whispers, tears blurring her vision, “Vincent, you don’t get it, I’ve got blood on my hands. Fucking blood! ” 

Vincent takes a deep breath, holding her hands tightly. He only does so because the blood has been washed away. Because Bianca stood at the sink and let the water run and did not remove her hands for thirty-odd minutes. 

“This job is difficult. It’s complicated as fuck, and you of all people would know that. I’ve never seen you this affected before.” His eyes narrow while his voice softens. 

She shakily nods her head, “I wonder why, Vince. Everything’s finally caught up to me, and I thought I’d fucking escape it! God!” 

“But you’ve dealt with the targets constantly. When you know nothing about them, you take hits, you do whatever is necessary, easy. When it’s your next-door neighbour, it’s harder. And then, imagine if it’s– I don’t know, your mum.” 

“ Bad example. ” Bianca hisses, giving his hands a forceful squeeze as though to punish him, “ Really bad example. And now I’m all out of shape, and it’s like I can’t go on.” 

“You can go on, though. I know you can. You nearly got shot the other week and took it like it was a regular Tuesday!”  

“Because it was a regular Tuesday, Vince, but this?! It’s hardly the same.” 

He lets go of her, gives her the distance she must be craving. The last thing that Bianca Pullman is, is touchy-feely. But Vincent knows her better than anyone, knows her limits and what is safe. 

“I’ve got something that might help.” He steps back towards the bathroom door, “What if I told you I had Alexander Duggan’s file in Conference Room Two?” 

Her eyes brighten as she looks down at her hands. They’re shaking, of course. She balls them into tight fists and sucks in a breath. 

“Don’t fuck around with me, Vince.” 

“No, I’m serious.” He says, “With Isabel and Osi, probably. We can always reschedule if you need more time. You’re entitled to more time.” 

“Fuck it.” She sighs, motioning her head towards the door, “You lead the way. Fucking need some advancement on this.” 

“To clear your head?” 

“Yes,” She hums, cracking a smile as he holds the door open for her, “Yes, to clear my head, mate. Why the fuck else?” 

[tic-toc-clock77]

Some of my backstory mems as a Clockwork fictionkin(⁠◠⁠‿🕑)

Disclaimer: This is NOT a rewrite, as that would be against Clockworks creators wishes

Trigger warnings: physical abuse, child neglect, stabbing, murder, attempted murder, bodily mutilation

Hell started early for people like me. I was born to a man and a woman, they were unwed, I was a bastard. They named me Natalie and from birth, like everyone else, I was already dying.

I was left with my mother since I could remember. I was neglected harshly by her and learned to fend for myself from a young age and I also learned to hate the womb I was born from.

I had several issues from birth, such as partial blindness in both eyes and a weak immune system which coupled poorly with the neglect. I was hospitalized a lot for various sicknesses I never understood.

Children at school would stare with judging eyes at my bodily scars whenever I went if I wasn't hospitalized or my mother was too lazy to take care of her child.

I stayed at that school for my entire school life until high school but there was a brief intermission when my life got genuinely interesting aside from the hate I felt daily; I met a girl.

Her name was Mia, Mia was cool. She had dyed hair at the tips which were pink and we met when we were 10 and 12. She was older, cooler and more admirable than me. I idolized her. She loved to draw, I learned to draw, she swore, I started to swear, she loved one thing, I loved it too and then, she began to talk about murder, I listened. I told her about my hate for the passage of time and she listened...

She taught me it was okay to disrespect the people who wronged me, and I did as she did.

She knew I would follow like a dog. As a test of my dog adjacent loyalty, she took me out during time in between classes and decided we would play a "game", I got pushed around and roughed up, kicked in the stomach, back and chest repeatedly where all my scars were. I moved on quickly from this, deciding it was "just a game." And stayed...

But...eventually, my loyalty wavered I did something wrong. I dyed the tips of my hair like hers and to her, it was "her thing" and the vengeful thing hatched a plan.

She came to school and found me one recess, taking a switchblade, she stabbed me in my left eye and gouged it out as revenge. I was found when she lied to a teacher that we were playing and had accidentally stabbed me.

I got rushed to the hospital and the healing process was slow for my eye. In the time I spent hospitalized for the attack, I listened to a steadily ticking clock. Clocks had always annoyed me and fueled my hate of times passage then, I finally realized...this is life; life is hell and it never ends, time pushes you forward into an uncertain, unforeseen future...I began to hate Mia, I began to hate time, I hated my mother more and for years, I was filled with seething hate and pain.

Years later, I was 15 and attending high school. Mia and a gaggle of friends she kept would mock me and my already horrid sight, not helped by my eye being stabbed out which was currently covered by an eye patch.

Home was no better, I was doing my mother's groceries, I was doing dishes and cooking and cleaning every day and then every night, I listened to a clock, ticking forever onward and it was driving me insane.

My love of art never wavered, even after it being "Mia's thing". One project required stitching details. I pricked myself on a needle slightly and my entire body responded with a rush of adrenaline, so I pricked myself again...and again until a teacher caught on and sent me to the nurse for the wound.

The nurse treated me and decided it'd be better if I was sent home. Needle and thread still in my pocket, I went back and that night, sat on a stool in front of a vanity, staring into the mirror and deciding to make myself into the art project.

I threaded the needle and stuck it into my face, just on the end of my mouth and began to stitch a pattern of x's all the way to the back of my jaw and did the same with the other.

