#we were robbing the back room of a tailor shop

[mathlann]

Today's Blades in the Dark got so bad our GM had to remind us that we can abandon the heist. First mission of the campaign.

[the-broken-truth]

Alcina headcanon / male reader, please! on how the reader treats his sweet wife and his adorable princess daughters. 👨/🐾 (WOLF)/👑

Broken Truth: WOLF ROYAL!!! I've been waiting for the chance to write about a royal and I have the perfect words for this, so let them weave together!!!

[Location: The Unknown Kingdom in Romania]

The loud but slow creak of the grand doors of the castle rung out as they were pushed inward by two massive hands that were covered in first with claws for fingers and pads on the bottom of each finger and thumb. The creaking came to a stop when the doors opened completely and a large figure stepped foot in the grand place with a wide smile upon his face.

"I am home!" He howled out with a smile on his face, that smile widened when the two large triangular ears on top of his head locked on to the sounds of 3 sets of feet running to his location from 3 different directions but they all reached him at the same time which made his tail wag with happiness.

"PAPA!" The voices of 3 females called out as the young women leaped in the arms of the large humanoid wolf dressed in royal garments.

"My Girls!" He barked as he wrapped his arms around the 3 smaller figures, "I am happy to see you all." He smiled at the girls in his arms.

"You're late, Papa!" The Blonde-Haired Girl said as she glared at her father with a pout on her face.

"I know. Please forgive me, Bela; the council meeting was longer than I thought it was going to be and the Grand Elder needed to speak with the other Royal Alphas about something important." He said to his eldest.

"Grandpa was at the Council Meeting, too?" The brown-haired daughter asked.

"He was, Cassandra. He is the Grand Elder, thus he needs to be there to make sure there is no fighting at the council meetings." He explained.

"What was the situation this time? Did Uncle Alastor cause trouble again?" asked the red-haired daughter.

"That he did, Dani. You know your uncle is always known for causing trouble. Speaking of which - did your uncles Salvatore or Karl come by while I was away? Or Aunt Donna?" The large wolf asked as he sat his daughter upon their feet.

"No, sir. Our Aunts and Uncles are still dealing with the village repairs; they did send a letter that the preparations are almost done and any traces of the Cadou are almost completely gone." Bela explained as she adjusted the golden ring crown around her forehead - it was bear with the exception of a large red gem in the center of the crown.

"That's good. By the way, where is your mother? I have something special for her." The large wolf smiled.

"She's in her wine room." Cassandra said as she pointed down the hall that leads to the room in question.

"Thank you. And before you ask - yes, I did come back with gifts but I need to give your mother's her first." He said to the girls.

"We understand, Papa. We'll see you at dinner." Dani said as she and her sisters began walking away to do their own things. He smiled at his daughters before starting on his way.

At this point, you're probably wondering: Who is this Wolf-Man? Why are the girls calling him 'papa'? Why does he live in a castle?

Well - it all started after the Fall of the High Priestess, The Destruction of the Village, & a simple purchase from a very fat and happy merchant.

[Flashback to the Past]

A cloaked figure approached the Carriage of the Duke and the Wolfish Muzzle that peered from the muzzle made the fat man smile.

"It's been years, Lord Wolfson. What can I procure for you this day?" Duke asked with a wide smile on his face.

"I believe you already have to items I desire, Duke. The items I need are different but they are all the same in a way." The cloaked beast said with a sternness in his voice.

"And what way is that, Lord Wolfson?" The fat man smiled.

"I need those that belonged to self - was altered by a trusted serpent - but ripped away by a dying creature." The Wolf Lord said, the Duke smiled at him before turning to his carriage and withdrew 7 Boxes - some larger than others, the sight of the boxes made the wolfman smile like a Cheshire Cat.

Golden coins with ruby centerpieces were dropped into the chubby hand of the Duke before the cloaked creature took the boxes and turned tail to return to his dwelling.

After 4 weeks of the purchase - 7 sets of eyes opened and shoot up in the soft beds of the unknown room of the unknown place where they rested. The tallest of the bunch ran over to the 3 girls who shared a face and used them as if they would disappear again while a large but fit silver-haired man looked at his reflection in a nearby vanity - unbelieving what he was seeing. The people gathered together and began to speak to each other - remembering their ends and curious as to where they were and how they got there. When the door of the room opened and a wolf that stood on 2 legs, dressed in fine garments that were tailored to him, walked in the room and looked upon the group before he cleared his voice to speak.

"I am Lord [Y/N] Wolfson - Alpha of the Crimson District of the Lycan Royal Court. You are very confused and probably wondering where you all are, allow me to explain. The Village you once knew & the leader who once served are no longer in existence - your crystal remains were soul to an old friend of mine and I brought them in order to restore you." Lord Wolfson said.

"You brought our remains and brought us back to life?! So what?! You think you own us?!" The Former 4th Lord yelled at the taller beast.

"No, Karl Heisenberg. I brought you back because you were robbed of the lives you once had or the lives you were promised. What you choose to do with your lives is for you to decide but I do have an offer I would like you to listen to before you leave." He explained.

"What is this offer?" asked the Former 2nd Lord as she held her lifeless doll in her arms.

"I am the Alpha or King of this region but I have some...matters that can overshadow even the strongest of kings. I would like you to take control of the Extinct Royal Houses, as well as the lands that fall under them. You'd be in charge of the people who reside there but still have to report to me each month. You will obtain all the riches they possessed before death and any titles they held, the names: Dimitrescu, Beneviento, Moreau, and Heisenberg will be documented as Royal Names and shall never be removed. Do we have a deal?" The tall wolf asked as he looked at the group before him.

They all looked at each other before accepting his offer - they all got dressed and followed the wolfman to an elegant meeting room.

Donna Beneviento became Baroness Donna Beneviento - Ruler of the Eastern District where the shops were located.

Salvatore Moreau became Baron Salvatore Moreau - Ruler of the Western District, also known as the Fishing District/Fishing Village.

Karl Heisenberg became Baron Karl Heisenberg - Ruler of the Southern District - the Soldiers and Weapons District.

"And what of my daughters & I?" Alcina asked as she looked a the Wolf Lord, who grabbed her hand and brought it to his lips.

"I would be ever so grateful if you and your daughters remained here with me and ruled the Central and Northern Districts with me." He asked as he bowed his head and placed a gentle kiss on the back of her hand, which she smiled at.

After a few months - Baroness Alcina Dimitrescu became Queen/Luna Dimitrescu, The Wife of the King while the Dimitrescu Daughters were made princesses.

[Back to the Present]

"Alcina, My Sun & Sky. I have returned." [Y/N] said as he walked into the wine room to see his wife relaxing in her chair with a glass of wine in her hand and a book in her lap. She looked at her husband with a smile before closing the book, setting down the wine, moved them both aside before rising to her feet, and walked over to his husband who wrapped his arms around her to give her a kiss.

"My love, I am so happy you're home. When did you return?" Alcina asked.

"Just a moment ago - our little bugs swarmed me at the door when I called out but I wanted to spend time with the light of my life first." He said as he smiled at her.

"I am glad, My Wolf." She hugged him close and the two of them just stood there - wrapped in each others' embrace.

There was no place they'd rather be.

[End]

[being-worthy]

Sunday cinema: The King’s Man

I haven't done one of these in a while (again xD), but when I watched today The King's Man, there was this quote that I found amazing and wished we would hear it more (or at least, similar to it) and it moved me to make a review about the film.

Nevertheless, I have got good news and bad news about the film.

> SPOILER ALERT AHEAD!! <

Let's start with the good news/parts:

A great aspect that I loved was how the film includes true events and real-life people of importance from the era. It depicts a number of key figures involved in World War I such as King George V, Kaiser Wilhelm II, Tsar Nicholas II, Grigori Rasputin, Archduke Franz Ferdinand, Herbert Kitchener, Prince Felix Felixovich Yusupov, Erik Jan Hanussen to name a few (the three royal cousins are all portrayed by Tom Hollander). This way it mixes fictional core characters with what really happened during that time. Moreover, it also illustrates the real deaths of some of these key history figures.

Another aspect worth mentioning is the fight scene between Orlando, Duke of Oxford (later on Arthur, played by Ralph Fiennes), Conrad Oxford (the son), and Shola (later on known as Merlin) and Grigori Rasputin (played by Rhys Ifans) is a terrific action sequence! Rasputin shows off some incredible fighting skills and twirls through the room almost like he is dancing. His dancing/fighting skills reminded me of the mazurka scene from The Addams Family (2019), but this scene is actually based on the Russian cossack dancing (or hopak in Ukraine). I'm just going to mention here (and in small) the part where Rasputin does something quite weird, disgusting, and quite unhygienic to Orlando's leg before the fight and I think it would have been preferable if he had just given him a bj, not to mention that I do NOT need to see people throw up in movies!! NOBODY NEEDS TO SEE PEOPLE THROWING UP IN MOVIES!!

However, the main reason I'm writing this review was due to some of the great quotes.

The first one is right at the beginning where the Oxford family (patrons of the Red Cross) visit a "prisoner" camp in South Africa in 1902, although most of them look like civilians among them are also children, and they are all malnourished (your typical concentration camp).

"Do you remember why King Arthur and his knights had a round table? Because it meant that all men were equal. It's important that people born into privilege lead by example. That's why your father and I are patrons of the Red Cross, helping others, not hiding behind our status. Never forget that."

The 2nd quote I love (and wished many people would have the guts to admit) happens when the Duke and his son visit the Kingsman tailor shop for the first time together. The Duke's father brought him there to get his first suit too and wants to pass this tradition to his son, Conrad Oxford.

"Our ancestors, they were terrible people. They robbed, lied, pillaged, and killed until one day they found themselves a nobleman. But that nobility, it never came from chivalry. It came from being tough and ruthless. Back then to be called a gentleman, would have been a death sentence, not the mark of honour it is today. We are oxfords, not rogues."

These two quotes should be the mantra of many of the royal members, politicians, governments, and even famous people (e.g. actors, singers, etc.). For instance, I have never heard the English monarchy admitting and owning their sh*t of all the cruelties they did in the past to get all the power and money they hold to this day, much less to right those they wronged, or at least, asked for forgiveness, and I doubt we will see this happening. Furthermore, people born into privilege (and this can be any type of privilege, not just royal status) should lead by example and be more humble, but the truth is, they rarely do and when they do, the cameras are not far away and in many occasions, they end up receiving some incentive for doing so.

Now about the negative characteristics; my main and big critique was why bother casting Gemma Arterton as Polly Wilkins aka Galahad, and one of the only female lead roles, if you are going to give her barely any screentime and mostly have her doing mundane nanny duties? What happened to her action scenes? After all, she had to undergo a demanding training schedule (for scenes that weren't even shot in the end) all of it for nothing? This shows that men still have preferences when it comes to action scenes in movies.

The action scenes are not quite as spectacular as in Kingsman or Kingsman: The Golden Circle and quite ordinary, frankly. Besides the one mentioned at the beginning of this post.

Last but not least, the film is okay if you want to watch something to pass the time, but they could have saved it. I sadly have to say that the film is not as good as its predecessors and it is also extremely predictable, from who dies, who ends up together, to who is the main villain of the movie and therefore, a truly unnecessary prequel.

[cibeewastaken]

Hey can you write some fluff, it can be anything as long it features harry kissing dracos hands 😄💙💙💙💙

hello! this turned out more hurt/comfort, i hope you don’t mind. Huge thanks to @pineau-noir for the beta!

1581 words, eighth year to post Hogwarts, tentative friendship, getting together, warning for brief self-harm

Read on Ao3

-----

The robes felt too small for him, even though Harry had just gotten fitted for them at Madam Malkin’s a few months ago. Grown into such a handsome man, the tailor had said to him. Harry only felt old. 

The bell rang behind them, and Draco Malfoy had walked in, stopped at the sight of Harry, hesitantly looked at him, as though he didn’t know if he should turn back or not. Harry had stared back, wondering if it was a dream.

Madam Malkin had given Draco an encouraging smile and ushered him onto the other platform to wait. Harry had turned back to face the mirror, swallowing; it almost came as a shock when he didn’t see two 11-year-old boys reflecting back.

"Hello,” Harry had said, pins in his clothes, arms stretched out. 

Draco had cast him a quick glance, and let out a thin, shaky breath; no reply. He was still staring straight ahead when Harry left the shop.

They had to share a common room, and there really wasn’t a way for Draco to avoid Harry, not even hiding in his room. The expression on Draco’s face was almost devastating when he saw Harry, who had already claimed one of the two beds. Harry didn’t try to talk to him again even if he desperately wanted to know why Draco was wearing a T-shirt with holes in the armpit instead of silk pajamas like Harry always thought he did. And Harry didn’t talk to Draco even when he came back to his room to find Draco howling on his bed, squished between an also crying Parkinson and a wide-eyed Zabini. Draco’s left sleeve was soaked in blood. 

Harry only crouched in front of Draco and cleaned his wound up with what he remembered from the forest. Wrapped it up as Hermione would. Held onto Draco’s hands like a friend would.

Draco was the first to talk, and this time it was Harry who was crying. Harry wasn’t crying because he had a nightmare, or because he thought about Teddy, or because someone had thanked him for the war. Harry was crying because he couldn’t understand NEWT level Potions and the new professor was too starstruck to listen to Harry when he said he didn’t understand. Harry was crying because he didn’t want to ask Hermione when she was with Ron (which was always). Harry was crying because Potions was very confusing and he didn’t see himself ever figuring out since it didn’t involve killing Voldemort or sacrificing himself. 

Draco took Harry’s textbook from and made notes beside each paragraph, summarizing the welter of information into concise sentences, and drew arrows in green ink to link them all together. By this point Harry had wiped his face clean of tears and snot (on his sleeve) and was watching Draco through swollen eyes. When Draco finished, he turned the book back to Harry and explained the day’s lesson to Harry, reading everything from upside down and setting everything right.

And Harry passed his Potion NEWTs with higher scores than anyone but Draco could anticipate. And Harry celebrated it by looting the kitchen of food and drinks and surprised Draco with a feast by the lake. Though it didn’t take long for words to get out that there was food, and soon they were joined by everyone and more. Someone brought a Polaroid and Harry jumped at the chance. He grabbed Draco’s hand when posing for the photo, grinning at him with heat that felt wonderful in his cheeks. 

“Finally,” Harry said.

“What?” Draco said.

“We’re finally friends.”

Draco stared, unblinking. His hands tightened in Harry’s grip. And the flash went off.

They went into different fields after school. Harry went into Auror training as he’d planned. Draco didn’t know what he wanted now he was on his own. Hermione suggested tutoring in the meantime. I have no qualification, Draco said. Managing to help Harry Potter pass NEWTs Potions should be enough for anyone, Hermione replied.

It wasn’t, but Draco started out small. Teaching a few Muggleborn children that just got their Hogwarts letters some basic courses. Charms and Potions, navigating the wizarding world (which their muggle parents listened in on). Magical Theory. History—recent history.

He lost a few students after that, but Draco was adamant that it was taught.

Harry often went over to Draco’s flat late at night, because he knew Draco would be up scribbling away. Harry would sit by Draco and read his own textbooks, and when Draco inevitably put down the quill to shake his wrist out (the bones making cracking noises), Harry would take it in his hands and knead it. Would feel the bone under it shift. Would circle that wrist between his thumb and index finger, squeezing it, then down to Draco’s forearm, digging his knuckles into the sore muscles, then up once more, massage each finger meticulously. 

Draco would usually fall asleep on Harry’s shoulder around the ring finger, and Harry would press a kiss to his hand. 

It was a Thursday morning when the Auror Department got called to handle a Gringotts robbery. Harry seized up at the mention, mind blanking with fear because Draco always went to Gringotts on Thursday morning to deposit his weekly earnings. No one said anything when Harry tagged along, and no one stopped him when he burst in first (they probably all thought it was what he did), frantically looking through all the frightened faces. Harry didn’t see Draco.

“There were no casualties, thank Merlin,” Ester, one of the seniors Auror on site said. “One missing.”

Harry whirled around. Draco wasn’t in the crowd. “What do you mean, one missing?”

Ester looked at her notes, “One of them went after the robbers.”

According to the witnesses, the robber didn’t go for the vaults, instead they targeted the deposit line and Accio’d people’s valuables off of them. One witness said everything happened very fast, the robbers were in and out in less than a minute, and one of the customers went after them.

“Who?” Harry’s voice broke.

“Someone recognized it as the Malfoy kid.”