The adrenaline was so high I didn't sleep that night nor did I clean the blood and with mom sleeping the next day, I was never seen leaving to school.

Art was my first class and as I wandered into it, I was called for my project and giddily went up and removing my hood to allow my face to be seen, I was immediately sent to the office where my mother was called and I, sent to a hospital to have them removed.

In the hospital, I was put under for the procedure of removing the stitches and without consent, due to my decreased sight, another operation was performed on my available eye.

When I awoke in the night, a new feeling of adrenaline pumped into me. I awoke without anyone around and stared into the bathrooms mirror; my stitches were all intact but my eye was a starkly different shade of green, it was bright and luminous and it flickered in between luminosity and it's regular deep green from before and...I could finally see clearly out of it.

A nurse had found me and put me back on the bed, she pulled out a box and in it, contained a present from "a girl"; a pocket watch. I knew it was from Mia because inside was a note detailing her knowledge of my hate for time's passing, a token of her cruelty. The hate I choked down for years bubbled inside me and once the nurse left, I stayed awake staring at the ceiling, listening to the watch, watching my eye's light flicker against the ceiling and planning my next move. Taken home the next day, I bubbled as I walked into the living room, late afternoon with a knife in hand. As she slept, the woman with the rotted womb suspected nothing when the knife was dove into her neck, jolting her just enough to awaken and see her child's flickering eye, the very last thing her eyes laid on before her body shut down and the last words she'd heard being "Your time is up." I mutilated her until she was unrecognizable and dashed to the door, taking the cig from her coat pocket and a lighter. I made my way to the trash room of the apartment and there, where I'd left it earlier that day, sat a full can of gasoline. After the building was set ablaze, I called the police and once I heard them approaching to put out the large scale and fast spreading fire, ran to my next plotted location. There Mia was, asleep peacefully. It sickened me how she could sleep after ruining my life. Standing above her, the rustling woke her up, my eye flickered and lit her terrified face as I stabbed her in the throat, not enough to kill her on impact. I stood back, removed the eye patch I wore and grabbed her "gift", using my bloodied knife to remove it from its holder and then, in an excruciatingly painful act, shoved it into my eye. Her scream came out in a pathetic gurgle as the bloody scene unfolded in front of her face, I told her I was now "Clockwork" and I watched as she choked on her own blood til death. I abandoned the scene, only 15 and suddenly, at large. I felt no shame, at least not quite yet, as I left everything behind, the time measuring people's lives was now and forever, in my control.

[beginningobserver]

[RE:CONNECT - blog v.] Link 3- How to make friends

[AO3 version]

“...”

Rui’s cousin realized that he came in with a book to the cafe shop that day. It was one of those self-help books.

“What are you doing…?” she asked him, clueless.

“Reading…?” he turned to her, deadpanned.

“You’re reading one of those books to help you make friends…?”

“...” He felt being judged by that. He’s an adult now, yes, but he had no idea how to befriend people.

“Ok, quit it. I’ll teach you how to befriend people! I was called ‘Miss Charisma’ from my high school days!” she did the snobbish princess pose and laugh.

“...” Rui stared at her doing that, and then decided to go back reading the book.

“H-hey, don’t ignore me!!” she snapped.

He stopped reading again out of fear and used the book to cover his face, by instinct. She realized that was a bad move and then panicked a bit:

“A-ah… no… I didn’t mean…!! I’m not mad, I swear! I just… I want to help you…!”

“... Sorry.”

“You two are bickering again,” the cousin’s husband sighed.

“We weren’t…!!” Both of the cousins babbled awkwardly.

“Rui-kun, if you want to get along with others you should not… let them be talking alone.”

“... Oh. I did that, true…” he frowned, then he turned to his cousin, “I’m sorry.”

“If you want to be good at people, you need--”

“Listen to them and talk more” it was like he had reciting the things he had learned on his own birthday again, “That’s not the problem, it’s--”

“Then was it?” the couple asked, together.

“... I’ve been avoiding people since I was eleven, and I want to change that!” he said with a determined glare.

“That’s something unexpected to hear coming from you…”

“I-Is it??” he babbled.

“That’s good for a change!” she said with a grin, “So, that’s why you got that book from the library huh…?”

He nodded.

“But why were you avoiding people until now--” oh the cousin’s husband was completely naive and an airhead. The woman just poked him with her elbow.

“That’s something you can’t ask him--”

“I lost my parents and hurt my eye in that accident,” Rui said nonchalantly and with another deadpan face. He thought that was obvious though.

“O-oh… S-sorry!!” The man apologized immediately.

“But I can’t keep hiding from everyone forever, so…” he added.

“He’s being more talkative now too…” the man observed.

“That’s good, isn’t it??” Rui’s cousin nodded, “Once he turned legally an adult he simply started being a little more… talkative.”

“Did I?” Rui tilted his head, he thought he was only talking more with Daisuke and the others, but turns out he's been having a full conversation with his cousin and her husband little by little. Today he just managed to get this a bit more.

After their shifts ended, Ayame and Hiroomi usually meet and go to a small bar owned by one of their former high school classmates. That place wasn’t that crowded, but the owner allowed the digimon to go in.

“It had been a while since the strange pink Ukkomon incident,” Ayame mused.

“Yeah…” Hiromi said, drinking a non-alcohol beverage, since he was driving his scooter.

“Um… Who’s this Ukkomon?” Cutemon asked, out of curiosity. She was sitting on Ayame’s lap.

“It was a digimon partner of an old friend,” Ayame explained, mixing her ice tea with the straw, “A kid named Rui.”

“Oh… That digimon mentioned someone with that name too!”

“I mean it can’t be a coincidence, can it?” Hiroomi said, “And besides… There was someone trying to reach that egg too, a person in a black coat.”

“Yeah…” Ayame replied with a nod, “And five months later… both disappeared… Again.”

“Rui wasn’t the kind to be like that” he shrugged, “He didn’t seem to like to catch everyone’s attention and was quite a scary-cat too.”

“But the person climbing the tower really felt like him…”

“Um… What happened to that Rui kid?” Cutemon was still curious about their conversation.

“We don’t know,” Hiroomi sighed, “He suddenly disappeared in March 2003. There were rumors at school and the neighborhood that his family got murdered and he was the lone survivor, and something about him getting his eye hurt in the incident too.”

“O-oh…”

“We tried contacting him, but… No success. He disappeared, I think he was taken by any of his relatives after that, but he never talked to us anymore…”

“If that person who climbed the Tokyo Tower was him…” Ayame kept mixing her drink with the straw, with a sad frown in her face, “... I wonder why he tried to do something stupid like that. And if the pink Ukkomon-like digimon was Ukkomon… What happened to Ukkomon in the meantime…?”

“We know that that person climbing the tower got saved by a Stingmon,” Hiroomi crossed his arms, “This means we should ask around who has a Stingmon partner and went to save our suspect.”

“Oh? You’re going to play a detective role now?” Ayame teased him with a smug, he chuckled.

“Well isn't that what the most famous Chosen Children do? I mean, I’m not even a person with a digimon, but… This wouldn’t stop me from discovering the truth!”

“Cutemon and I are not built to take part in fights, though” Ayame looked at the digimon, “She can’t evolve either. I thought about going there that time, but I’d have been useless.”

“I wonder who has that Stingmon as their digimon…” Hiroomi kept thinking, maybe a little too much .

“The news reported that later there was a Paildramon trying to approach the DigiEgg, and that three people fell from it, then got rescued by an Angewomon, an Angemon and an Aquilamon immediately…”

“Hmm…”

“And in the morning of February 29th,” Cutemon said, “the news reported many people spotting an Imperialdramon, a Silphymon and a Shakkoumon fighting the giant pink digimon.”

“It can’t be that famous group, could it…?” Hiroomi commented, “Like, the ones who are always saving the world?”

Both Ayame and Cutemon replied with a shrug, “We don’t know anyone else with those digimon partners.”

“I think I know one of those famous people though…” the boy raised an eyebrow, “I mean, Motomiya-san has a V-mon partner…”

“Motomiya…” Ayame thought that name was familiar, “A Motomiya person with a V-mon…”

“I think he was mentioned once in the Chosen Children Network, Ayame!” Cutemon called her attention, “Two years ago, asking if everyone was okay after the Eosmon incident.”

“Oh that’s right…! Motomiya Daisuke, right?”

“Wait, you know him?” Hiroomi blinked.

“No, but he’s usually helping people… His group too.”

“I’ll ask Motomiya-san the next day then! He might know something!!”

Even if the self-help book or his cousin (and her hubby) had given him tips…

“Oh aren’t you the guy who climbed the Tokyo Tower during the time that giant egg was there?”

… He had another problem.

“I… I have no idea what you’re talking about, mister…”

He had become worldwide known as ‘the Tokyo Tower Guy’, against his own will.

“Really, you just look like him…!”

“...”

That was why he had had trouble socializing since then. And those who didn’t want to talk about that…

“Hi!”

“Oh, hey!”

“Today the weather is… I think they said in the news it will rain? But it doesn’t seem rainy at all…”

“Yeah, I agree.”

Awkward silence~

“...”

“...?”

… He would run out of things to say.

He was really bad at communicating, indeed.

“...”

“... Are you--”

“No, I’m not the guy from the Tokyo Tower incident,” he squinted his eyes and replied with a monotone voice, “Can I take your order, please?”

“A-ah… Ok, I want…”

The cousin and her husband looked at a very tired and drained Rui, who decided that after all his attempts to socialize through the week had no success. He had a crooked smile right now, he was ready to explode. He felt that socializing was something too stressful when you’re bad at talking with others.

“Why are those people asking Rui-kun if he’s the weirdo who climbed the Tokyo Tower five months ago?” the cousin’s husband asked his wife, out of the blue.

“Yeah I wonder the same, it’s not something Rui would’ve done…” and she replied.

Unfortunately, the word ‘weirdo’ stabbed Rui like a spear in his chest. But he tried to remember that if it weren’t for that stupid idea, he wouldn’t have been saved by Daisuke and the others, wouldn’t have talked to those six and wouldn’t have solved his issue with Ukkomon.

And would’ve been ten times worse. The giant egg there, Ukkomon possibly trying something reckless and that eye would’ve stuck in his face for a few more years perhaps.

They noticed him whispering something, disgruntled: “I should get a haircut…”

“...?” The couple looked at each other.

He drank a glass of ice tea served by V-mon in one shot.

“I’m not sure what I can do,” He placed the cup on the counter table, pouting.

“Hmm…” Daisuke was listening to him vent something out while he was working. It was a Friday night.

“Everyone else I tried to talk with would ask me if I’m the ‘Tokyo Tower guy’ or I’d run out of stuff to talk with. Talking about the weather is not effective as they say.”