It was a sloppy crime. It didn’t take long for the Aurors to track them down at Knockturn. Draco was there, a purpling bruise on his face, locked in a struggle with one man. The Aurors Incarceroused the robbers and Draco fell on his bottom, hands tucked to his chest. 

Harry pushed past the crowd. When Draco saw him, his face broke into a relieved smile. A smile that shuttered when Harry starting yelling.

“What the hell were you doing!” Harry snapped at him. Draco reeled back on the ground, mouth agape. “Why would you chase them?! They were gone!”

“They took my stuff!” Draco said.

“Your stuff!” Harry screamed. “What could possibly be worth more than your safety! ��� Windows around them rattled. Harry’s head was fuzzy with anger he wasn’t used to anymore. Everyone stopped talking at Harry’s outburst. Draco’s face turned bright red, and he made a startled noise when Harry snatched away whatever Draco was holding. Harry looked down and everything seemed to fall away. 

It was the photo of them, the words Harry wrote on it were faded (Finally friends!), but it was clear that someone had retraced it carefully, many times since. 

A hand snatched the picture back. Mouth hanging open, Harry looked up at Draco.

“You went after them for that?” he asked, voice cracking at the end.

Draco stared at him, face still red with humiliation, eyes wet. “Yes,” he said. “Fine, yes!” He pushed Harry. Harry stumbled, knees weak. “I don’t need you to tell me how pathetic I am, Potter, so just fuck off and go yell at someone else.” Then he turned around, beelining toward the entrance. 

“He can’t leave yet—” an Auror said, but Harry didn’t care about procedures. He ran up and caught Draco’s arm. Draco turned and shoved him, with little effect this time. Harry stood his ground. 

“God, Potter,” Draco said, every syllable shook violently. Tears streamed down Draco’s face. His whole face scrunched up miserably. “What do you want now? I don’t need you to tell me how worthless this is to you.”

“I didn’t—” Harry tried. “That’s not what I meant. You could’ve been killed.” 

Draco’s fingers clawed at Harry’s grip, trying to pry it off. “Shut up, shut up!”

Harry grabbed Draco’s scrambling hand and tugged, wrapped an arm around Draco’s waist and pressed his lips to Draco’s hand. Harry’s breath shuddered, “I could’ve lost you.”

Draco was trembling. The bruise on his face broke Harry’s heart.

Harry pressed a kiss to Draco’s palm. “I could’ve lost you,” Harry said, voice tight with tears held back. Harry tugged Draco in further, wrapping him in a suffocating hug, burying his face in the warm crook of Draco’s neck, breathing in the comforting citrus soap for a second before turning his face into Draco and kissed him.

“I,” Draco started when Harry pulled back. “I’m sorry.” He sounded confused.

“Don’t scare me like that again.”

“Okay.”

“We can always take more photos,” Harry said into Draco’s shoulder. “Let’s go buy a camera right now. And ten thousand rolls of film.”

“Do you expect me to be robbed ten thousand times?”

Harry snorted an ugly laugh and peeked up at Draco. Draco cocked his head, brought a hand up to cup Harry’s face. Harry turned into Draco’s palm.

Draco’s other hand found Harry’s. “Ten thousand rolls it is.”

[hallowed-be-thy-username]

Clothing Is Custom, No Labels: Part One

“No matches on prints, DNA, dental. Clothing is custom, no labels. Nothing in his pockets but knives and lint. No name, no other alias.”

Summary: You’re one of the last bespoke tailors in town, making suits and custom clothing for Gotham’s elite. Business men and women, well known lawyers, the Wayne family, and... the Joker?

Genre: Self-insert

Pairing: Ledger!Joker x fem reader 

Warnings: Some cursing

Word count: 1,667

Authors Note: Here comes part one! I recommend reading the Introduction first if you haven’t 💜

Inspirational Music: Beat the Devil’s Tattoo by Black Rebel Motorcycle Club

                                    - Part One -

Sleep did not come easily to you last night. You tossed and turned, worry about this cryptic meeting flooding your dreams and stirring you awake throughout the night. The lack of good sleep left you feeling hazy and distracted. So hazy that you didn’t see the uneven patch of sidewalk beneath your feet. Your hands shot out in front of you to catch yourself, the rough pavement scraping your palms.

You huffed as you stood up and brushed off your sore hands on your pants. Fucking sidewalk. You pass that patch of sidewalk every day and every day, you walk around it. But not today. Today has decided to be different.

Your keys jingled as you unlocked the back door to the shop, yawning with coffee in hand. It was going to be rough, staying here late tonight. After you opened the front curtains and switched on the lights, you reached behind the desk to turn the news on in the background while you readied the shop to open.

“Several Gotham city banks have been robbed within the last week. This string of robberies has left many dead on the scene at each location, all of whom are assumed to be accomplices, as reported by eye witnesses. If that wasn’t strange enough, all of them have been wearing clown masks,” you heard the GCN anchor say from your little tv.

What did he just say? You left the mannequin you were preparing to dress in the window and took long strides back to the desk.

“It is estimated that over sixty million dollars has been stolen thus far. Police have had few leads as their investigation continues but one man appears to be the driving force behind the robberies. Gotham PD has released this photo, captured by security cameras at Gotham National Bank just yesterday,” the anchor continued before an image flashed on the screen.

Your eyes widened and your breath hitched in your throat at the sight of a man in ghostly white makeup with black around his eyes, a blood red smile over his lips and two jagged scars curling up from both corners of his mouth, staring straight at the camera.

“Nothing else is known about this man other than that he goes by the alias, ‘the Joker’, leaving a Joker playing card behind at many of the crime scenes. If you have any information on the man pictured, please contact the anonymous tip line listed at the bottom of your screen.”

You switched the tv off, a shiver running down your spine. That image was burned into your eyes, as clear as it was on the screen moments ago. You blinked a few times but it was still there, staring at you. The Joker. Those eyes just gazed straight through the screen and locked with yours. It was unsettling but you couldn’t help but feel something else. Overwhelming curiosity. Who was this guy? Why did he paint his face? Where did he even come from? This was the first you’d heard of him. Not to mention those scars. Flesh viciously sliced apart, torn clean through, leaving behind a macabre permanent smile. A strange feeling tugged at your stomach as you thought about the pain he must have felt. They were so… terrifying.

The sound of the door opening jolted you out of your trance as you jumped and whipped around to face the door.

“Oh, sorry about that. Didn’t mean to scare you. Where do you want me to leave these?”

A delivery guy stood just inside the doorway with a handcart stacked with boxes. You shook your head and answered with an embarrassed smile, “It’s ok, I guess I’m a little jumpy today. You can leave them anywhere back there, thanks.”

You pointed toward the back room and he nodded on his way to drop them off. Shit, maybe you shouldn’t drink that coffee.

The afternoon crawled by at a frustratingly sluggish pace. The ticking of time made you impatient for the day to be done but simultaneously anxious about the very same idea. A particularly needy woman with perfume that burned your nose picked up an altered dress and a man looking to get his pants hemmed to fit his unfortunately short stature took up some of your time but it was still an hour before closing time. Your stomach fluttered for a second. Tonight it wasn’t really closing time. You decided to preoccupy yourself with a book you’d meaning to read, sitting down and leaning back in your chair, getting comfortable at the desk. Maybe you’d run out to grab a bite to eat soon.

Your eyelids flew open as you suddenly awoke with a start. The shop was dark. You scrambled from your chair to find the clock, grabbing it from the counter and turning it around. 9:40 pm.

Your heart started pounding in your chest, the meeting with your new mystery client was dangerously close. You cursed under your breath and rushed to close the front curtains, hoping to avoid anyone else trying to come in. It was a miracle you weren’t robbed in the first place.

Reality rushed over you and your hands started to shake with unease. Why were you so nervous? Well, this has never happened to you before. Men bringing you that much money ahead of time, in cash no less. Asking, no, telling you to stay open late for them. It was just weird. Weird in a way that made the little hairs on the back of your neck stand up. And now it was here.

A few deep breaths did something to calm your nerves a bit, at least until the hands on the clock reached 9:58. 

Headlights illuminated the maroon velvet curtains over the windows, sending your heart rate soaring once again. He’s here.

Suddenly, an urge to hide made your legs twitch as you stood in front of the desk but you resisted it, fighting to keep yourself from running to the back room. Your heart continued to pound and was joined by a shudder down your spine as you caught sight of two silhouettes, figures cast in shadow over the curtains that were moving toward the door.

You held your breath when the door opened. It was the bald man from yesterday. He made eye contact with you and blinked. You tensed up, waiting for him to say something, but instead he let go of the door to disappear back outside.

What?

Before you could react, the door opened again and a different man stepped into the shop.

You halted in place, staring at him. His hair was stringy and tinted green. His face. His face was covered with a layer of white paint, black smeared around his eyes, that devilish red smile that had been floating around in the back of your mind all day. It was him.

You couldn’t move. You willed your body to do something, anything other than stare at the man with the Glasgow smile in front of you. But that’s all you could do. Blood rushed in your ears as you stood there, trapped in your own body, for what felt like far too long.

He took a few steps toward you, thawing your muscles instantly for you to back up and bump into the desk, your eyes still on him.

“What’s the matter, hm? You look nervous. Is it the scars?” he spoke as he gestured toward his face.

His voice was peculiar. Somewhat high and nasally but deep and gravelly at the same time.

Your mouth opened to speak before you had any words in mind to say. “Uh, um. N-no. I, um, I just recognized you from the, the news,” you sputtered, trying not to visibly tremble.

His eyebrows shot up and he grinned as he replied, “Ahhh, little old me? Well I’m, uh, flatter-ed.”

The only thing you could do was nod as you continued to gaze wide-eyed at him, your hands gripping the edge of the desk behind you like a vice. The way he pronounced words was hypnotizing. They were spoken so deliberately, so carefully chosen.

“Well, as much as I’d love to continue with this, uh, ban-ter of ours, I believe you can make me a suit, yes?” he continued.

You suddenly stiffened to attention after his statement registered in your mind, your already hammering heart flipping uncomfortably in your chest.

“Oh, um, yes. Y-yes I can,” you managed to stutter.

He clapped his hands together, making you jump slightly. “Fan-tastic! Shall we?” he said enthusiastically, extending his arm out toward the mirrored area of the shop.

He waited a moment for you to move, only to watch you continue to stare like an antelope caught in a  lion’s gaze before flicking his tongue out over his scarred lip and sauntering over on his own.

Deep breaths. You took deep breaths, so quickly that they were making you nauseous. You had to try to relax. What if you made him angry? He’s killed people. What would he do if you messed up? It’s too late to back out. You swallowed hard against the lump growing in your throat. You can do this, you can do this, you can do this…

He started thumbing through the books of fabric swatches on the nearby table, scrutinizing each with his eyes and occasionally raising an eyebrow as you slowly approached with pins and needles buzzing in your hands. He suddenly flicked one of the books shut and raised his eyes to meet yours once again, making you stop in your tracks and hold back a gasp.

“Now, what do I call you, doll?” he asked, his dark eyes fixed on yours.

Your words tumbled out, responding all on their own, “Y/N.”

His gaze had captured you again and this time it was drawing you in. The room around you seemed to dissolve and all you could focus on were his spellbinding eyes.

“Y/N, call me Joker,” he purred.

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

@amethystmoonprincess @call-me-harley-quinn @paev 💜

[eyebrowluv]

Tall Blonde with One Sugar 3/?

“Yes, I guess so,” Levi deadpanned, entering the apartment. “Damn, it’s fucking cold in here.”

“He has the thermostat turned way down,” Hange answered. “Probably couldn’t afford the heating bill.”

“Erwin?” Levi called again.

“Oh lookie, I’ve got guests!” Erwin giggled as he stumbled through the dimly lit apartment, clearly drunk. “I would offer you a beef, no beber-, no, shit, a drink! I would offer you a drink, but I just ran out.”

“I believe you have bigger problems. I think you’ve been robbed,” Levi claimed looking around the nearly-empty apartment.

“What? Really? Oh shit!” Erwin drunkenly stumbled down the hall to his bedroom, Hange and Levi following closely behind. “What did they take? I don’t notice anything mis-mis-, I mean gone. There’s nothing gone. Except my drink. It’s all gone. I drank it all.”

“You drank it all?” Levi asked cautiously as he picked up the empty fifth of Wild Turkey.

“What I didn’t spill. See, I spilled some of it over there. I was going to get a towel when you came to visit.”

“Thank fuck,” Levi murmured as he looked at the puddle in the floor.

“I’ll get it,” Hange announced as they rushed from the room to get the towel.

“You need to sit down before you fall down. I’m not picking up your giant, drunk ass if you pass out.” Levi grabbed Erwin by the shoulders and eased him down to his futon pad as Hange returned with a towel.

“Oh, hi Hange. You don’t have to do that, I’ll get it.”

“Erwin, you’re drunk,” Hange reminded.

“Yup,” Erwin said, popping the P loudly before dissolving into a fit of giggles. “I haven’t been drunk since undergrad. Damn, I’m boring.”

“You’re not boring, just focused,” Hange said gently with a smile.

“Fuckus, fickedis, dammit, focused? Why? What the hell do I need to be focused for? It’s never gonna matter anyway.”

“What the hell are you rambling about,” Levi snapped.

“This. That’s just the beginning.” Erwin held out a crumpled piece of paper in his hand. Levi took it from him and cautiously smoothed it out. It was an eviction notice.

“Erwin, why didn’t you tell me you couldn’t make rent?” Hange asked.

“I’m not your responsibility, Hange. I missed my interview at the fish market, and funerals are expensive. My job at the library is only part time and minimum wage. My savings is wiped out. I’m going back to Karanes.” Erwin laid down and curled up into the fetal position.

“I feel like I’m missing something,” Levi remarked.

“His father died last week.”

“Ah.”

“You want to hear something really fucked up,” Erwin sniffled. “Nursing homes put liens on houses. My dad’s insurance didn’t cover but the first two months. Two months! He was there for almost two fucking years!”

“Erwin, what are you saying?”

“I’m homeless, Hange,” Erwin said, sounding a little more sober. “I have to be out of this apartment in two weeks. The nursing home is going to auction off my dad’s house to recoup their costs. So, I’m going back to Karanes. I already talked to Mr. Reeves. He said I can work at the hardware store, but it’s only part time until Christmas. He worked out a deal with the owner of the Econo Motel, and I don’t have to pay them until I get my first paycheck.”

“Erwin, no. You can’t. That place is disgusting.”

“It’s better than living on the street.”

“You can move in with Moblit and I. Finish school.”

“I can’t afford it, Hange. Even with your help.” There was an audible catch in his breath. “It’s fine. I’ll be fine. You’ll see, Hange.”

“But, Erwin-“

“Listen, I have to go to work, and he doesn’t need to be alone right now,” Levi whispered.

“I’ll stay with him.”

“Good.” Levi stood time leave. “He’s not going to listen to reason right now. Let him rest. He will think more rationally in the morning.”

“Okay. Thanks, Levi.”

Levi nodded at Hange before taking the time to study the beautiful younger man laying in a heap of drunken misery. If there was only something he could do…

——

It haunted him all through his shift. He needed to help Erwin, but how? He was coming out of an emergency surgery with an idea so outrageous, so impossible that he wondered if sleep deprivation had finally caused him to lose his mind. So he did the only thing he could think of, he made a phone call.

“Hello?”

“Mike?”

“Levi? What the hell? Do you have any idea what time it is?” Levi looked at his watch.

“Sorry, I just got out of emergency surgery. But since you’re awake…”

“That’s debatable, and entirely your fault.”

“I have a question.” Levi held the phone tighter to his ear.

“Okay, fine,” Mike huffed.

“How does one become a sugar daddy?”

“Levi, what the fuck? Have you lost your mind? I don’t think I’m awake enough for this conversation. In what reality are you even Sugar Daddy material?”

“I’m serious.”

“Oh, I’m sure you are, but have you thought this through? I mean, I know it’s been a minute since you got laid, but resulting to paying for sex…”

“It’s not about sex, Mike. I just want to help him out. You know, Erwin. He really needs someone. I’m in a position to help, so I want to.” Levi scratched at his head. “He’s a good kid.”

“And he’s not bad to look at,” Mike chuckled.

“Well, that is definitely a bonus,” Levi admitted. “But seriously, I don’t care if he ever feels the need to...repay me.”

“Like hell you don’t, you perv. You’d tap that ass if given half a chance.” Mike sighed into the phone. “But how do you know he will go along with it? You need a game plan.”

“That is why, against all my better judgement, I called you at the ass crack of dawn. Unfortunately, I need your help in appearing accommodating, but not creepy.”