“You mean… You tried befriending people…?” V-mon asked.

“... Yeah,” he replied with a nod.

“I think trying to talk with strangers takes time and energy from you…” Daisuke mused, “Especially if you were trying to avoid everyone because of… That. ”

“Yeah…”

“You could try to check for those people you knew before.”

“No, that would be bad I think.”

“Why?” V-mon and Daisuke said in unison, surprised with that answer.

“Don’t you remember what I said when we first met? Ukkomon was pulling the strings… I suspect everyone who had met me before I discovered the truth has been manipulated by him.”

“Oh…”

“It would be awkward finding those people, and then trying to talk with them. Besides, they might hate me now.”

“You won’t know if you don’t try!” V-mon replied with a serious tone.

“...?” Rui looked at the digimon.

“Yeah, V-mon’s right here” Daisuke said, and then Rui turned to him, “Maybe Ukkomon didn’t control everyone you met. Maybe deep down someone liked you while you were having a healthy life…!”

“Someone…”

No, I don’t think anyone liked me without Ukkomon’s influence -- Rui thought. It didn’t seem possible

“You have to give it a try, how can you be sure nobody really liked you as a friend when you were a kid if you don’t try to connect with those people again?”

“...”

“You got a bond, and if it is a strong string connecting you to them, it can overcome all the bad things Ukkomon and you did.”

“I see…”

“And about the ‘Tokyo Tower guy’ thing… I can ask Miyako to get rid of the online footage and posts and memes and everything bugging you, ‘kay?”

“I don’t think it’s possible to,” V-mon shook his head, “A lot of people saw it, there’s no way she can erase all the evidence, maybe Rui should just let it pass. Memes come and go.”

Daisuke looked at him, astonished.

“What?”

“Ya know what, maybe it’s too troublesome…” Daisuke sighed dramatically, “Maybe we could create a new meme so people would completely forget about the Tokyo Tower incident…?”

“Are you kidding?!” Rui and V-mon exclaimed, they were a little… concerned about whatever was in Daisuke’s mind.

“Nah, I think people will find another thing to think about and then forget it.”

V-mon and Rui sighed in relief.

“But if you want, I can--”

“No, that’s okay!!” Rui babbled, waving his hands, “I will be fine, it has been five months only.”

“That’s too much for a meme life span though…”

“Maybe I should… get a haircut” and then he added, “I haven't gotten one since that incident from 9 years ago…”

“If you want to… Go ahead,” Daisuke smiled, “But I think you’re cooler with the eyepatch. Makes you look a real shonen anime hero.”

“?!!” He blushed.

“Will you keep the emo bang?” V-mon asked.

“... Uh… I don’t know yet…” he glanced at V-mon again, “I only got this haircut because I lost control over my life…”

“... I have the same haircut and I’m fine, thank you!” Daisuke pouted like a kid, he and Rui had indeed the same spiky-messy-like haircut after all.

"I'm sorry, I had no intention of insulting you..."

“Alright, alright…”

“... But thanks for the help and for hearing me out,” he blushed a bit.

Daisuke grinned, “No problem, that’s what friends do, right?”

He looked at that grin and felt his heart warm, maybe Ukkomon’s big trick made him meet Daisuke in the end…

But he’s not buying the idea that Ukkomon had thought far ahead with that eggcentric plan. Ukkomon wasn’t smart, more likely to be tactless than that. But Ukkomon had no ill intentions, he never wanted to hurt others at all.

A few days later, on a Tuesday to be exact…

“And Then the old lady pulled a bamboo sword from the dojo and threatened to hit us with it!”

Hiroomi was at Yamatoya Ramen, on a day off. His funny stories about the trouble he had been involved in his old school days sounded funny to both Daisuke and V-mon. The human-digimon duo were laughing while the ramen shop was not that crowded again.

It’s a small business, and little by little the people were learning about it. And little by little Daisuke was gaining the public’s approval and love.

"That sounds funny if ya had seen Iori angrily trying to hit my head with the janitor's broom when I was in 6th grade and he was in 4th!"

“Oh? What did you do, Motomiya-san?”

“I stole his takoyaki. We were at a school festival, soooooo…”

“You asked for it then,” Hiroomi chuckled.

“No way!” And so did Daisuke.

“By the way…” Hiroomi placed his cup of cola on the counter table, “You know a lot of people with digimon, right Motomiya-san?”

“Yeah, a ton of them. And I keep meeting more and more new people from time to time.”

“Do you know someone with a Stingmon digimon partner?”

“Yup. But why do you ask?”

“... N-Nothing,” Despite everything, Hiroomi is not as courageous as he wanted to be. He laughed nervously and it caught Daisuke's radar.

“No, seriously. I do know someone with a Stingmon” and Daisuke raised an eyebrow, “That’s a very specific question here… What’s up?”

“You know a Stingmon saved the weirdo guy climbing the Tokyo Tower five months ago, right?”

“Yeah? But why are you asking about that incident?”

“Spill the beans!!” V-mon ordered, his curiosity was eating him alive too.

“... A friend and I wanted to know if the Tokyo Tower guy is okay.”

Hiroomi didn’t want to claim that person was his old childhood friend who suddenly vanished from his and Ayame’s lives. And Daisuke was well aware that Rui had mentioned he had childhood friends except Rui himself didn’t believe those bonds were real at all.

“Oh he’s fine!” V-mon replied to Hiroomi’s question, “No worries, we got them covered.”

“Huh?!” Hiroomi blinked, “What do you mean?”