“Too late for that, Doctor. You’re creepy as hell, but I’ll try my best to run damage control.”

“You ass-“

“When’s your shift over?”

“Assuming no other emergencies happen, 10 minutes.”

“Meet you at your place. I’ll tell Nanaba and get dressed.”

“Wait, Mike-“ It was too late. His friend had already hung up. Levi supposed that he better swing by the convenience store on the way home and buy more coffee. He was probably going to need it.

——

When Levi returned to Erwin’s apartment later that afternoon, the door was still unlocked and Erwin and Hange were still asleep. How both of them were able to fit on that pitiful excuse for a futon pad, he would never know, but it had to be because Hange was mostly laying on top of Erwin. Levi could only roll his eyes and shake his head.

“Get up! We have things to do today,” Levi practically shouted while clapping his hands.

Hange jerked awake with a snort, and hit Erwin in the nose with their head. Erwin cussed and groaned in pain before grabbing his nose and rolling over, dislodging Hange.

“Levi? What the hell?” Hange practically growled as they rolled onto the floor.

“We have a busy day, today, children. Hange, you may tag along if you wish, but Erwin doesn’t get a say.”

“Wait, what? How did you get in?” Erwin rasped as he attempted to open his eyes and look at Levi. He immediately shut them again with a pained noise on his lips.. “I’m so hungover. God, this is why I don’t drink. Not worth it.”

“I don’t feel the least bit sorry for you. You should have hydrated. Now get your giant ass out of bed and take a shower. I brought food and painkillers.” Levi nudged Erwin with his foot for good measure.

“Why are you here?”

“I’ll tell you when you get out of the shower. Now go. You smell.”

“Fine,” Erwin spat, slowly rising from the floor. “One would think that I was inconveniencing you.”

“Not at all. We’re on a tight schedule, and don’t have time for you to wallow in bed all day.” Levi turned to leave. “Come on, Four-Eyes. Give the man some privacy so he can shit, shower, and shave.”

——

By the time Erwin showered and dressed, he felt a little more human, and not quite as nauseous. He was surprised to see that Levi and Hange were still there, sitting on the living room floor with a spread of food on his crappy little coffee table.

“Sit down, eat. It will help with the hangover.” Levi pointed at a plate.

“Not to be rude, or seem ungrateful, but why are you here? I mean, if it’s to help me move, all I have is some clothes. I was going to give you back the laptop and backpack. The sorry excuse for furniture is staying. That leaves two duffles of clothes and a shoebox of memorabilia. Not really a three-person job.”

“Of course you’re leaving this shitty excuse for furniture. I forbid it in my apartment,” Levi snarled in disgust. “It’s the shopping and unloading all the new stuff that is going to be a three-person job.”

“Your apartment? New stuff? I’m afraid I’m not following.” Erwin rubbed his temples, clearly still suffering. “Do you need help shopping? You getting new furniture or something?”

“Yes, and yes. You have to pick it out first. I refuse to let you sleep on that sorry excuse of a mattress one more night.”

“What does my mattress have to do with your furniture?” Erwin asked as he gently chewed some dry toast.

“Nothing, if I have any say about it. Hurry up and eat. You have an interview in the morning, and you need a new suit.” Levi stood and stretched. “We’ll go by the tailor’s first. They may have some ready made items that fit you for the most part. Then, we need to find a decent bed. On a frame. With a real mattress. And maybe a decent desk-“

“Wait a minute. I’m still not following. I have a job interview? Where? How?”

“My friend Nanaba knows Judge Pixis’ law clerk, Rico. He is in need of a student assistant to handle everyday grunt work that most interns handle. Copies and shit. You have an interview with him tomorrow morning. It pays better than most jobs, and he’s willing to work around your schedule. We’ll have to update your resume…”

“What?” Erwin squeaked.

“What?” Levi echoes.

“Even if I do get this job, where am I going to live? How am I going to get to work? A job interview doesn’t magically fix everything. Not that I’m not grateful, I am-“

“Are you not listening? You’re moving in with me. Hence the furniture shopping,” Levi explained, almost bored.

“Live with you? But what if I still can’t make rent?”

“Did I say anything about paying rent. I make my rent payments just fine, thanks. What I need is someone who can do mundane things like laundry and grocery shopping. With the hours I work,it’s almost impossible to keep up with that shit. So, if you’re willing to wash my clothes and run to the grocery store, then consider us even. I’ll even let you use one of my cars.”

“Excuse me, what?”

“Is that all you can say? You’re supposed to be a grad student.”

“Why? Levi, why are you doing all this for me?” Erwin looked at Levi, big blue eyes bloodshot and weary.

“I told you. I need a housekeeper.”

“That’s it? You just need a housekeeper? So, you’re just going to buy me furniture and clothes, and find me a job because, what? You need help with the dishes?”

“Well, there is one more thing…”

“I’m almost afraid to ask.”

“How do you feel about fundraisers?”

“Have I mentioned how much I hate shopping?” Erwin whined as he followed Levi past a rack of waistcoats.

“You need a decent suit. The one you have is on its last legs. Not to mention the cut isn’t quite right on you.” Levi held up a jacket in a deep navy three season wool. “We actually need to get you two suits. The second one for more formal occasions.”

“I can’t afford one suit from this place, let alone two. I’m sure I can find something passable at the department store.” Erwin grunted as Levi flung another jacket his way.

“Did I say anything about you paying? No, I don’t think that ever came up in conversation.”

“I have every intention of paying you back, but it will take a couple of decades at this rate.”

“Let’s settle this right now, Blondie. You are not paying me back. Let someone do something nice for you for once.”

“But Levi-“

“Would you like a dressing room?” The shop attendant greeted. “Mr. Arlert is with another customer right now, but maybe you can get a head start on cut and style.”

“Yes, he needs a dressing room. And could you point me toward your more formal styles?”

Erwin sighed. He knew he had just lost this battle, especially since his opponent seemed perfectly content to ignore him.

——

“Really, I’m fine with another futon.”

“Really, I’m not.” Levi sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Why was this kid being so damn difficult?

“I’ve been sleeping on a futon just fine.”

“No, you’ve been sleeping on a glorified dog bed. You’re over six feet tall. You need a bigger bed. Besides, I refuse to allow that sad excuse of a shipping pallet inside my apartment. Real futons do not look like this.”

“But Levi, if I pick a frame then there is going to be mattresses and sheets and-“

“Yes, you will have adult furniture. Welcome to the dark side,” the older man deadpanned.

“Levi, I can’t afford this! Probably ever.” Erwin looked around the furniture store, trying to find something, anything, cheaper than what Levi was looking at.

“I keep telling you that you don’t have to afford it. I’m buying it.”

“And I’m not going to take advantage of your kindness.” Erwin ran his hands through his hair in frustration. “Look, can’t we just go to IKEA or something? If I’m doing this, I’m doing this on a budget.”

“You’re missing the point here. I’m the one who determines the budget. It’s my money.”

“Well, I don’t like anything here.”

“You’re lying,” Levi accused.

“You don’t know that.”

“Erwin, there has to be something here you like.”

[silverlightqueen]

The Other Half - Teaser

badboy!Jimin x richgirl!reader ft. bts, nct 127, twice, red velvet, got7, blackpink and exo

Word Count: 2.4k+

Summary - In Winchester, y/n has it all. Gorgeous and glamorous. A friendship group just as gorgeous and glamorous. Fantastic grades. A handsome boyfriend with a family just as successful as hers. A doting dad and a brother just as beautiful as she is. An amazing school, and an even more amazing house. As many cars and clothes and bags and shoes, and as much makeup and money she could ever ask for. But when Winchester Academy puts on an exchange programme with Burnley Tech School, a high school in an underprivileged area, two completely different worlds collide, and y/n has her hands full, practically overflowing, dealing with her exchange partner, bad boy Jimin with a whole lot of baggage...

Warnings - nothing yet except some offensive rich kid talk, a hint of classism and some mild bad language

a/n: I literally got this idea less than 24 hours ago and have already produced a two and a half thousand word long teaser for it so as you can probably tell, I am very excited about this ! lmk what you think so far and hmu if you wanna be on the taglist x

au masterlist

silverlightqueen masterlist

‘And then I told them to deliver it to my house and you know they said? They said they don’t do home deliveries,’ Nayeon wraps up her story, the rest of us girls gasping in shock. ‘You’re kidding?’ Mina asks, one hand flipping her hair over her shoulder, the other clasping Jaehyun’s hand. ‘Nope. I was like, bitch, do you not know who I am?’ Nayeon says, a laugh running around the group at that. ‘So what did you do, babe?’ Johnny asks her, arm around her shoulders, and she grins. ‘I asked to speak to her manager, and she went and got him. As soon as he saw me, his face fell, and he asked what he could do for me. I told him that his employee had told me they don’t do home deliveries and before I could even finish talking, he said that they could make an exception for me, of course,’ she says, a satisfied smile on her face as she inspects her fingernails, pristine no doubt, due to the award-winning nail tech we all share. ‘And did they?’ Tzuyu asks. ‘The clothes were in my room before I got home,’ she replies, all of us laughing. 

We’re sat out in the courtyard in our usual spot; a few benches in a huddle, half in the sun and half in the shade, close enough to the sports pitches and courts for us to keep an eye on the boys during the warmer months. It’s only April now, and sports start up again in May, when the air gets warmer, the days get longer, and our skin gets darker. Only half of our group are sat here at the moment, Nayeon, Johnny, Mina and Jaehyun taking up one bench, Momo and Sana on another, Tzuyu and Mark sprawled across another, and myself and Taeyong in another, my legs stretched across it and Taeyong sat between them, head resting on my chest. We’re all dressed in the tragically unfashionable uniform, the girls in black cardigans, blue blouses, green and blue checked skirts with yellow and red on them and knee high black socks (though we ditch the cardigans at any possible opportunity, our blouses tight and skirts rolled up so we don’t look like conservative catholic school girls from the Victorian era or whatever), the boys in tailored black trousers, light blue shirts and black ties, blazers the same print as our skirts slung over their shoulders. Other students pass us by with eager ears, trying to hear any hot gossip, and eager eyes, desperate to make eye contact and earn a smile from one of us.

I spot the others ambling over towards us, and wave as they near us. Chaeyoung practically bounds up to Mark, inelegantly landing on him and pressing a kiss to his cheek. Tzuyu makes space for Sicheng as Jeongyeon, Doyoung, Jihyo and Taeil take up another bench. Yuta joins Sana and Jungwoo joins Momo, Dahyun and Donghyuck taking up the last bench, and we are all as we should be. With our friends, in our couples, picture perfect as we’ve always been and always will be. ‘Oh, have you heard the news?’ Jihyo says, her fingers toying with Taeil’s tie as she speaks. ‘What news, Ji?’ Taeyong asks, his back vibrating against my chest with his words. ‘I don’t know how true this is, but I overheard Jennie speaking to Jackson and, apparently, we’ve got exchange students coming,’ she says, conversation erupting as soon as she utters the words. ‘No way! I don’t want anyone in my house!’ ‘Foreign bitches? Cool.’ ‘You’re fucking kidding, Ji.’ ‘Ooh, I hope they’re French!’

‘Why?’ Mark asks Chaeyoung, raising an eyebrow. ‘She’s got a kink for French boys,’ Dahyun whispers loudly, all of bursting into laughter. ‘No!’ Chaeyoung exclaims, a blush tainting her cheeks, ‘I just want to practice my French.’ ‘Oh, yeah, she’s fluent, Mark,’ Johnny teases, coaxing more laughter from the rest of us. ‘You can practice your French on me if you want, Chae,’ Taeyong teases with a wink, and I slap his forehead playfully. The jokes go over the two’s heads, both of them looking confused, and I take pity on them. ‘Being fluent in French is way of saying that someone’s… good at… you know?’ I explain, the realisation dawning on their faces, swiftly followed by annoyance. ‘You embarrassed to say it, babe?’ Taeyong says quietly, so only I can hear, as Mark and Chae begin to rant. ‘You weren’t embarrassed to do it,’ he teases. ‘Shut it, Tae, not funny. My brother’s right there,’ I reply, motioning to Jaehyun as Taeyong chuckles to himself.

‘Well, I hate to break it to you, Chae, but, no. They’re not French. They’re actually not foreign at all,’ Jihyo says, and we all frown. ‘What’s the point then?’ Sana asks. ‘Well, they’re so different to us, they’re practically aliens,’ Jihyo grins, loving keeping us all on edge like this. ‘Spill it, Ji, what are they?’ Yuta demands, getting impatient, as we all are. ‘They’re… poor,’ she says, everyone silent for a few seconds. ‘You’ve gotta be kidding,’ Momo says, and Jihyo shakes her head. ‘Oh, my God, I cannot have a poor person in my house!’ Jeongyeon exclaims as Nayeon starts to hyperventilate, Johnny getting the Chanel Grand Extrait perfume from her Hermes clutch and spraying it over her to help calm her down. ‘Jihyo, please tell me you’re joking. I don’t need this stress right now. I’ve got a shoot tomorrow and I can feel myself getting stress hives,’ Tzuyu says in a shrill voice, Donghyuck trying to do a breathing exercise with her. ‘I’m telling my father about this. He won’t allow it, not for a second,’ Jungwoo says, getting his phone out from his blazer.

‘Guys, relax. It’s not the end of the world,’ I say, all of them except Mina and my brother looking at me like I’m insane. ‘y/n, it might not be the end of the world, but how can we relax? What if they rob us, or give us fleas? Or Ebola?’ Taeyong asks, and I have to hold back a scoff. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. First of all, it might not even be true so there’s no point getting all worked up yet. Even if it is true, you can probably opt out if you want. If we did each have a poor person in our houses, imagine how good it’d look on our University applications. We’d look amazing for being so hospitable and charitable, and I bet we’ll even win awards in August at the banquet for it. They won’t rob us, and they won’t have any diseases or fleas. They wouldn’t be allowed to come if they did,’ my brother says, always managing to put a positive spin on things. Not that I thought it was negative anyway. Almost as though Jaehyun’s just said some sort of magic incantation, the others instantly agree with him, now excited to ‘have a poor person’. I zone out, used to tuning out when their rich kid talk gets unbearably stuck up, and it’s only when the bell rings to signal the end of our lunch hour does my mind re-join them.

We all rise up from our seats, heading towards the door into the school, and Taeyong puts an arm around me, his hand resting dangerously close to my ass. I can smell the Tom Ford cologne I bought him for his birthday, and I inhale the subtle scent deeply. ‘What lesson do we have now?’ I ask, and he laughs. ‘We’ve got tutor, babe, it’s Wednesday. Switch your head on,’ he teases, tapping my temple. ‘I forgot. I was thinking about this exchange student thing,’ I reply, and he looks at me thoughtfully. ‘You excited?’ he asks, and I shrug. ‘I guess. It’ll be fun. I hope I can take her shopping and get her some stuff. Maybe she’ll become a really good friend of mine,’ I say. ‘What if it’s a boy though?’ he asks, and I think. ‘Then I’ll take him shopping and get him some stuff. And become really good friends with him,’ I say, wondering what his point is. ‘What if he’s cute? What if he’s your type?’ he asks as we walk through the door into the busy corridor, heading towards our tutor room, our friends making a racket behind us. ‘Then he’s cute and my type,’ I reply. ‘So you wouldn’t do anything?’ he asks, and I sigh. ‘What are you trying to say, Tae?’ I ask, and he takes his arm from around me, holding his hand out to me. I clasp it, wrapping my arm around his so his arm is clutched against my torso.

‘If I get a girl, and I sleep with her, would you be mad?’ he asks, and I raise an eyebrow. ‘Why would I be mad? It’s not like we don’t already sleep with other people,’ I say, and he nods. ‘Yeah, but like, we sleep with strangers from clubs. We don’t sleep with people that our friends know, people that will be living with us, people that will see us being in a relationship,’ he says, and I laugh. ‘Okay, but the people we meet at clubs see us as a couple before we go home with them. Just do what we normally do. Just say you’re cheating, it’s not like the girl will feel indebted to me to tell me, and vice versa,’ I say, and he nods thoughtfully. ‘How did I get so lucky to have a girlfriend like you?’ he says, leaning down to press his lips to mine, and I kiss him briefly, breaking away when I hear my brother call, ‘Stop defiling my sister, Lee!’ ‘I’m not your girlfriend,’ I reply as our friends laugh, and he grins. ‘Okay. How did I get so lucky to have a future wife like you?’ he says, and I laugh. ‘You have our parents to thank for that,’ I reply, and he chuckles under his breath as we enter the classroom. We take our normal seats, Nayeon on one side of me and Taeyong on the other, my brother in front of me and Dahyun behind me. We chat and gossip for a while, our teacher, Miss Jung, walking in a couple minutes later.

‘Class, quieten down please. I have an announcement to make,’ she says, looking around at us over the rim of her glasses. Due to our parents donating a lot of money to the school, we get certain privileges to keep us happy. Because when we’re happy, our parents are happy, and when our parents are happy, they spend. One of those privileges include our entire friendship group being put into one tutor group, just the twenty of us. ‘Is it the exchange thing, Miss? Because we know,’ Mark says, swinging on his chair. ‘You seem to always know things already,’ she says drily before lifting a paper up to read from it. ‘On Monday 4th May, a group of students from Burnley Tech School will arrive at Winchester Academy as exchange students,’ she begins, all of us bursting into chatter. ‘Wait, so are they all like computer programming nerds?’ Doyoung asks, eyebrows raised, and Miss sighs. ‘No, that’s just the name of the school. As I was saying, they’ll be staying for a month-’ ‘A month?!’ we chorus in shock, and she rolls her eyes. ‘And if all goes well, the period will be extended to two months-’ ‘Two months?!’ we exclaim, looking around in shock. ‘Won’t they like… miss their parents?’ Jungwoo asks. ‘Well, they can call them,’ she replies. ‘They have phones?’ Sana asks, all of us looking at her incredulously. ‘Obviously, Sana they’re not that poor,’ Tzuyu says. ‘Who told you they’re poor?’ Miss asks, all of us silent.

‘They’re from an underprivileged area but they’re not poor. It just means they’re not as privileged as you. They can probably still afford all their necessities, and most likely some luxuries too, but they don’t live the same way that you all do. For example, they probably have to commute to school because it’s unlikely their parents can afford to buy them a car. And they probably all have part time jobs,’ she says, gasps running around the room, myself included. Growing up in such a privileged environment, the thought of commuting to school or having a part time job makes me feel faint. Call me a spoiled brat, but I don’t think I could ever. ‘Oh, my God, I feel so sorry for them. Are we allowed to buy them things when they come?’ Chaeyoung asks. ‘That’s to your own discretion, we can’t dictate things like that. But anyway, as I was saying, this exchange programme is to enrich your knowledge of different lifestyles and understand the importance of acceptance and equality. It’s also to show to us the kind of knowledge you all already have of other people’s situations and lives. So far, you’re not instilling much confidence in me, but hopefully, I’ll see an improvement,’ Miss Jung says, all of us listening for any more juicy details.

‘Wait…’ Sicheng says, catching all of our attention, ‘does this mean… we’ll have to go live with them too?’ he says, this development filling us with horror. ‘I’m afraid so. If the programme succeeds, they’ll spend two months with you, and you’ll spend a month with them before coming back in August,’ she says, all of our mouths open in shock. ‘Miss, please say you’re joking. We’ve got to spend a month being poor?’ Taeyong asks, and Miss tuts. ‘Now, now, Taeyong, that’s not very kind of you. As I’ve said, they’re not poor, and you must be open-minded. This’ll be a learning curve for you. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it greatly. We have an evening next Monday for your parents to all come in, get some more information about the programme and sign you up, if they wish,’ Miss Jung says, and I exchange a look with Jaehyun, both of us knowing our father would sign up for it in an instance, always wanting us to take part in these kind of things. ‘I know you’re all very unenthusiastic about this but give the students a chance.’ ‘We’ll give them a chance, obviously. It’s just unlikely we’ll get along. We’re so different,’ Taeil says, and Miss Jung eyes us all before she speaks; ‘You’d be surprised.’

[the-awkward-outlaw]

Second Chances - Ch. 18

A Snake in an Italian Suit 

Warnings: swearing, angst, blood, death

Word count: ~9000

Masterlist

Read on AO3

You sit by the fire, nursing a large bottle of whiskey. It’s night and camp is quiet, except for the endless chorus of frogs. You haven’t seen Arthur since you left the room; you’re not sure how you feel about that. You lift the bottle, taking a long drink, gritting your teeth at the burn.

Someone sits down on the log beside you. You look over and see Arthur, his own eyes bloodshot. He’s been drinking, too. He’s holding something in his hand, but you look away without taking note of what it is. 

“Hey, Y/N,” he slurs. 

“Arthur.” 

He sighs heavily and then he lifts up the item in his hand. Glancing over, you see it’s his photo of Mary. He looks at it and then, without a word, he tosses it into the fire. You both watch as the flames devour it, the metal frame turning black. Smoke begins billowing from under the glass, discoloring the melting photo. You watch Mary’s turn from brown to black until it’s gone. 

“I wanted you to know how much you matter to me, sweetheart.” 

“I know, Arthur.” 

“I know ya ain’t ready to be with me yet, so I figure you can have the bed. I’ll find somewhere else to sleep.” 

“You don’t have to do that, Arthur. I’m not going to kick you outta your bed.”

“I want ya to have it. I’m the one who messed up.” 

You sigh and reach over to him, grabbing his hand. “Okay. We’ll get through this, Arthur.”

He doesn’t look at you but you feel his hand squeeze yours. After a moment, you get up, stating that you’re going to bed. When you reach the stairs of the house, you turn back and look at him. He’s still staring into the fire. Feeling hollow, you go inside and up into your room. 

You settle down in the bed, which feels oddly large and cold without Arthur’s broad form beside you. You wish now that you’d asked him to come up with you as you hug the moldy wall, but you still aren’t sure how you feel about everything. You roll over on your side, hoping that maybe he’ll come up during the night.

You wake up to find the bed empty. Looking around, you see you’re alone in the room. You sigh and get up, putting your boots back on and go into the hallway. You head into the large room adjoining the one that Dutch and Molly share. Opening the donation box, you glance outside and see Arthur sitting on a crate, talking to the other girls. 

“You’re lucky, ya know?” a voice says from behind you. You turn and see Molly standing a few feet behind you, her eyes focused on Arthur outside.

“What you talkin’ ‘bout?” you ask.

“Everyone can see how in love with you that man is. That’s what makes you so lucky. I wish I… I wish he still looked at me like that.” 

You know she’s talking about Dutch. Ever since the gang arrived in Shady Belle, they’ve spent hardly any time together, and when they have, all they’ve done is argue. You’ve seen Molly sitting in the corners of various rooms, drinking heavily. Her eyes are slightly puffy now and her face is red and blotchy as though she’s recently been crying. 

“I ain’t too sure he loves me as much as everyone thinks,” you finally sigh.

“Don’t be stupid, Y/N.” 

“I ain’t. It’s just… Arthur loves somebody else. He says I’m not a second option, but I know he loves her more than me.” 

“You’re talking about that Mary,” she says. 

You nod, your chest still feeling strangely hollow.

“You’re a lot duller than I thought, Y/N,” she says simply, her arms folding across her chest.

“Excuse me?” you say sharply.

“Ya heard what I said. Ya wouldn’t know what it feels like to be a second option because ya aren’t one, Y/N.”

“How would you know, Ms. O’Shea?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I know what everyone else has been sayin’ about me. I know that bastard has been goin’ around, flirtin’ with all the girls. He’d be doin’ it with you too if Arthur weren’t so damn in love with you.” 

You aren’t surprised Molly knows about him being on the brink of cheating on her, it wasn’t like he was trying hard to hide it. You find yourself somewhat repulsed by the idea that Arthur is the only thing stopping him from courting you. 

“Y’know,” she continues, “sometimes at night he says her name.”

“Whose?” 

“Annabelle. That ol’ crone Grimshaw told me all about her. How her death changed Dutch. He can’t have her no more, so I’m better than being alone.” 

You bite your lip, remembering what Arthur had told you of how Molly met Dutch. 

“I… I’m real sorry, Ms. O’Shea.” 

“Don’t be sorry for me!” she snaps. “I don’t want your pity! I just… I wish I’d never come here to this horrible country with all you people!” 

She raises her hands in the air and marches out of the room. Something in your gut tells you she’s right. Arthur doesn’t view you as simply a second option, something better than nothing. Your eyes turn to look at him once more as he continues talking to the other girls. 

You decide to go outside, not wanting to have to smell the mustiness of the permanently damp house. You head down the stairs and down the hallway. As you begin opening the door, you’re startled by Hosea standing just on the other side. 

“Jesus, Hosea!” you say, taking a step back. 

“Sorry, Y/N,” he chuckles. “Didn’t mean to frighten you. I’m glad I found you.”

“Why? What’s going on?” 

“Tonight’s that ridiculous ball held at the mayor’s mansion for Mr. Bronte. Arthur said a few days ago you were coming. Is that still the plan?” 

You huff, wondering how many people know about your argument. 

“Yes, of course I am. I said I’d go and that ain’t changing.”

“Well good. You best finish your work quickly, need to be ready to leave by afternoon.” 

You nod and head over to Pearson’s wagon, determined to work quickly. You decide to wait to talk to Arthur tonight, perhaps while you get ready. He spots you from his crate, his eyes still hold yesterday’s sadness. You raise your hand and wave at him, which pulls a small smile from his face. Feeling slightly better, you begin scrubbing yesterday’s dishes.

 You stand just beyond the gates of Shady Belle on guard duty, the repeater in your hand. You lean against the stone wall that borders the property, sighing in boredom. 

You still haven’t spoken to Arthur, nor has he come looking for you. You figure he’s giving you your space. Your partially relieved, but you also wish he was at least around. He hasn’t left camp all day, working on his own chores. The last time you’d seen him, he was working on repairing one of the wagons with John. 

Something in the trees rustles, causing you to lean forward. You wonder if it’s Kieran, who still hasn’t been seen since Jack’s party. A doe walks through the brush, pulling a relieved sigh from you. You remember the events of the doe that led to Rain’s death. Despite how much you adore Rannoch and are glad to have him in your life, you still miss her. You wonder what your life would be like now if you hadn’t ever run off and gotten captured. You realize now that it’s impossible to know what life would be like had you not done it. The untaken paths of history are unknowable. You sigh heavily, leaning back on the wall. 

Karen approaches you. “Hey, girl. Hosea wanted me to take over for you. Says you got some party to go to.” 

“Yeah, guess I do.” 

You hand her the repeater and are just about to walk away towards the house when she grabs your shoulder. 

“He’s real sorry, you know,” she says.

You smile softly. “I know. I’ve known since last night. But… it’s complicated.” 

“No it’s not. He’s willing to let her go for you. Y’know, that man’s been chasin’ that Mary as long as I known him. Wouldn’t drop her for nothin’. Until you came along. That’s somethin’ real special, Y/N.”

For some reason, her words pull the hollow feeling from your chest. You smile and thank her. 

“Guess I have a ball to get ready for,” you say foolishly. Karen laughs and turns to look down the empty path. You jog towards the house and up the stairs. You walk into your room, hoping to find Arthur. Instead you find Mary-Beth and Tilly, chatting away happily. 

“What’s going on?” you ask.

“Well, Grimshaw figured you could use some help getting ready,” Mary-Beth stated. 

“I can do this just fine on my own, ladies,” you say, not wanting to be a bother.

“Please, Y/N,” Tilly says, her eyes sparking. “When was the last time you been to a fancy ball like this?”

“Well never, but…”

“Exactly. This is one of them things where everyone will be judging everyone who’s there. We can’t have you goin’ there upon lookin’ like some country bumpkin in a fancy dress.”

You start laughing. “Okay, okay! Just don’t make it too fancy.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it!” Mary-Beth says. 

You notice they’ve brought up some buckets of water and they help scrub you down since you still haven’t managed to make it to town for a bath. Once you’re cleaned up, they instruct you to sit in the chair. Together they tackle your hair, using some pomade to slick and style it. Mary-Beth’s fingers work quickly to pull your hair into a tight bun with coiled ringletts dripping down to your shoulders. Tilly uses a powder in order to clean up your face and highlight your cheeks. When you ask her where she got it, she simply states that she stole it off some man she passed on the road. 

Once your hair and face are done, they help you put on the petticoat and then they tie up the corset. You’re glad they don’t lace it nearly as tight as the woman in the tailor’s shop did, but it’s still uncomfortable. You wonder how some women do this daily as you’re already feeling breathless. 

Finally, Mary-Beth pulls out the green dress and you slip into it. Tilly ties it off in the back and then they help you into the high heels. Once you’re completely dressed, they stand in front of you and laugh. Mary-Beth even claps a few times. 

“Ooh, Arthur’s not going to know what hit him!” she says excitedly.

“Relax, you two,” you say, rolling your eyes and looking down at yourself. “It’s not like we’re getting married. It’s just some stupid ball. Remember, we’re going there to rob people!” 

You push past them with a laugh and begin walking down the stairs, trying not to trip. It’s been a long time since you’ve worn heels, you’re no longer accustomed to it. You walk down the hall, reminding yourself to walk like a lady. Pushing the doors open, you head out onto the dirt and towards the broken fountain where Hosea, Bill, Dutch and Arthur stand, already in their identical cocktail suits, complete with tailcoats. Arthur’s back is to you. Dutch fiddles fondly with his top hat and gestures to you as he talks with Arthur.

Arthur turns and his brow lifts as he sees you, taking in the sight of your dress hugging your frame. You feel extremely self conscious as you walk towards them, grabbing one of your elbows as you walk, trying not to look at any of them. 

“About time you got out here, we been waitin’ forever!” Bill says sharply.

“Shut up, Bill,” Arthur snaps as you approach him. “You boys go wait in the stage, will ya?” The others chuckle and walk away.

You look across the bridge and see Lenny, dressed as a city driver, sitting atop a stagecoach. You’re not entirely sure how the gang acquired it, but you don’t really care enough to ask. 

Arthur looks at you, a soft smile on his lips.

“Hi,” you say nervously, looking down and still holding your elbow.

“Now no one’s gonna believe you’re a city girl if you act like that,” he says teasingly. “Now come on.” He lifts your chin gently so as to look at you. “Ya gotta play the part. Ya already look it.”

“I ain’t too sure how to do this, Arthur.”

“Well, I don’t either. Maybe we can figure it out together?” 

He smiles widely at you and offers you his arm, which you take. He guides you towards the carriage, looking prouder than ever.

“By the way, you look good in a suit,” you say.

“Ah, I look ridiculous.”

“No, you don’t. Seriously, I wouldn’t mind seeing you in this more often.” 

“Only if I see you wearin’ that more,” he gestures to the dress.

“Not a chance. I’m already looking forward to taking it off. This corset’s gonna be the death of me.” 

He chuckles as he opens the stage door for you. 

“M’lady,” he says. You smile at him and climb into the stage, which is already cramped with the other three men. Once Arthur sits down, it’s almost unbelievable the door even closes. 

“Hey, how come I’m the only girl?” you ask Dutch as you try to adjust yourself since you’re squished between him and Arthur.

He huffs. “Ain’t it obvious, Y/N?”

“No. I think people might find it strange that I’m the only girl among you boys.” 

“It won’t be that strange, Y/N,” Hosea says. “Most people will figure my wife is passed away, which she is. As for Dutch and Bill, well they can make their own assumptions.” 

“However, due to the circumstances,” Dutch says, “it will be best if you and Arthur pretend to be married. We don’t want to arouse too much suspicion.” 

You swallow heavily, reminding yourself that it’s only pretend. It’s not even the fact that you and Arthur are a bit rocky. After you were forced into marriage by your father, you began to view marriage as nothing more than a means for men to own women in a legal bind or part of a silly fairytale. After you killed your husband, you told yourself you would never marry again. 

Lenny whips the horses, carting you off to Saint Dennis. Along the way, the chatter in the stage takes on a merrier tone, jokes begin passing around. You find yourself laughing particularly hard at a story Hosea tells as the carriage moves steadily along the lit streets of the city. 

“We are utterly ridiculous!” Dutch guffaws.

“I ain’t never been to a ball in my life,” Arthur admits roughly as Hosea coughs. 

“Nor have I, if I’m being honest,” Dutch says as he pours a couple of glasses of champagne. 

“Now that I don’t believe, Mr. Van der Linde,” you say as he hands you a glass. 

“No, it’s true! Never saw the point of it.”

“I used to quite often,” Hosea says. “There can be fine pickings.”

“No, no!” Dutch says. “We are here to make real contacts, not to go pickpocketing!”

“What kind of contacts?” Arthur asks.

“We’ll find what we can. All I know for sure is we are going to a party at the mayor’s house and the guest of honor is the worst crook in town! I’m sure we will find something.”

You all laugh again at the ludicrous yet accurate fact. 