“The thing is…” Daisuke said and then he leaned over the counter table from the kitchen side and whispered in a low voice, “We rescued that person, but we got some… legal problems for… y’know, trespassing in order to save him.” 

“Y-you what?!”

“Shh!! If you want to know the rest you have to keep it a secret, and that person doesn’t like that whole fame he got for doing that! He was trying to talk with the egg after all.”

“Wait, really?!” Hiroomi’s eyes widened, he grabbed Daisuke by his shirt, “Do you meet that guy?!”

“H-hey, why are you so interested in that person?!” V-mon asked, while Daisuke was silent (“Did it talk too much about it AGAIN?!”)

“...”

Hiroomi let Daisuke go, realizing this wasn’t a good reaction on his part. He sighed.

“... Nine years ago, my friend Ayame and I met a boy with a digimon. He simply disappeared without leaving any trace.”

“Nine years ago…” Daisuke blinked… “Wait, you mean… 2003, which was the…”

“Yeah, the year Rui mentioned to us that day!” V-mon added.

“Wait, what do you mean--” Hiroomi turned to V-mon this time,”You met someone named ‘Rui’ before?!”

“Yeah,” Daisuke nodded, “But like I said, we shouldn’t be talking about this right now--”

“The digimon in the sky that time… It looked exactly like the digimon said missing friend had!” but Hiroomi did not stop, “That pink Ukkomon said ‘Rui’ that night--”

“?!!”

“Wait, you know Rui and Ukkomon?!” V-mon and Daisuke exclaimed quickly.

“Wait, you know them?!” and the other replied with the same question.

[elsanna-shenanigans]

November/October 2023 Contest Submission #3: The Best of Luck Club

Words: 3,000 Setting: mAU Lemon: no Content: Alcohol consumption, cheating mention  

Note: this story is disqualified from voting due to not meeting the theme of the prompt. It can still be reviewed by the MRC.

xxxx

Anna stared down at the last text she’d sent. It needed a response. She hadn’t gotten one.

Hey, so my flight gets in at 2pm your time. I can’t wait to meet you! xx

Sure, she hadn’t expected anything really over the top. Not like those videos she’d seen, with people waiting with a full band and flowers and shit. But someone.

After all, she’d flown here for one specific purpose: to meet her boyfriend. Properly, in person. Take the relationship from the digital world and into the physical.

But there was no one waiting for her.

Just landed, she typed out, sitting on a bench outside the airport with her bag. It was absolutely sweltering, which was a novel concept: sweating in December. Apparently it could get even worse.

Maybe she should have… booked a hotel or something. Hans had said it wouldn’t be necessary but… did he forget when her flight was arriving?

Sucking in a breath, she looked around. Then she looked back at her phone. The message hadn’t been sent yet, and she’d need to get a new SIM card, but she could afford one little message.

Just arrived. I can’t hang at the airport all day. You mentioned you live in the city so I’m going to head there. Please let me know when you get this! xx

Pressing ‘send’, Anna let out a breath. He was probably just driving or something. Maybe he had work?

Standing up, she began heading towards the taxi rank. There were dozens of people and not many cabs: it seemed they used Uber here, too. Towards the back of the queue she spotted an empty taxi that no one else seemed to have noticed yet. Perfect.

Moving forward, she was just reaching for the car door when another hand came into view. It belonged to a young woman, probably about her age. She was dressed in business-casual, and when she spoke, it was with a distinctive Australian accent. Very unlike Anna’s New York lilt.

“Oh! Sorry!” she said, before Anna could offer her own apologies.

“No-no, it’s fine! You take it.”

The woman smiled. “Where are you going? We could split the fare if you like?”

Honestly, that sounded really nice. “I’m- honestly I’m not really sure. My boyfriend was supposed to pick me up but he’s not answering… Probably just head to um…” she wracked her head for the name of a street he’d told her about. “King Street?”

The woman levelled a sympathetic smile. “Oh, you mean Queen Street? I’m heading that direction, too. I’m not a murderer or anything, I swear! It’s just right in the middle of town.”

Anna laughed, though it was a lot more earnest than the woman’s. “No, you certainly don’t look like a murderer,” she conceded.

“Oh? And why’s that?”

Anna looked away, cheeks still bunched up in a smile. “Well, a murderer wants to be unnoticed, right? Whereas you definitely draw the eye…”

And she did. A sharp nose that was small enough to still be petite, centred on a heart-shaped face. Her hair was a pale blonde that seemed natural, fashioned into a casual version of the classic corporate bun. She dressed like a lawyer, but her blue eyes held too much light, and there were subtle laugh lines around her lips. The woman’s eyes widened, mouth dropping to form an ‘o’ of surprise before it slipped into a much more natural smile. She held out her hand. “I’m Elsa.”

Anna took it gladly, shaking gently. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Elsa. I’m Anna. And I’d love to take you up on your offer.”

In the back of her mind, she was still rather upset with Hans, with him not showing. But the day had turned around, just a little bit.

xxxx

It was so different from the States. So different. Elsa didn’t say much at first; she just let Anna look out the car window. Driving on the wrong side was novel, and the long stretch of road from the airport was so uninhabited it made it hard to believe that she was so close to the hub of a city. Of course it came into view before long, and yet it was still so strange! Very clearly segregated in a way that her own country wasn’t; only the rich, it seemed, lived in the city. And how quickly it changed from city to suburb! Anna was never one to be seen and not heard, and soon she was sharing every inane thought that popped into her head. Elsa didn’t seem to mind, though. She just smiled and nodded along and responded to all the banal little musings. In the back of her mind, Anna registered that Hans rarely entertained her like this. He thought she was dull sometimes. Swallowing, she pushed that thought away.