The coach pulls up to the gates of a large, elegant house. You file out as Dutch hands a man at the gates a slip of paper. The man asks everyone to hand him their weapons and they hand him their pistols without a word.

“Luca here will see you to Signor Bronte,” the man says. “He is expecting you.” 

“Follow me, gentlemen. Ah, may I ask who the woman is?” Luca gestures to you, speaking in a thick French accent.

You step forward slightly nervous until Arthur offers you his arm. “She’s my wife, sir. She’s, uh, never been to a garden party and wanted to experience one.” 

“Ah, of course, sir. Follow me then.” 

Luca leads your group up to the large house and onto the rounded porch. The pristine white double doors open. Inside, you are greeted by a large staircase trimmed with dark red carpets. The floors are made of highly polished wood, a thick, clean rug sits in the center of the room. Six Grecian columns support the ceiling far above your head. The walls are lit by handsome, electric sconces, paintings of men and scenery adorn the walls. You thought the tailor’s shop had been a fine example of architecture, but it’s nothing compared to this. Two maids wander about the room without looking at the group. A butler in a white suit passes you without a glance. 

“Signor Bronte is very good friends with the mayor,” Luca says, leading you through an arched doorway to the left of the stairs. You peak through a doorway with a dark oak door and spot a long dining table, dressed with a spotless white cloth and a large vase of pink and red flowers, sided by two crystal candelabras. 

You hold onto Arthur’s arm a little tighter, feeling slightly nervous, as Luca leads you into a new room. This one is nearly as fine as the one you’ve just left, but it’s clear it doesn’t see many guests. 

“Hosea, Bill, Y/N, you join the party,” Dutch instructs. “We’ll join you after we pay our respects to Mr. Bronte.” 

“I think Y/N should come with me, Dutch,” Arthur says. “She is my wife after all.” 

You try to hold in your smile. Arthur is enjoying this pretend role a little too much, you think. It makes you wonder if he just doesn’t want to let you go. A twinge of guilt enters your gut as you remember how you’ve treated him since that Mary business.

Dutch nods. “Very well. But Mrs. Morgan,” he gestures to you without batting an eye. “Probably best you say nothing. Let me handle everything.” 

You lift your head and meet him with a steady stare, silently acknowledging that you’ll do as he says. Dutch turns back to Luca as Bill and Hosea head out the glass double doors leading out to a large, covered back porch overlooking the gardens and the people milling about. 

“Follow me,” Luca says, gesturing to a stairwell leading off to the left. “Signor Bronte is on the veranda.” 

Arthur guides you up the stairs after Dutch. You pass more fine paintings set on soft green walls. As you reach the second floor, Luca hesitates and then quickly approaches a door hanging slightly open. He turns the key in the lock and puts it into his pocket before motioning you forward. He leads you towards another pair of glass double doors opening out to the veranda where several men in expensive suits lounge about, smoking cigars and sipping champagne. 

“Ah, the angry cowboys!” A man with a sharp face and dark, clever eyes says to Dutch and Arthur. “So glad you’ve arrived! And you’ve washed!” 

The man turns and says something in Italian to his companion standing next to him, who chuckles appreciatively. The man spots you clutching to Arthur’s arm and his eyes widen as they roam over your body, making you uncomfortable. 

“Ah, and who is this bella donna?” 

“This is Y/N Morgan,” Dutch says, looking back at you. 

“Ah, you are a very lucky man, Mr. Morgan.”

The man approaches you and offers his hand, which you take simply out of propriety. 

“Angelo Bronte at your service, signora,” he kisses your hand. You resist the temptation to whip it out of his grasp. 

“Pleasure, Signor,” you say, wrapping your hand around Arthur’s once again. 

Bronte goes back to the bannister where he was before, turning to his companion once again. “Probabilmente si sono incontrati dopo averla scopata nella prateria aperta.” The man next to him laughs again. 

“This is quite a party you’ve invited us to,” Dutch says appreciatively, shaking Bronte’s hand. 

“Yes, quite something, though I’m not sure what.”

“So this is Saint Denis high society?” Dutch leans forward on the bannister, gazing at the party going on down below. You and Arthur do the same. You admire the beautiful flowers on the sides of the vast courtyard, a large fountain playing in the center. Several tables laden with food settle on the left side, waiters holding trays of champagne and hors d'oeuvres flit through the crowd. 

“Yes apparently so,” Bronte says as a waiter offers Dutch and Arthur cigars. They take them with a slight nod. 

“And all these people,” Dutch continues. “They friends of yours?” 

“No, not quite, but they certainly are afraid of me.”

You hear a tearing sound and see Arthur biting off the end of his cigar, spitting it out over the side. 

Bronte begins pointing people out who are high in society but whom Bronte views as being beneath him, including the mayor. You get the sense that Bronte views himself as a king lording over the entire city. The waiter lights a match and holds it to Dutch. He begins to take it away when Arthur grabs his arm and lights his own, nodding to him once. 

“Oh! And the redskins!” Bronte points out to two men by the fountain with a laugh. “I have no sympathy for them because whoever is stupid enough to be tricked by the Americans, they get what they deserve, huh?”

Bronte’s men smile and laugh in agreement. You notice Arthur and Dutch glaring slightly at him, but they say nothing. You yourself are liking this man less and less. You’re starting to feel an alligator would be more appealing than this man. 

“And that is Hector Fellowes,” Bronte points out a round man with thick glasses. “The self righteous newspaperman. Maybe you will kill him for me one day, huh?”

He looks to Dutch expectantly.

“We’re not paid killers, not in cold blood anyways,” Dutch says simply. 

“I did not know you were so particular that you wouldn’t help a friend.” 

“Oh, I’m willing to help in anyway I can within reason.” 

“I’m going to pretend to know what that means,” Bronte says, a threat hidden. 

“I meant no offence, sir,” Dutch replies. 

“Ah, none taken. None taken!” Bronte smiles widely, but you don’t like the sparkle in his clever eyes. The group around you settles visibly and continues to look over at the party going on below.

“All these vulgar people,” Bronte continues, “they hate me. Non vedo l'ora di vederti morire!” 

The other men laugh again as he waves to the crowd. No one below looks up, but you get the feeling he’s yelling insults to them. 

“Well, it has been wonderful conversing with you,” Dutch says. “But I can tell that you are very busy and we won’t waste anymore of your time.”

Bronte nods and smiles. ‘Yes, yes go enjoy yourselves and mingle with these vulgar scum. It’ll make you long for the days when you could shoot each other and screw cows on the open range!”

  “Those were the days,” Dutch says with a nasty smile. He nods once more to Bronte and then leaves through the glass double doors. You and Arthur follow. You sigh, grateful to finally be leaving this awful man’s presence. Just as you’re about to walk through the doors into the mansion, Bronte stops Dutch.

“Ah, before you go, what exactly are your plans here?” 

“We’ve not made any,” Dutch says, glancing at you and Arthur. “Except, well, we are going to need some money.”

“Yes, of course. Well, there’s plenty of money at the trolley station. They keep plenty of cash there during the day. Now, I could not involve myself in such matters but you? Easy. In fact, as my guest, I say do it! Okay, okay. Good day gentlemen. Adio, bella donna!” Bronte bows slightly to you and you simply smile back, no longer caring for manners.

Arthur guides you back into the house and down the stairs. You head outside to meet with Hosea and Bill, who are standing on the covered porch above the courtyard. A group of men playing violins and cellos sits below, playing a tune you can barely hear over the sound of the party. 

“Gentlemen,” Dutch says. “Let’s go ingratiate ourselves.” He gestures to Arthur. “Go and find the mayor if you can, but stay outta trouble. Remember, no stealing.” 

“Of course,” Arthur says, turning down to one of the staircases that leads out onto the courtyard, you still on his arm. You hear Dutch rumble something to Hosea and Bill as you descend. 

“What are we supposed to do now?” you ask him quietly. 

“Just as Dutch says. We’re gonna mingle, see if we can hear anything that might lead us to a job. Just keep yer ears open.” 

He straightens up to get a better view of the man Bronte pointed out as the mayor. 

“We best split up, be more effective that way. I’m gonna introduce myself to the mayor.” 

Arthur pats your hand and then slips his arm out of your grip before walking away towards the fountain and the group of men gathered there. You stand awkwardly, not really knowing what to do with yourself. A waiter with a tray of champagne passes you, so you grab a glass. You’ve never liked champagne, but it’ll give you something to do. You feel as though you’re a teen again at one of those horrible parties your cousin Emma forced you to attend with her and you hate it. 

You wander the courtyard, giving a wide berth to Arthur as he mingles around the mayor but always keeping him in your sight. You join different groups of gossiping women, only bothering to stay for a few moments at a time as you sip your drink. Most of them simply pass mindless chatter about other people they know, places they’ve been or things they’ve heard. You catch nothing that could lead to a potential job until…

“Did you know my husband Henry has been invited to a party on the Flying Grace? Oh, I could hardly believe my ears when he told me!” a particularly fat woman in a yellow dress says as she sips her champagne. You stop a few feet away from her, curious.

“Isn’t that the riverboat party setting out next week?” a scrawny woman asks.

“Yes, yes!” the fat woman says. “You know how those parties are. Only the richest fellows are invited. I sincerely hope he wasn’t invited simply to be the laughing stock of the night.” 

They pass a bit more information regarding the party until you’ve heard enough to tell Dutch. Feeling sure, you wander over to the buffet table and grab a small plate of quiche, which you’ve never tried before but find you rather enjoy.

“Ah, I’ll be glad to get out of this place,” Arthur says, grabbing himself a plate, startling you slightly. 

“Oh, thank God it’s you. You done?” you ask. 

“Just about. Might want to wander a bit more, see if we can find anything else.”

“In a bit, I’m sick of wandering. Plus I heard rumors of fireworks. I haven’t seen those since I was a kid,” you say hopefully.

Arthur finishes his quiche and nods. “Okay.” 

The musicians under the balcony finish their piece and begin a new, waltzing tune. A young woman near them, younger than you, smiles excitedly at the man she’s with. They quickly run to a clear spot near the musicians and take up in a dance. Their mood seems to catch on because several other couples begin to dance as well. 

Arthur clears his throat. “You care to join in?” 

You look up at him. You’re not fond of dancing, but he looks like he’s expecting you to say no.Your stomach twinges guiltily again. You recall the things you said to him, especially the part about regretting falling in love with him, which isn’t true. You don’t want to think about where you’d be now without him. You nod and take his hand, leading him to the floor. 

Arthur sighs happily as he holds up your joined hands, his other sliding over your hip. You place your hand on his shoulder and he begins leading you in the circular movements of the dance. You notice he’s not as smooth or as clean as the other men around you both, but you don’t care since you’re certainly not very graceful either. 

After a moment, you smile at him. “We haven’t done this in a long time,” you say.

He chuckles softly, squeezing your hand. “Not since Sean came back. Ah, I miss that kid.” 

“I know. I miss him too. It seems like things have gotten worse for everybody since he…” 

“Yes. I just hope things change.” 

His smile fades and he looks above your head as he leads you in the dance. You feel something heavy in your gut again, almost as though you swallowed a snake. You know what it is that’s bothering you.

“Arthur, I’m sorry,” you say finally.

“For what?”

“For that whole Mary drama. I shouldn’t have been so hard on you. I believe that you simply went to tell her to leave you alone. I… I don’t regret falling for you, Arthur. You’re the best thing that’s happened to me in a very long time.” 

He smiles and leans down, placing a kiss on your head. 

“Well, I’m glad, sweetheart. You’re the best thing that’s happened to me too. And I was bein’ serious when I said I ain’t never felt this way about anyone before.” 

“I know, me too.” 

He suddenly pulls you close, though his hand doesn’t leave yours. You close your eyes as his chin gently rests against your head. You sigh and smile, secretly hoping the music will never end. But end it does. The other couples stop dancing, some begin to clap even. Arthur pulls away from you, but he’s smiling and his eyes are crinkled. 

A sudden bang echoes above you and you flinch before you look up and see the blue dots drifting slowly across the river. Another small stream of light launches up into the air and explodes in a shower of red and gold. Many of the others gasp at the colors of the fireworks. 

“Come on, let’s get a better view,” Arthur says. 

He squeezes your hand and leads you gently forward, past the large fountain in the center of the courtyard. When he stops, you let go of his hand simply to fold your arms around his, leaning your head against his shoulder. He chuckles softly, pressing a hand against yours. 

You watch the fireworks for a moment, listening to the women around you express their awe. You hear the sound of a man asking people to move, his voice getting gradually louder until it stops behind you at the group of men that involves the mayor. You glance back and notice the man in a white tailcoat beckoning to the mayor. Arthur notices too and he gently inches the both of you closer to them to listen in.

“Mr. Cornwall was quite insistent, I’m afraid,” the man says quickly to the mayor. “He shouted on the telephone for several minutes.” 

“Mr. Cornwall is a horse’s ass,” the mayor says in a thick French accent. You’ve noticed at this party that seems to be the trend. “And a bad horse at that.” 

“My apologies, sir.” 

“No, it’s not your fault. I never should have trusted him. I’ll come and sign the papers in a moment, let me enjoy the fireworks.” 

“Of course, monsieur.”

Dutch approaches inconspicuously from Arthur’s other side. “Did he just say something about Cornwall?” 

“I think so,” Arthur whispers back.

“Go find out what.” 

Arthur nods and slips out of your grip in order to follow the man. You remain with Dutch, watching him walk away. 

“Well, Mrs. Morgan,” Dutch says with a small laugh. “How are you enjoying this fine party?” 

“Hmm,” you say, turning back to the fireworks. “I don’t think it quite lives up to my standards, to be honest.” 

He chuckles and nods. “Yes, I think I agree with you. However, it has had its benefits.” 

“Like what?”

“Well,” Dutch says, glancing over at the group of men the mayor is with. You notice a man with a kind face and dark mutton chops standing next to him. “I had the immense pleasure of meeting Mr. Evelyn Miller.”

“Ah,” you say. You’ve heard Dutch quoting from the man’s books many times. Most of the passages tend to go over your head and you find little use for them. “Must have been a dream come true, Mr. Van der Linde.” 

He laughs again softly. “I would be lying if I said I didn’t overly enjoy it. Not only that, I can tell you’ve quite enjoyed being addressed as Mrs. Morgan.”

You blush at this comment. “Oh, it’s just pretend, Dutch. We all know it doesn’t…” you’re not sure how to finish the sentence. The fact is that you have enjoyed it, but the idea of marriage still terrifies you. Besides, you’ve no doubt in your mind that Arthur has no interest in it. 

Dutch chortles as you trail off. “Well, come on, miss. Let’s rejoin the others. Arthur shouldn’t be much longer.” 

He walks away and you follow him to the balcony where Hosea’s standing.

“Anything?” Dutch asks him. 

“Possibly. May have heard something about a bank job.”

“And I heard something about a riverboat job with a high stakes poker game,” you chip in. 

“Excellent. I’ll put the word in to Trelawney, see if he can find a way in on that,” Dutch replies. He leans over on the bannister as Arthur exits the mansion.

“Find anything?” Dutch asks as Arthur leans over with him. 

“Thinks so,” he pats his chest, indicating he has something in his inner coat pocket. 

“Nothing!” Bill says, walking up the stairs. “This city is a waste of time!” 

“Not quite. Arthur may have something,” Dutch says. 

“Gentlemen, Y/N,” Hosea says, clasping his hands. “I think we’re done here.” 

Dutch nods and gestures to the double doors leading inside. He walks towards them and you grab Arthur’s arm again, letting him guide you out. The five of you walk through the mansion and out the doors as Hosea quietly discusses a potential score involving the city’s bank. 

“There’s also the trolley station Bronte told us about,” Dutch says as you walk out the main front doors and onto the front walkway. They approach the men guarding the front gates and their guns are handed back to them. 

“Here comes Lenny,” Dutch says as the stage draws up and stops. You file in before the others and sit beside the door, Arthur sitting next to you. He grabs your hand as the carriage begins moving. 

“I ain’t never felt so awkward in all my life,” Bill snarls from beside Hosea. “All them folk so pleased with themselves. High society’s pigeon shit! If you ask me, it’s more like torture.”

“That’s sort of the point, isn’t it?” Dutch asks, gazing hard at Bill. “Let the people torture themselves.”

Arthur reaches into his inner pocket. 

“Here’s them papers I took,” he says, handing them to Dutch. He reads them quickly and nods. 

“Anybody see you take this?”

“Don’t think so,” Arthur says. 

Dutch nods again. “I may have an idea.” The rest of the journey passes with Dutch and Hosea discussing the bank and trolley jobs. You smile as Bill fidgets with his bow tie. Arthur leans back, squeezing your hand. 

Lenny pulls the stage up to Shady Belle and you all file out. You’re glad to be back, the corset’s beginning to hurt quite a bit. You walk up the stairs to the house and turn to say something to Arthur, but you see him standing by the broken fountain. 

“Arthur, what are you doing?” 

“I…” he says. He walks up to you slowly, not looking you in the eye. “I wasn’t planning on spending the night in the room, darlin’. Didn’t know if you’re...” 

“Arthur,” you say sadly, holding your hand out to him. “I missed you last night. Besides I need help getting out of this damned thing.” 

He smiles and takes your hand, letting you take him upstairs and into the room. He whips off his coat and unbuttons the waistcoat. You kick off your heels and unbutton as much of the dress as you can. “Arthur, help me,” you say, turning your back to him.

He comes towards you and begins undoing the remaining of the buttons. 

“You need help with this?” he asks, gently tugging on the corset. 

“Please. I can’t wait to breathe again.” 

He chuckles and unties it, letting it fall to the ground. You gasp, filling your lungs. He laughs softly and wraps his arms around you, kissing your temple. 

“I missed you last night, too, darlin’.” 

You smile and rub his arm. “Mm, I didn’t mind seeing you in that suit though.”

“Ah, I think your costume was more uncomfortable, but I still hated mine.” 

You giggle and look back at him; he places a gentle kiss to your lips. “Should we go to bed?” he suggests.

You smile and unfold his arms from around you so you can slip off the petticoat. You slip into the bed in nothing but your undergarments and turn to face the wall. Arthur quickly undresses and climbs in behind you, his arm draping over your side. He kisses your neck before burying his face into your hair. You sigh happily, rubbing his hand. 

“Mm, love you, darlin’,” he says sleepily.

You smile. “I’ll always love you, Arthur Morgan.” 

The next morning, you stand by the Pearson’s fire, drinking coffee with Arthur. He’s hardly left your side since last night, which you don’t mind. You wonder though if he’s just happy things have gone back to normal between you. 

“Arthur, you mentioned you wanted to go up to that lake near Colter,” you say.

“I did. Still would like to, if you wanna come,” he says, taking a drink.

“Course I do. Think you and me need to get out of here, have some time alone.” 

You think about how nice it will be to be out there in the world again, alone with Arthur. It’s not even the fact that you can make love as much as you’d like without fear of being overheard (despite having four walls in Shady Belle, they’re too thin for you and Arthur to do exactly what you’d like to one another). The last time you can recall going on a hunting trip with Arthur was in Big Valley when you first took him to bed properly. 

“Well good,” he says, pulling you from your thoughts. “Think we could go in a couple of hours. Need to do some work here first so that Grimshaw doesn’t skin us alive.” 

You chuckle, finishing your coffee. “I wouldn’t put it past her.” 

He pats your shoulder and heads off to a stump with an axe stuck in it. He grabs it and reaches down to pick up a log, placing it vertically on the stump. You purposefully wander over to the crates near Mary-Beth’s and Tilly’s tent so that you can watch him. Picking up a needle and some material, you peak over to him every few seconds, appreciating the view of his strong back and arms going to work.

“That tends to work better with thread, you know,” Tilly says, catching your attention.

“What?” you say, looking down and realizing that you’ve just been shoving the needle into the fabric. The two girls giggle, making you blush.You reach down and grab a line of thread.

It’s just past noon and you’re sitting in the gazebo near the river, reading from a book Hosea lent you, taking a break from chores. The book’s a bit silly, the story follows a detective but the diction the author uses is almost ridiculous. You wonder how it even got published, although you’d be lying if you said you weren’t enjoying it.

“I’m surprised at how quickly you’ve picked that up,” a voice catches your attention. You look up and see Hosea.

“Picked what up?”

“Reading,” he says, sitting down next to you. You mark the page and close the book.

“Well, it was something I wanted to do my whole life. My father,” you pause. Only Arthur knows the full story of your past. “My father believed women had no need for the skill of reading.”

“Yes, I know some men don’t think you women are capable of doing so.”

“Which is weird to me because his mother could read. She tried many times to teach me until my father threatened to separate us for good.”

A moment of silence passes between the two of you. “It’s just strange,” you say finally.

“What?”

“That I should find a proper family with a group of vagabonds and criminals.”

Hosea chuckles. “Yes, well I think most of us are here because life handed us a very raw deal. For some people, it’s easy to make it out there. But for us…” 

You both fall silent again, watching as Arthur approaches the porch of the mansion, greeting Sadie who’s cleaning her gun.

“You’ve been a great thing for him, you know,” Hosea says, nodding in Arthur’s direction. “I haven’t seen him this happy in a long time. In fact, this may be the happiest I’ve ever seen him.”

You smile and look down to your lap. “Well, I’ve never been happier either.”

Hosea gives you a sly look. “I know he had fun at that ball last night, and it was all because of you. Arthur hates those things, but he seemed to rather enjoy himself.” 

You giggle. “I would have enjoyed it more if I could have breathed properly. Think my ribs are bruised.” 

He laughs. “Well, I have been wondering about something since last night.”

“What?”

“If Arthur did ask you to spend the rest of your life with him, what would you say?”

You swallow, your smile fading. “I… I don’t know, Hosea. You know I was married before, but I was forced into it, and… he beat me constantly and nearly starved me to death. If I hadn’t learned to hunt for myself, I wouldn’t be here.” 

“I know. But it would be different with Arthur. He would never hurt you and he would take great pride in providing for you. Hell, you know better than anyone how much the gang has to thank him for having full bellies.”

You smile and relax slightly. “I know.” 

Hosea pauses. “I was married to my Bessie for nearly twenty years. It was the best decision I ever made. She sacrificed quite a lot so I could live this lifestyle, but she knew that before she married me, and I did everything in my power to care for her.” “You must have loved each other a lot.” 

“We did. To be honest, Y/N, the way I’ve seen you look at Arthur. It’s the same way Bessie used to look at me.”

You don’t really know what to say, so you smile and look down again. A thought passes through your mind, filling you with doubt.

“That might be so, Hosea, but I doubt Arthur would want to… marry me.”

“Why not?”

You shake your head. “I wouldn’t want to marry me.”

“You’re too hard on yourself, Y/N.” He pauses again and sighs. “Did you know Arthur nearly married that Mary girl?”

“What?”

“Yes,” he nods, frowning. “It was a long time ago. Maybe fifteen years. Not long after he met her. She had some kind of pull on him, but I tried telling him many times she was just playing games with him. He didn’t wanna listen to me, so one day he comes to camp all proud and saying he was going to be a married man.”

You glance over at Arthur. Dutch walks up to him and says something before they both troop inside the mansion. 

“What happened?”

“Well, Arthur told me he didn’t propose to her, she proposed to him. Her daddy made her angry so she suggested it to him and he agreed. Two days before their set date, Arthur gets a letter from her saying she can’t marry him, it’ll break her daddy’s heart. She then told him that she’d recently met a man named Barry who was more suited for her. A few months later, he got word that they married.”

You furrow your brows sadly. “Poor Arthur. I knew she hurt him, but that’s even beneath my expectations.” 

“Ours, too. She claimed that if he would be a better man, she would have married him. She used that excuse a lot.”

“People don’t change,” you state simply. 

“I know. Arthur knows too. But I’m glad now that it didn’t work out between them. It allowed you in the picture. Face it, Y/N,” he pats your knee. “You two were meant to be.” 

You’re about to say something when you hear a horse walking down the path, its hooves clopping on the bridge. You and Hosea look to see who it is.

Branwen, Kieran’s horse, walks slowly towards the broken fountain. His owner sits upon him, his head resting in his hands and his eyes gouged out. You and Hosea stand just as Mary-Beth screams. 

“There!” you hear Dutch yell from the balcony. “In the treeline!” 

You look to where he’s pointing and see a dozen men, black sacks hiding their faces. A blast fires into the air, causing you to flinch. 

“Everybody take cover!” Dutch yells as more shots ring out. You hunker down behind the crate you were just sitting on, pulling out your revolver and sawed-off. You hear Jack cry out and you stretch up to see him.

“Jack!” John yells. Jack starts running to him until John picks him up and hides him behind one of the barricades. You spot Arthur hiding behind one of the pillars on the balcony, shooting into the crowd of O’Driscolls. 

“Women and children, inside!” Dutch hollers.

“Go, Y/N!” Hosea yells, thumping your shoulder. You quickly dash over to the house. You climb the stairs as Arthur shoves the doors open.

“Get inside!” he yells as you go in, followed by Tilly and Molly.

Inside is nearly as chaotic as out, but at least it’s harder to get shot. The other women are running around in panic. John dashes in, carrying Jack. Arthur follows him and throws down a bookcase to block the door. 

“Stay away from the windows!” Dutch screams out. You dash over to the others hunkering down by the cold fireplace, your guns still in your hands. Molly, looking on the verge of tears, grasps you suddenly as Dutch barks orders to John and Arthur. They run to the back of the house where some of the O’Driscolls seem to have found their way. 

“Is everyone accounted for?” Dutch yells.

“I think so,” Arthur calls back. “Where’s Sadie?”

A wild scream answers him. 

“She’s still outside!” he yells. He must have run outside, you don’t hear him or his gun anymore. 

Charles runs into the room with you and the other women, taking his place by the window and shooting out of it. You want to help, but Molly has a surprisingly strong grip on you as she sobs into your shoulder. 

“Damn!” Charles says loudly. “I’m out!” 

He spots a machete lying on the mantle and grabs it before diving out the door. You hear the sickening impact of blade meeting skull. Several more shots ring out until suddenly everything falls silent.

“They’re running for the trees!” Dutch yells from the front of the house. “Cowards!” 

“We okay?” you hear Hosea ask.

“Think so. Oh, poor kid. Swanson, take Kieran here and get him buried.”

“We need to get this place cleaned up!” Hosea says. 

“Grimshaw! Pearson!” Dutch hollers. The two stand and rush outside where Dutch instructs them to help clean camp up. Grimshaw barges back in, ordering you and the other women to help.

“You’re okay, Ms. O’Shea,” you say to Molly, patting her back. She sniffs and pulls away from you. She stands up and runs to the back of the house where you hear her stomping up the stairs. You get up and, with Lenny’s help, you lift up the bookcase Arthur knocked down. 

You quickly head outside and see Arthur and John carrying a body towards the river. 

Nearly an hour has passed since the attack and the bodies have finally been cleared away. Despite the recent chaos, the camp is relatively untouched except for a few knocked over supply crates. Arthur walks towards the fountain with John, their hands bloodied. You rush over to him.

“You okay?” you say.

“Just fine. And you?”

You nod, still slightly shaken from the ambush. 

“How about everyone else?” he asks.

“I think they’re okay. Molly’s real shaken and Mary-Beth…” you pause. You know she and Kieran had been close friends. You even suspected Kieran harbored a small crush on her. 

“Ah, that poor kid,” Arthur says.

“Who, Mary-Beth or Kieran?”

“Both of them,” he says. He looks at you and you see a sadness in his eyes. “We keep losin’ folk, Y/N.”

You grab his hand and lead behind the mansion towards an old and flooded graveyard beyond the boathouse. You see a large tree, settled high above the water line. Arthur gets the hint and sits down, allowing you to crawl into his lap. You sit in a way so you can bury your head into his neck. He holds on tight to you, sighing.

“He saved my life, you know,” he says after a moment.

“I heard. What happened?”

“We was at Six Point Cabin lookin’ for that piece of shit Colm,” he explains, his hand gently rubbing your arm. “Kieran thought he was in the cabin, so I went to go check. As soon as I opened the door, I got knocked down by a man inside. He would have shot me if Kieran hadn’t gotten him first. Don’t know why he did it, Kieran had no reason to save me.” He pauses and swallows heavily. “And I couldn’t save him.”

“Don’t blame this on yourself, Arthur.”

“We all knew he was missin’, Y/N, but none of us did anything about it.” 

“Can I be honest, Arthur?”

“Of course,” his lips brush your forehead. 

“Most of us thought he went back to the O’Driscolls after that whole thing with Jack.” You hate yourself for thinking how obvious it is that Kieran may have betrayed your gang.

“I don’t know, darlin’. It’s possible they tracked him down. The fact that they sent him back to us like that. Well, tells me he didn’t return to them on good terms.”

“He must have told them where we are. They wouldn’t have found us otherwise.”

“Who knows what they put him through before he spilled, Y/N.” 

You both fall silent. You listen to the sound of Arthur’s heart beating, birds singing, an alligator from the river growls. 

“You know who fought best out of all of us?” Arthur suddenly says.

“Who?”

“Mrs. Adler. She’s got a wild streak in her. Somethin’ real feral took hold of her. I saw her take down three O’Driscolls in a matter of seconds by herself.”

“Who would have thought,” you say.

“She’s driven by somethin’ powerful. Guess that’s what love has done to her.” 

“You think that was love, Arthur?”

“Maybe. Or maybe the loss of it. I can tell ya if… If I suddenly lost ya, there wouldn’t be much I’d be afraid of.” 

His words come rushing through your ears like a wave. You remember all the things Hosea said to you before Kieran’s body came into camp. You wonder what you’d be like if Arthur was suddenly no longer part of your life. In that brief moment of imagination, you feel like you understand Sadie and her fearlessness. You settle into his neck again, praying you never have to experience it. His arms wrap tighter around you, almost as though he’s thinking the same thing as you.

After a few moments, a slight breeze picks up, coming from across camp. You get the faint scent of Pearson’s stew. 

“Come on,” you say, sitting up. “Let’s get something to eat.” 

He nods and stands, walking back to the house with your hand in his. As soon as you reach Pearson’s fire, a tearful Mary-Beth approaches.

“Mr. Morgan,” she says.

“Ms. Gillis.” 

“Kieran. They... Promise me you’ll make them pay, Arthur.” 

You see something change in her eyes. The gentleness has vanished and been replaced with pain. 

“I promise, miss, I will do everything in my power to make them answer for all the things they done to us.” 

“Good. Kieran was such a gentle soul. Who would want to hurt him?”

Before either you or Arthur can respond, she walks away towards the mansion. You hand Arthur a plate of stew, to which he takes somberly. You both sit on the log around the campfire, although neither of you have much appetite. 

Others join you, including Bill, Charles and Grimshaw. No one talks and there is no music. Bill drinks heavily from a bottle. 

“Well,” he says, taking a long draw, “here’s to you, Kieran.” He tips the bottle and spills some of the liquor onto the ground beside him.

[atc74]

Chuck Tailors

Square(s) Filled: Business AU for @spnfluffbingo2019, “The Customer is Always Right” for @as-the-saying-goes-bingo

Warnings: Fluff, Dean being uncomfortable while Chuck measures him for a suit, gay Chuck, implied bi-Dean, fluff

Summary: Chuck is a custom tailor and is making the suits for the groomsmen in cousin Castiel’s wedding. When two strapping men walk into his shop, he can’t help but hope he might make more than just a suit for one of them. 

Pairing: Dean x Chuck

Word Count: 758

Written for: @spnfluffbingo2019, @as-the-saying-goes-bingo

Beta’d by: @amanda-teaches and @alleiradayne - thank you both. And you’re welcome. 

A/N: I was talking to @alleiradayne the night THIS happened and just imagining Rob as a business man, which then turned into a joke with “Chuck Tailors...a suit for all your Supernatural needs” but since you know, AU and all. Also, contains a ship that I have never seen before, but thought, what the hell? I am fan of Bendackles so why not! I hope you like it! 

Interested in Dean or Chuck’s scents? Buy them here from @scentsfromthebunker!

The bell above the door dinged, signaling a customer, hopefully. Chuck made his way from the backroom to the front. It had been slow going but this was his chance at a fresh start. A new business doing what he did best, designing and tailoring men’s clothing.  

“Good morning! Welcome to Chuck Tailors!” he chirped peacefully at the two men that had entered his small storefront. “What can I design for you two?”

“Hi, Chuck, I presume,” the taller man spoke, shaking the shopkeepers hand. “I’m Sam. This is my brother, Dean, and we’re looking for new suits for a friend’s wedding and he recommended you.” 

“Oh fantastic! You must be the Winchester brothers,” Chuck glanced between them. “Castiel didn’t tell me how strapping you both were.” 

Dean smirked, holding his head a little higher with pride. Sam rolled his eyes and returned his attention to the tailor. “Do have time now to take our measurements?” 

“Oh yes! I’ve been expecting you!” Chuck led them to the back and gestured for one of them to step up to the pedestal first. “Who’s first?” 