Elsa lived in a little suburb called ‘Teneriffe’, which was an absurd name (though not so strange as some of the other names she rattled off), and only a few kilometres (not miles, not here) from the inner city.

“You should definitely visit Southbank if you get a chance. And the botanical gardens are amazing. And it’s all within walking distance so you can see the whole city.”

“The whole city is in walking distance?” Anna asked. Elsa shrugged.

“Brisbane’s small. Not like Sydney or Melbourne. Although we do have better traffic. And also the Gold Coast. How long are you here for?”

“A couple of days, maybe longer. It kind of… depended on how everything went.” Anna sighed, looking at her phone again. Still nothing.

“If… if you’d like, I’d be happy to show you around the city a bit. Maybe we can get something to eat. To… make up for your boyfriend missing you. I promise not all Australians are like that.”

The suggestion made Anna laugh. She seemed trustworthy. But she didn’t say yes, and maybe it was a cultural thing but Anna had a feeling it was a gender thing. Elsa reached down to her wallet and pulled out her ID card. God even it looked silly – it was bright yellow! She passed it to Anna.

“Here. To take a picture of to send to your friends or something. Like I said, I’m not a murderer.”

“Oh, that’s – I’m sure you’re not—” Anna started. Elsa put the plastic card on Anna’s knee.

“Then for my peace of mind, and your friends. It’s fine, really.”

Pursing her lips, Anna lifted the card. There was even a little chip in it, like a debit card. She wondered what it was used for.

“Elsa Aren, huh?” she asked instead. Then she leaned forward and pulled out her own ID. “It’s only fair, after all,” she said, before grabbing her phone and opening the camera app.

“Anna Sommers,” Elsa read. “Your hair is different…”

Anna gave a little laugh that was more self-deprecating than it meant to be. “Yeah. The red is natural – the bleach blonde was not. I always wanted to be blonde because all the pretty girls were. It’s only since starting university that I’ve realised how little I care about that now.”

“Red hair suits you,” Elsa said lightly, handing back the card. “And now I know you’re definitely old enough to drink here. There’s some cool clubs not far from the CBD. You should try and get around to it while you’re here.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I’m a bit jet-lagged, and I’ve never been out drinking before…”

Elsa laughed. “Very fair. Well, I’m sure your boyfriend has just lost track of time. He’s probably planned out a whole week of adventures for you.”

Swallowing, Anna pushed a wan smile. “Yeah. Probably.” Her phone sat, obstinate and silent, in her hands. “I’ll send him another message when I get some Wi-Fi.”

Her first text had gone through, she was sure of it, but perhaps she got his number wrong. They’d mostly talked through Discord or Messenger. Saucy Snapchats.

It didn’t take long to sort out a Sim card once they arrived. Elsa was able to help, which was nice of her because she didn’t have to. She spoke slower, enunciated her words a little more so the accent wasn’t quite as thick. It was actually a really nice accent. Bright and relaxed.

There were a few messages from different people, mostly wishing her a safe flight; one from her dad, asking her where the extra cat food was and which plants were real and needed watering, and which ones were fake. It brought a grin to her face, which remained as she opened up Hans’ profile. The moment she messaged him, it vanished.

Heya, just got in. Where should I meet you?

This person is unavailable on messenger.

Her own message had vanished, as had the typing box. Anna stared at Hans’ picture as slowly, her legs turned leaden and her chest swelled, making every breath tight and hot. She knew what had happened, but refused to believe it.

Opening up discord, she typed the same thing; once again, it bounced back. There was no way to tell if he’d blocked her here, too – not that it really mattered. His Snapchat had completely vanished. No trace of his account at all.

Sucking in a breath and holding it, she willed herself not to cry. Elsa was standing off to the side, looking at her own phone and typing furiously; she must have felt Anna looking at her, though, because she glanced up. Immediately, her face fell at the sight of Anna’s.

“Hey, do you wanna grab a drink?” she asked. “There’s a bar around here that makes a mean margarita.”

Anna just wanted to be alone, but she recognised – even in her current state – that it would just make her feel crummier. Unable to find her voice, she just offered a little nod.

xxxx

Fortunately, Anna had packed light. It certainly made it easier to wander around the city; when Elsa had said there was a bar ‘nearby’, she’d sort of expected a fifteen-minute walk. It was actually only five, and she would never have seen it if she’d been looking on her own.

It was down an alley, which had been arbitrarily decorated with tiny little doors. The actual bar itself was called Death and Taxes, and Elsa seemed to be very familiar with it. The door guard pretty much just waved her through with only a cursory glance at her ID, though he paused a lot longer with Anna’s. Eventually, she too was waved through.

The bar was dark, and it took a moment for her eyes to adjust. Elsa had already found a spot in one corner, and was browsing through a menu. A fancy as fuck menu. The whole place seemed fancy, actually, and Anna felt very out of place in her comfy travelling clothes: jeans and a button-up blouse. She was wearing nice undies, though, just in case.

Even that thought made her face burn in shame and disappointment, and she was grateful for the low-light as she sat down opposite Elsa.