Dean stepped up and admired himself in the mirror for a moment, Chuck interrupting his moment. “I’m going to ask you to take off a layer, Dean.” 

Dean glared at the smaller man. 

“It’s only to get accurate measurements, scouts honor,” Chuck smiled up at him. He knew how some men were uncomfortable with getting measured, especially when it came to the inseam, but he refused to design an ill-fitting suit. 

Dean reluctantly pulled his outer jacket off, tossing it at his brother, followed by his flannel. Dean felt exposed as he stood on the pedestal in a single layer of clothing. He preferred to purchase his suits off the rack, but Cas requested they use Chuck so that all the groomsmen had matching suits. 

Chuck was efficient as he measured across Dean’s broad shoulders, down his arms, then around the biceps. Once his chest and waist were done, Chuck knelt in front of him, running his fingers up the inside of Dean’s leg to his crotch, when Dean jumped back. “Whoa, buddy! I don’t swing that way!” 

“Then you don’t know what you’re missing, Dean,” Chuck laughed. “I’m sorry. That was inappropriate. But, it really is part of the measuring process. I need to know how long to make the legs of your suit.” 

“Dean,” Sam groaned loudly. 

“Whatever! Let’s just finish this!” Dean gumbled, moving back into place. 

Chuck quickly finished with Dean after taking the inseam and thigh measurements, before moving on to Sam. 

“I’ll have these ready for you two weeks before the wedding. I’d like you to come in for a final fitting so I can make sure they fit like a glove!” Chuck explained excitedly. These men will look stunning in the dark charcoal fabric chosen to compliment the indigo blue Castiel would be wearing. 

~*~

“You look quite handsome, Dean,” Chuck practically whispered, inching closer to Dean at the bar during the reception. 

“Uhh, thanks, Chuck,” Dean smiled, turning to face him, his cheeks heating up under the attention. “Must be the suit.” 

“The suit is only fabric. It’s the man that makes the clothes, not the clothes that make the man,” Chuck deflected, allowing his cerulean eyes to travel over Dean’s form before meeting jade ones watching him intently. “I’m sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable, Dean.” 

“I’m just not used to this. I’m usually the one using the subtle pick up lines,” Dean chuckled nervously. 

“How’s that going for you?” Chuck inquired, a smirk on his face. 

“Not that well. See, I’m here at my best friend’s wedding with no plus one,” Dean murmured, moving closer. 

“And, here I am, at my cousin’s wedding, also with no plus one,” Chuck acknowledged. 

“If I remember basic math, one plus one equals two,” Dean dared to be more bold. 

“The customer is always right,” Chuck agreed.

“I’ve never done anything like this before,” Dean admitted. 

“It’s okay, Dean. I don’t do this a lot either,” Chuck reassured him. “I’m in no hurry.”

“Maybe get together next week, some place we might have a little privacy?” Dean cocked his head to the side. 

Chuck looked around the room to see several pairs of eyes lingering on them as they shared a drink at the bar. “A little less friends and family? Yeah, I’d like that a lot.” 

“I’ll drink to that,” Dean raised his glass, meeting Chuck’s. 

“To new customers,” Chuck cheered. 

“To new friendships,” Dean mused. “And, possibly more.” 

Did you like it? The nicest thing you can do for a writer is reblog their work and tell them, and others, how much you like it!

The Whole Enchilada:  @dolphincliffs @mrswhozeewhatsis @meganwinchester1999 @cherrycokegirls1 @closetspngirl  @roxyspearing @flamencodiva @blacktithe7 @sis-tafics @just-another-busyfangirl @evansrogerskitten @amanda-teaches @hannahindie @wotinspntarnation @winchesterprincessbride @winecatsandpizza @kickingitwithkirk  @wi-deangirl77 @hobby27 @mogaruke @gh0stgurl @alleiradayne @idreamofplaid @seenashwrite @crashdevlin @thoughtslikeaminefield @emoryhemsworth​

The Dean’s List: @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @dean-winchesters-bacon @maddiepants  @adoptdontshoppets @mtngirlforever @supernatural-jackles​

Chuck’s Chosen: @gettingbywithalittlehelp96​

[myfairgunslinger]

Title: Red Dead Revenge: Kiss of Death  [Part 5]

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x OC x John Marston

Warnings: Smut, Minor Cursing

Summary:   Arthur catches John and Maeve in their lie. Time to come clean.

A/N: Hey guys! I know it's been a while but I'm back with a new chapter. Been pretty busy but I finally had time to write this out so hopefully it was worth the wait. Warning: There is smut in this chapter! So hope you enjoy!  Italics means  flashbacks.

Chapter 5: Soft Spots

Her eyes were shut, her lungs inhaled the humid air of Flat Iron Lake.  She felt the sunlight on her skin as it went down over the horizon, basking her in orange and yellow gleams.  She still had her eyes closed when feeling hands around her waist and a bit of pressure around the top of her head from a resting chin, "Beautiful," John's voice, low and raspy in her ear.  He was embracing Maeve from behind.  She turned her head, "Isn't it?  I love this view."

He had turned her around to where she was facing him, "I wasn't talkin' about the view," John leaned down to peck a kiss on the smile she made. Her dark orbs peering at his face, "Ain't you sweet. What ever could you want?"

"Just a moment of your time," he kissed her neck, "Maybe longer," John breathed out. Maeve was blushing as he kissed her like that. Her eyes locked with an older couple that watched them with appall on their faces, "Can we do it in private?" John pulled away, head slightly turning to see the people judging them.  He waved a hand, "Howdy."

Maeve grabbed his hand and pulled him away from the docks to go towards the shops, a giggle escaping her chest, "You are just--"

"Horrible?  I know, you've told me.  Can you blame me?" he smirked while wrapping an arm around her body to pull her into the small spaces between the buildings. John's other hand moved to turn her face towards him so he could kiss her.  She practically melted into the kiss, all of his affectionate touches were something new for the girl putting her in a constant state of fluster. John moved Maeve to where the front of her body was facing his, rough hands were on her hips as the man held her close during their passionate kisses.

It had been a week since John decided to stay here in Blackwater, renting one of the two rooms up in the saloon.  Maeve spent more time at the saloon after work to either have a few drinks with him or they would walk around town, John taking an interest in whatever she had to say about anything her heart desired.  When the topic of John and his background would come up, he would either keep it brief or change the subject.

John placed his hands against the wall, a hand each on both sides of her head as he stared at her with his dark eyes.  Maeve could feel herself on fire from the stare and she made a slight smile with her lips, "There's just something about you when you make that face that gives me the urge to not be such a good boy."

Maeve's cheeks had a sprinkle of blush to them as her eyes pulled away from his, as if something was bothering her, "What's the matter, darlin'? Something I said?" "No, it's not that-- I mean it is something you said, but it's not bad," she tried to explain herself, "No one's ever talked to me, like how you are."

John felt guilty as he pushed off the wall so his arms could rest at his side, "Oh, sorry I won't--."

"No! I like it.  It's very new to me, a lot of this is...what we are," she breathed feeling nervous, "Can I tell you something, John?" he nodded, "Anything."

Maeve bit the side of her bottom lip preparing to say the next words, "I'm a...well I'm uhh..." the palms of her hands rubbed together, praying he caught on so she wouldn't have to say it.  He didn't as he shrugged his shoulder, "You're cold?"

Maeve leaned closer to him to whisper while placing a hand on his chest, "A virgin."

"Oh," John's eyes went somewhat big at the surprise.  It wasn't an uncommon thing, he's just not used to meeting women who were that pure.  John smiled at her and placed a curled finger under her chin to lift it up, "That's actually really nice to know."

"It is?" Maeve's raised a corner of her mouth.  He leaned down to peck her lips, "It is," John's finger was still under her chin, "Don't feel rushed to change it either, alright darlin'?Maeve took a step back while holding his hands in hers, "But what if I said, I did want to change it?" her eyes on his, "With you?"

John said, "I'd say you're crazy, but there's no arguing with you is there?" his face leaned down to hover over hers giving Maeve a moment to quip back with, "Nope!" she pushed herself to close the space, taking John's lips with hers.

"Maeve!  Maeve!" Cecilia called out for her daughter from the front door of the tailor's.  She let out a sigh, "Lemme help with closin' and we'll 'talk' some more?" John smirked, "Oh we talkin' now?" he teased her as Maeve giggled at him while letting go of his hands, "You'll just have to--"

"Maeve!" Cecilia called out louder sounding as if she was walking around.  Maeve started to walk away, before leaving the narrow alley John had asked, "Should I introduce myself?"

"No, no! " Maeve said, "She's lovely," John chuckled then started to go around the back of the shops to get to his room at the saloon, "See you later, darlin'."

Maybe some day soon, he could meet Cecilia and Everett.  Maeve picked up her skirt a bit so she wouldn't trip when walking to the store to see her mother, "I thought you were at the pier?"

"I was.  You ready to close up?" Maeve tilted her head innocently enough with a small smile hiding her excitement.

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

Her eyes opened up still seeing Arthur standing there with an expression on his face that Maeve could only read as betrayal.  John decided to speak, "It's not how it looks.  I met her when you brought her to--"

"Even caught, you're still lying to me. I expected as much from you, Marston!" Arthur spat at him then his eyes shifted to Maeve who was still trying to find a voice, "But you?  Why on earth would you lie for this idiot?"

Maeve's head was still spinning as she was overwhelmed from not only drinking so much, but she did stab a man trying to rob her only moments ago, "I--he" her finger pointed at John for a moment before dropping her hand, "I was trying to help John..."

"I asked her to, Arthur," John said, "I told her I was tryin' to fix things with Abigail.  If people knew about us they will talk and it would ruin anything that--"

Maeve scoffed out in an irritated manner, "Oh cause that's me!  A life ruiner!" John looked as if he was offended, "I didn't say that!  I never said that!"  Arthur was now watching them argue, "No, but that's all I've been to you since I came to camp, right?  Been ruining your chances to patch things with your family, who you apparently ran away from."

Arthur's expression turned to be amused at how she was yelling at him, "Have you even told Abigail?" Maeve watched him as John said nothing.  She let out a noise that could only be recognized as the world's saddest single laugh, "I hate you!" Maeve said right in his face with her eyes glossy.  John felt a pain in his chest when her words cut him.  Why did he always have to do this?

She turned on her heel to storm passed Arthur to go back into the saloon, "Mae! " John went to follow after her, but Arthur grabbed him with his arms, "Let her go. You've done enough."  John pushed away from the man to go in after her.  He saw Maeve climb up the stairs, slamming the door to the room Arthur rented.

Arthur came in last, placing a hand on his shoulder, "Since you're a dirty liar, Lil' John.  You get to buy me a drink as you explain yourself."

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

Maeve kicked over the chair that Arthur had been sitting in while tears rolled down her face.  She was beyond angry.  Angry at John for convincing her to lie and be this secret of his, for not being truthful to his wife.  More importantly, she was angry at herself for going along with his plan, in hopes that this would do something to repair their relationship even if it was just as friends. She was angry at how Arthur was upset that she did lie for someone he has a lot of hostility for.  He won't trust her because of this and Maeve was scared this was going to get her thrown out of camp.

She went over to throw herself on the bed to cover her face with a pillow while yelling all her anger in the fluff.  Wishing things were easier, back when her worries were about simple things.

Outside her window Maeve could hear voices on the porch, men talking, "What is wrong with this country? I tell ya it just gets more hateful and more violent, but nothing disgusts me more than people doing sick things for the fun of it," the men leaning on the railing were dressed like law marshals.  The other one said, "Have you heard what happened in Strawberry a couple days ago?  Gang of men fed a father and his son to a pack of wolves, made the poor mother watch them get torn apart before they raped and beat her to death."

Maeve's heart sunk hearing that but continued to listen to the marshals, "I did, the Bollard Twins, right?  Those boys grew up 'round here, ya know.  Always trouble makers those two.  Now Mike and Phil run a gang of monsters wearin' stupid hats!"

The blood in her began to boil from knowing exactly who these old marshals were talking about.  She opened up the window to the room, "Excuse me!"  The two men jumped, turning to see Maeve, "Evenin', miss."

"You two are talkin' about Mike and Phil Bollard, right?" they nodded as she climbed out of the window, "Tell me everything you know about 'em."

The older man gently shook his head, "It's not for the faint of heart, miss."

She stared at him, with a dangerous look in her eyes while leaning on the rail with them, "Try me."

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

Her eyes were on the saloon, a place she spent a lot of her time working, in now she was here for John.  Maeve entered the building and right away Lou saw her as he served up drinks.  She smirked at him, picking up her black and red skirt that had white frills underneath to puff up the dress.  Going along with her skirt, Maeve also wore a long sleeved, red blouse that had a low-cut on the collar that hung just off her shoulders.  Usually she'd put on a corset but Maeve didn't want John to struggle with taking it off.  To complete her outfit, she had a red neckerchief tied around her neck with black homestead boots.

Climbing up the stairs her heart raced as her eyes went to search for John on the top floor.  She saw him sitting down on one of the sofas with a beer in hand, he didn't look drunk but he did seem like he was thinking deeply about something.  Maeve approached him to pull John out of where ever his mind was with a simple, "Evenin'" and John smiled, face lighting up when he saw her.

"I see what's been keepin' ya," he observed her change of clothes when standing up, "Well, I had been in the other dress all day," her shoulders raised in a shrug while walking to his door, "You coming in, Mister Marston?"  Maeve's mouth smiled, stepping into the room, "Yes, yes I am."  He closed and locked the door behind himself.

As he turned around he saw Maeve standing in the center of the room staring at him, with a look in her eyes that John recognized as nervousness.  When approaching her, he placed a hand on the side of her face while his other hand was placed on her waist, "We can stop anytime you want, darlin'. We don't need to do this."

Maeve placed the tips of her fingers on his jawline to kiss John on the lips, her mouth was still close to his when she whispered out, "Don't see that happenin'." She had used her hands to push off his dusty jacket over his shoulders.  John let it fall to the floor while pulling her closer to him.  His large hands were on her waist, fingers were finding their way to touching her pale flesh. Maeve had started to unbutton his black shirt, exposing his scared chest from past wounds, each one being a complete enigma for her.

John had turned his head back to see where the bed was then moved them to where he was sitting down and she was standing in front of him, "Get up here," he placed a hand on the back of her leg, nudging her towards him so Maeve can straddle his lap.  She had hiked up her skirt when she sat down on him.  John pulled her shirt off with ease then kissed her collar bone when tossing the clothing to the side.  Her cheeks blushed when being bare chested, John could feel her body tense for a moment.

Pulling away, his eyes gazed at the top half of her naked body then stared up at her face, "You're beautiful," Maeve placed her hands on the side of his face as he kept saying these kind words.  Their lips connected again, devouring each other in their lust.  Maeve wanted so much more and John wasn't going to stop unless she asked.  Her hand reached down to unbuckle his belt.  The jingling noise his buckle made only excited John, his manhood was hardening as Maeve's hand reached inside his pants.  She grasped a hold of his length, peered those brown eyes into his gasping out a "Wow".

John cracked a smile from her reaction, "Like what you're grabbin', darlin'?" Maeve bit her bottom lip for a moment while moving her hand to rub him off.  He moaned out when Maeve squeezed him a bit.  John sounded so pleased which was only turning the girl on more, "I think I like seein' you like this," she moved her hand faster on his stiff member while pecking her lips against his neck.

The man could hardly take it anymore, John had shifted their bodies to where her back was laying on the mattress.  He reached up Maeve's skirt to pull down her bloomers, once they were off John placed a hand against her warm mound, his middle finger was softly rubbing against her slick entrance. Hitched breathes were made, her stomach tightened and she was staring up at John with longing, eyes begging for him to do something more.

He slid his finger inside her folds, messaging her little bud.  Maeve was a mewling mess from his touches, "John, please," her voice gasped.  John took out his fingers when he felt her wet core, "You ready, darlin'?" he asked her.  He pushed up her skirt and stood between her legs, aligning himself to her slit.  Maeve propped herself up on her elbows to see what was about to happen. She nodded her head at John and he slowly slid his cock inside, between her warm, untouched folds.

Maeve made a dragged out yelp as she adjusted to his member.  John grunted in pleasure, he slowly moved his narrow hips back to then push himself back inside her as the lady beneath him was moaning from the thrusts he made. John placed his large hands on the curves of her hips to pull Maeve closer, each thrust hitting a bit deeper and faster. There was a fist full of bed sheets in her hands as Maeve repeatedly called John's name from how good he was making her feel.  