Her new friend’s eyes were a dark green from the naked fluorescent bulb hanging above them, and the disappointment Anna was feeling only magnified. How could it be that a complete stranger was so much kinder than Hans had been? If only she’d travelled here, all the way across the Pacific Ocean, for her.

“Hmm, I know I suggested a margarita, but I sort of want something a little fruity today,” Elsa commented lightly, glancing up at Anna with a smile.

“Just like me, hey,” Anna responded, reaching for a menu. Her jaw fell at the prices. “Holy shit, these are some exxie cocktails.”

“Hmm? Oh, they’re about standard,” Elsa said. Then she blinked. “First one is on me, though. I’m the one who dragged you here, and there are definitely cheaper places we could have gone.”

Something twisted and bitter crawled up Anna’s throat, and around the lump it formed, she muttered a low, “Well, I’m glad I’m not a cheap date.”

As soon as she’d said the words, Anna felt terrible for being so negative. She didn’t know how to recover, though, and fortunately didn’t have to as a waiter came with a carafe of water and two glasses, ready to take their drink order.

Anna sat in silence as Elsa chose two drinks. They sounded like fun, but any good cheer in Anna had leaked out of her completely. That was mean to say; all Elsa was trying to do was cheer her up and she was moping. Focussed on the stupid painful actions of another person, completely out of her control.

But then Elsa surprised her, once the waiter had left, by pouring out the water and offering one to Anna.

“Wanna talk about it?” she asked, delicate eyebrows furrowed in concern. With a frown so potent her bottom lip trembled, Anna offered a pathetic shake of her head, just before the dam burst.

“We met online. On Reddit, how gross. And he was just so easy to talk to and we had a lot of common interests. We shared our, y'know, traumas and shit. And he said he’d never just leave me, but then he did and I don’t know what I did wrong.”

Elsa listened silently, holding her water but not drinking it. Anna, once she was done, sipped hers so she wouldn’t say anything more. What more was there to say? He was gone; or, he wanted her gone from his life. And that was a shitty fucking feeling.

“He sounds like an asshole,” Elsa said. “That’s such a terrible thing to do. Can I ask, did he pay for this trip for you?” Anna snorted and gave Elsa a look; Elsa nodded, glancing down at her glass. “Men are trash, hey,” she said instead. Anna snorted again, but a smile tugged at one corner of her mouth.

“You said it, sister,” she said, just as their drinks arrived. She took hers and held it aloft. “Good riddance.”

“Cheers to that.”

Their glasses clinked delicately, and Elsa smiled at her before taking a sip. It was definitely fruity; very sweet, and she could barely taste the alcohol.

“I’m glad I met you. Thanks for making the start of my holiday not shit.”

“Hey, it’s no problem. I’d probably be at home drinking alone if I wasn’t here, and drinking with company is always far better – if a little more expensive.”

At Anna’s questioning eyebrow, she gave a sigh. “I just came back from Sydney uh. Finalising my divorce.” Anna winced and Elsa nodded, taking another sip; Anna copied her, taking a much larger gulp. “Yeah, it sucks. My wife – well, ex-wife now, I suppose – decided that she was not exactly monogamous, and not as gay as she’d thought.”

Anna gasped. “She cheated on you with a guy.”

Scrunching up her mouth, Elsa nodded. “Well. Two guys. In a gay relationship. At the same time.”

There was no hiding the gobsmacked look beneath her freckles. “Wow. That’s shit.”

“Look, it actually happened months ago – almost a whole year, actually. The process just took a long time.”

Taking another drink – wow her glass was very light now. So was her head – Anna nodded, then shook her head. “I don’t understand cheaters. Just. You’re with someone and you love them, right? And I mean, you’re gorgeous and kind and she was lucky to have you before she threw it away.” Anna paused there, then added with a laugh, “I have really strong opinions.”

“Oh, really? I couldn’t tell!“

The conversation moved to lighter topics after that, which was for the best as Anna had another drink, and then another. Elsa bought the drinks, but Anna bought an expensive truffle pizza to share. She was having such a nice time that it wasn’t until they exited the bar that Anna realised she had never organised alternate accommodation. That sobered her up pretty fast, at least until Elsa spoke up.

“Why don’t you stay in my spare room? I have the space.”

Anna was just grateful that someone was looking out for her. After each drink, Elsa had made sure she had a glass of water; they’d traded stories and phone numbers and pictures of their ID. And though it was barely past eight, Anna was completely exhausted – from the travel and emotional toil the day had wrung from her.

Of course, as soon as they arrived, she got her second wind. Elsa gave a tour, and the Wi-Fi password. She also went to the kitchen, Anna following, for another glass of water.

“You’ll thank me tomorrow,” she said, passing it over.

“I thank you now,” came the response. “You’ve been so nice to me. Today could have been so terrible, but it wasn’t.”

Elsa flushed red and smiled. “Do I sound like a bitch to say that I’m kinda… not upset you had to spend the day with me coz your other plans fell through?” she asked. Anna felt her own cheeks heat up and she stepped forward. “I haven’t had such a nice time since before I was married.”

“Hey, so… just checking… but you’re not married anymore, right?”

Somehow, Elsa’s blush deepened, and though her eyes widened, there was the beginning of a smile tugging at her lips. She took a step so she could lean against the counter. “Correct. And, just for my own knowledge, you’re… not seeing anybody at the moment?”

Anna could feel her heart pick up, in a way it never had when talking to Hans. Or even fucking. Sexting him. Her whole body felt warm. She took a step closer to Elsa, whose relaxed position never changed.

“No, but I could be.”

She had just a moment to process the grin on Elsa’s face before the distance closed and Anna couldn’t see much of anything. God, she could feel it, though.

The whole day had brought nothing but luck, she decided: lingerie included.

[coffin-comforts]

Hands of the Maker

WIP Chapter 1

I have never been what one would call a courageous man. I have always shuddered at loud noises, cowered from figures in the dark, bent to the point of breaking before those who would threaten me, but I wish that the fear I had felt upon Lord Vincent Villanueva-Navarro’s approach to my stand at the market was enough to drive me from his presence. He eyed me like a wolf does a hare, glinting golden eyed sadistic delight. I am not unused to these looks, from my youth to my becoming a man many have ... delighted in my appearance which is ‘finer than that or warrior or woman, as fair and delicate as a rose’ or so I am told. Many proposals decent and indecent have been thrust upon me affectionate letters, gifts, salacious whispers in my ear, a wandering hand on my back at a market stand or on my thigh pressed under a table. I know better that to be vain or ungrateful, such things are sins, but in some respect I envy those who’s faces are plain and are allowed the respite of anonymity in a crowd.

“Such excellent craftsmanship, do you know the name of the sculptor?”

I bowed my head in part out of politeness, the other fear

“I must thank you, for I am he”

He looked up at me one more and his smile split his face in two. For an instant I swear he had the fangs of a beast.

“Really? I am quite impressed by your work, your attention to each minute detail is ... nothing short of breathtaking”

He did not look at my wares as he said this, slowly raking his eyes over my face and body, his lustful gaze eventually settling on the crook of my neck.

“Thank you sir. If you would like to purchase one you may, but if you would like to commission a piece of your own design I would be happy to create such a work for a negotiated price”

The man’s face glowed with delight

“Do you have experience in likenesses? I would love to have you come to my home and make a sculpture of me. Not a large one, perhaps about the size of my forearm, so that it may fit on my desk, could you do that for me?”

I nodded

“Yes, while my preferred subject is birds I do sculpt people as well”

I pulled from beneath my table a statue of Apollo carrying the sun which seemed to excite the man even further.

“Please, allow me to see your hands”

I warily held them out my palms to the sky and he immediately snatched them into his own. Bringing them to his face, kissing and caressing them. I was stunned into silence far too terrified to speak at his boldness.

“Every part of you is precious but most precious of all are these artist’s hands. Such things from which beauty is begot but which still cannot compare to their own beauty and the beauty of their owner. I cherish these hands though I have only but touched them for the first time. Should any harm come to these hands I would destroy he who wrought it and scatter his body across the whole of Christendom”

His words I did not doubt, as he looked to be in contemplation with a murderous intent. I did not dare pull myself aware from such a man as I was aware in that instant that he would have the power to rip me in two should I resist him.

“Thank you sir. You are too generous to me, I am but a humble craftsman”

He paused in his ministrations instead pulling my hands down his face and neck pressing them to his heart. Looking at me pityingly

“Do not let such falsehoods pass those perfect lips! I would die a thousand deaths just to allow you to see thine own beauteous works and thine beauteous form through mine own eyes! My treasure, my Helen of Troy, I demand that you come sup with me this night and complete your work for me. I will pay you in a bar of gold if I must, please I entreat you let not another moment of this day go by when I am not at your side”

He is clearly mad, his face flushed with frenzied fever. I dare not deny him for I fear my life if I do.

“If you would allow me to pack my things, I would gladly join you. I only request that I know your name”

“Only if I may be returned your name in kind, fair creature. I am Lord Vincent Villanueva-Navarro of Andalusia”

I am grateful that I had the presence of mind to hold my tongue. If he truly be a lord of Andalusia it would do me well to pay great respects to him should he cut me down in ill temper. I bowed as deeply as my hand still in his would allow.

“Mateo, my lord. I beg your forgiveness for my earlier manners, I was unaware of your lordship’s parentage”

He pulled my arms apart outstretched like the wings of a butterfly pulling me close to his chest. Not a soul underneath the market tent spoke a word to this, it seemed as if for all the world Lord Villanueva-Navarro was unseen to all and that I was caught in his blanket of unseeing beside him.

“Please, I wish to hear my given name on your tongue once more. Do not speak to me reverently as if you are any mere mortal man, speak to me as if I were your closest confidant and I shall never be displeased. Do not lower yourself for my sake, you lofty heights astound and thrill me. Should you be below me I want such rank not to come from my parentage but out of love. Love of brothers of course”

His eyes say otherwise.

“Thank you for your kindness. You are a virtuous and humble man. I should hope I do not disappoint you Vincent”

I felt him press further against me as I uttered his name, terror blooming in my heart, but he then pulled away.

“I shall let you pack your things, I will send my attendant for our carriage”

He finally released my hands but he watched me intently as I put away my wares for the day sending a ghoulish looking fellow to fetch his carriage.

“Do you have any finer clothes than these”

“I regret to tell you I do not. These are the finest I can afford”

“We will have to remedy that at once. Do you care much for cravats”

“I am fond of them”

“Good, I will dress you in the finest silk and lace. I believe I will find you something in green, it complements the flush of your skin”

“Thank you Vincent, you are too generous”

This is far too much, I feared for what he would ask of me in return, but as the carraige rolled into view and Lord Villanueva-Navarro opened the door for me it struck me that my time to refuse had long since passed. Whatever would happen now would be in part due to mine own cowardice.