His hands squeezed tighter on her thighs as he pulled her on and off John's dick. He let out a huffy groan, feeling the inside of Maeve was better than he imagined.  John slowed down enough to get on the bed, sitting up on his folded knees to then pull Maeve's body up towards him so they can face each other.  John crashed his lips to hers while wrapping his arms around her waist to hold Maeve,fucking her.  Maeve cried out in bliss then started to move her hips in sync with his, "Just like that," John moaned against her mouth breathlessly.

Feeling him go deeper inside sent shutters through her body.  Maeve was getting fed up with her skirt that she untied the sides then pulled it over herself to toss it to the floor, leaving her necktie and boots as the only articles of clothing left on.  Her hands moved to push off his suspenders, John's shirt also slipped off with it.  His eyes looked at her body and he was still bewildered how all those clothes covered up one of the prettiest sights he's seen in Blackwater.

After a moment to pull herself away, Maeve took the opportunity to untie the laces to her homestead boots and John came out of his head to kick his pants off, discarding them with his own boots.  They were both naked now, her eyes were on his face before trailing down to gaze at his still hardened cock, swelled with blood.

"My eyes are up here, darlin'," John teased her as he crawled over to be on her as she laid down on the bed.  Her lips parted to let out a gasp as John slipped himself back inside Maeve.  The man kissed her lips while caressing her face with his hands, Maeve's legs wrapped around his waist and John moved his hips fast to pound into her.  He was waiting to hear her voice say 'slow down' or 'be softer' but it never happened.  Maeve found that she was really enjoying his roughness, "Mmm Mae," he moaned out.

John grabbed her wrists to pin them to the side of her head as he kissed her jawline and the skin around her neckerchief.  The sight of her like this was driving him insane with lust, he never wanted to stop touching her.  John could feel her walls closing around him and he was not far off from climaxing also, "John" her voice whined when he repeatedly pushed his length in and out.  Hearing Maeve, he had slowed down his thrusts looking at her face, she stared at him and bit her bottom lip, "I wanna ride you," she asked shyly.

John smirked then got off of Maeve to roll on to his back, "Anythin' for you, Mae," she watched him for a moment before climbing on top of John.  His hands rested on her ass, "Go nuts," Maeve's slit took back his throbbing cock making both of them moan out.  She rolled her hips as John's hands guided her, making her strides fast and deep. Maeve's head tilted back, crying for John when she finally came.

The room filled with their heavy pants, John pulled himself out of Maeve, on the verge of bursting.  He got her hands to place them on his dick and sure enough, the girl got the idea on what to do.  She stroked him, listening to his soft whimpers.  Maeve leaned forward to kiss his lip while giving a few squeezes making John come on her thigh.  He used both of his hands to hold the sides of her head as their lips met again.

After they kissed, John pressed his forehead to hers pecking her face affectionately, softly asking , "Are you okay?" Maeve did a gentle nod, "Never better," she said running her fingers through his hair, "Can we do it again?"  Maeve asked with a mischievous smirk.

John laughed out, "As long as you like, ya harlot," he pushed her down on her back as Maeve giggled from what he said.

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

Arthur and John were sitting at a table with a beer in their hands, "That where you spent most of your time then?  Runnin' around Blackwater with Miss Milley,"  Arthur said to the younger man.  He gave a soft nod, "She was different then, we both were."

"That's cause you didn't know each other then. New mysterious guy in town and a pretty gal like her, it's a wonder you didn't stay," Arthur took a sip of the beer, when setting it down he stared at John, "Why didn't you stay?"

John shifted in his seat recalling why, "I'm not right for her.  She was a daughter, a great one at that.  Always puttin' her family first above anything, including me," He shrugged when Arthur made a face at him, "And that's a good thing.  I love that quality about her. It really made me want to be a better person."

"But what's the problem?" Arthur asked to push him along, "She eventually wanted me to meet her parents, officially.  I'd only ever seen 'em from a distance.  It was a big step that I wasn't ready for."

He groaned, "You're a jackass," John huffed, "I wasn't ready because I'm not supposed to be the man she takes home to meet the folks, Arthur.  I was already soiled by the time I met her and she was just...so innocent in many ways.   I was scared that I was gonna be the one to ruin her life.  So...I left.  Ended up coming back to Dutch and thought Maeve was better off without me.  Someone would meet her and she'd forget all about me." John finished off his beer.

Someone met her alright. Arthur watched him, understanding a bit where he was coming from.  He then had to ask, "Did you love her?"

John stared at him thinking on if he should say his answer, but ultimately went with, "Doesn't matter anymore, she hates me and that started before you brought her to us." "That wasn't the question I asked, was it?" Arthur went to search his satchel for an item while saying, "I get that you left her cause you thought she could do better. Believe me, I do," he took out a folded picture, "But maybe Miss Milley thought otherwise," Arthur handed it over for John to open.  When the younger man took it he saw it was of Maeve at the very contest he met her at, the winning photo.  What he didn't know was that the camera had caught part of his face that was on the edge, "Found that by her bed side table."

John didn't have words due to being speechless.  Seeing this photo and knowing just how much it meant to Maeve answered questions he had when being apart from her.  How often did she think of him, for how long? Did she miss him?  The answer to that was a lot.  He made a soft sign, knowing just how much he wanted to be with her in that moment, "God Arthur...you're right...I am a jackass."

"Only been saying it for years," Arthur sipped his drink, "What are you gonna do now?"

John looked up to the room and set his empty bottle down then got up, "Something I should have done a while ago," he stood up and Arthur took a sip of his drink, muttering out in a bitter tone, "Hopefully her taste in men is still horrible."  John heard him and asked, "Are you going to keep being mad at her?"

"Maybe, what's it to you?"

"Don't be... if you're gonna be mad at anyone, it's me.  Don't punish her for having mercy on a fool like me," He then went up the stairs to go knock on the door to the room the girl was in, "Mae?  Can you open up?" John pressed his ear to try and hear anything in the room, "We need to talk," still there was nothing.  He glanced around for a moment before fiddling with the lock to break into the room.  As the door swung open he saw that she was not here, "Damn it!" he yelled when seeing the window, he was about to yell for Arthur until he heard her voice outside along with a few others.

Maeve had a disheartened expression on her face after the marshals told her everything she wanted to know on the Bollards, they were scum of the earth and have done more horrible things to so many others.  Their folks died at an early age from some sickness, their aunt and uncle kicked them off their land to raise a family of their own.  These two boys only had one another with no guidance or anyone to teach them decency.  They went from town to town killing people in brutal ways, making widows, widowers, orphans or just leaving parents without children. All Maeve could hear was that no one would miss them if they turned up dead.

"If they were to be caught, they'd be hung the same day for all that they did," the older man said.  As much as Maeve wanted to see those men swing, she felt that was still too nice for them.  John came outside to collect her, seeing her with the law marshals made him feel a but nervous, "Mae, can I talk to you?"

Maeve turned her head to see him there, hesitating to approach her.  She quickly thanked the men then said to John, "Can you stop callin' me by that name?" when walking over to the stairs.  He made a soft nod when following Maeve down the steps.  He glanced back at the marshals, "What was goin' on there?"

She shook her head, "Jus' having a friendly chat.  Now what do you want?" the girl changed the subject.  John took in a subtle deep breath, "I'm telling Abigail about us when we get back to camp."

Maeve was at the bottom when turning back to him, "You are?  Did Arthur say he'd tell on you?"

John shook his head, "No, surprisingly," staring at her he said, "It's hurtin' you...me lying.  And you don't need that, especially now."  She crossed her arms, observing him, "So you think you know what's best for me?  What I need?" her eyes winced during the last sentence.  He could feel her ridicule seeping out, but John didn't let up, "I haven't been a good person to you, Maeve.  I only want to make things right with you."

Watching him speak these words, Maeve knew he was telling the truth, "So what's gonna happen after you tell your wife?"  She figured he was hoping for forgiveness from the mother of his child, "I don't know...guess we'll find out," John stood close to her.  Her body language was tense, but Maeve couldn't help but ask, "Should I be there with you when you tell Abigail?" John shook his head, "No, but that's real sweet of you to ask," he had a soft smile on his lips.  Maeve's eyes shifted away and there was a flutter of fleeting hope that made John believe she didn't mean it when Maeve claimed her hatred for him.  She still had a tender place in her heart for John as he did for her.

Her dark orbs caught sight of the rising run that crept up on the town, making Maeve's eyes have a golden gleam to them.  It had been a long night, but with the morning there was the promise of a new day filled with opportunities.  John gazed at her wanting to say something more, but his thoughts were interrupted with, "You pack of liars ready to get back?" Arthur called out to them.

Maeve let out a groan, feeling guilty all over again, "Really, Arthur?" she whined out walking over to him, "Well you did lie, Miss Milley," Arthur said before whistling for Boadicea.  John went to collect Liability and Old Boy who weren't that far from them.

"And I'm sorry, really.  I didn't know how you would react if I said anything," Maeve explained.  Arthur scoffed when mounting his horse, "Guess we'll never know."

The girl let out a soft sigh, "If you're going to keep being mad at me, then know that I still appreciate everything you've done for me.  I won't forget it," she looked up at him, "And I'm willing to do anything to make you trust me again."

Arthur rose an eyebrow at her, "Really?  How do you plan on doing that?"  John observed the two talk wondering what Maeve was up to.  When Liability was by her, Maeve climbed up then said, "I owe you my life, Mister Morgan. So from here on out consider me a personal helper for you."

He let out a hearty chuckle, "You don't owe me your life and I don't need a helper."

"It's only right.  I'll wash your laundry, I'll clean your guns or your tent, just something to not make me go insane," Maeve told him.  Arthur turned his head to not face her, his voice sounded irritable, "It's not necessary, but if you insist then so be it.  Wash my dirty clothes all you want, Miss," he pulled on the reins to get going.  Arthur didn't sound too pleased, but she still wanted to do this.  John mounted Old Boy as Maeve watched Arthur start to head out of town.

"He won't be mad at you for too long, not like how he is with me," John said riding next to her.  Maeve asked, "You really think so?"

"I know so.  He's got a soft spot for you, Maeve," she whipped her head to him with a confuses expression as he continued with a slight tilt of his head, "It's hard not to have one."

The corner of her mouth twitched up at that, hopefully he was right.  Maeve faced the road leading back to camp, "Are you ready for this?" she asked him referring to telling Abigail when they arrive.  John shook his head, "No, but I have to do this." They both rode off to catch up with Arthur.

[idkjusttrash]

I wanted to post a bit of my writing

remember when i posted about my self indulgent fanfiction about my dnd character? here it iz (tw for like,,,,, violence yuf) keep in mind this is COMPLETELY unedited and also not done so if i got awkward sentences or useless paragraphs feel free to roast me i thrive on bullying,,,,,, my favourite punctuation mark is the comma u will be able to tell 

Ashes.

The bitter taste of ashes enveloped her tongue, and the sickening smell of burnt flesh lingered on her senses. She could not seem to erase the terrible image from her mind. The bodies of her family, burning, smoldering. She had been too late, far too late, for them to cry to her for help, and yet she could hear their screams all the same. Her mother, once tall and beautiful, with silver eyes and golden skin, was barely recognizable as she picked through the ash. Ailene could only identify her by the metal chain she wore around her wrist. It had melted in the heat, yet it was still her mother’s golden chain. Her sisters, Lilibet and Faltrie, lay in the smoking remnants of their bed, burnt corpses clinging to one another in a futile attempt to shield themselves from the blaze. She could barely tell which girl was which. Her brothers, Timmon, Petrie, Hondel and Set were scattered around the rubble. Ailene had helped raise these children, she had been there when each and every one of them took their first breaths. She hadn’t been able to prevent any of them from taking their last. She heard an agonized scream, then another and another. It wasn’t until she choked on the airborne cinders that she realized those screams were her own. Her beloved family, the ones she had become who she was to protect, who she had bloodied her hands and heart for, lay burnt and desecrated in their home. Her home. All due to her own foolishness and greed. 

 Weeks had passed. Moons maybe. The woman wandering from town to town could barely remember her own name, let alone how much time had gone by. Matted hair, dirt stained skin and threadbare clothing were all she had left. Where was she going? Why was she wandering? Perhaps it was shock, perhaps it was hunger, or perhaps it was a simple lack of will to fight, but the woman did not recognize herself. She did not know where she was going or why she was running; only that she had no other choice. Someone was after her, surely, if she was so desperate to keep going. Hunger had clung to her for many days now, its strong claws tearing into her muscles and making gaunt  her face. She swayed with each step, her once golden feet now pale and scrambling in the slops of mud and manure on the ground. The gulls cried overhead. Perhaps she was running to them, her destiny calling her to be their next meal when she could not find one herself. Her vision had swam for eons now. She could not remember when it had stood still. Was it tears blurring her eyes? She reached up to touch them. No, not tears. She was too thirsty for tears. She simply could not see. Hunger gripped her abdomen with spiny claws, ripping into her once again. The noise and clamor of the dockworkers around her began to sound faded. Had she walked so far that the port was out of earshot? No. The mud was beginning to dry on the tops of her feet. The woman had stopped moving some time ago. The woman’s knees buckled beneath her, her holey trousers becoming damp and heavy as she collapsed into the thick mess surrounding her. She was completely separate from the world now. It was almost as though she could see her own body as several of the shipyard’s workers surrounded her. They scuttled rather like crabs. Her vision went dark as they crowded her body. At least, she assumed that was her body; whatever had laid itself in the muck looked more like a half-rotted corpse than a living being. She felt, just barely and on the precipice of her senses, something firm wrapped around her and the sensation of motion. After this, she felt nothing. 

________________________________________________

The woman opened her eyes in a dimly lit room. Her head swam and her throat burned; she could move neither neck nor limb to take in her surroundings. Was she in the Below? Perhaps Halla had claimed her soul in penance for her sins. The woman could not find the energy within her to care. She shut her eyes and allowed the darkness surrounding her to pull her under its waves. 

The next time the woman opened her eyes, light was streaming into her vision. This time, It seemed as though she had regained mastrey of her limbs. Moving her aching neck from side to side, she took in the room. Delicate lace curtains covered a small window. The source of the sunlight that was beginning to make her head throb. Wooden floors and walls gave way to a brightly coloured rug on the floor. The woman was sat in a bed, large and plush, with a patchwork quilt covering her freezing legs. She wore a thin shift; it was clean despite the fact that she still appeared to be covered in dirt and sweat. 

She bristled as the door suddenly opened, disturbing the evaluation of her surroundings. An elderly woman walked in, carrying a tray that she rushed to set down on the floor as soon as she saw that her guest was awake. 

“Lay back down my dear. It isn’t good for you to be up yet. Your body has been through such a shock. There, there, lay back. I have no intention to harm you. My name is Meriel. You’re in my home. My grandson found you collapsed at the port and brought you here. Do you know who you are? Or where you come from?” 

The woman choked as she tried to speak, and Meriel gently guided a cup to her lips. Water flowed past her tongue and down her throat, soothing the sharpness lodged there. 

“My name is Ailene. I…” She debated telling the woman her true origins. Surely she could not be trusted? Yet, something about her made Ailene feel at ease. “ I hail from the province of Saussons.”  

“You’re very far from home my dear. Do I want to know why?” 

“No.” 

The elderly woman paused, opening her mouth as though she wanted to protest; she seemed to realize it would get her nowhere. 

“Alright then. Some things are better left to the imagination. You’re in no fit state to rob me blind, yet I see no yearning to do so within you anyway. Let’s see if we can’t get you cleaned up, braveheart. Come now.” 

Ailene was gently coaxed onto her feet, and after several agonizingly long minutes of shaky steps and shuffles, she and the old woman stood beside a washtub. It was filled with water, and a snap of the old woman’s fingers had steam rising from the surface. Ailene was stripped of the thin nightdress she donned, and was guided by surprisingly strong arms into the wooden tub. The hot water warmed her to the bone, the ache of her battered body subsiding as she was submerged. Ailene realized now that she must look terrifying. Her skin was unnaturally pale and sallow, her bones looked as though they wanted to jump out of her and run away. Before she could think of much else, more hot water was poured over her head, and sweet smelling soap was scrubbed into her hair. The old woman bathed Ailene as if she were her own sickly daughter, recovering from some illness or other. Meriel. She washed Ailene’s bruised skin with all the gentleness of a new mother, cleaning the grime off of her and tugging a comb through her matted hair as though she had done it hundreds of times before. Ailene almost drifted off under her ministrations, but was awoken as she was clothed with a new nightdress and led back to the bed. Ailene was exhausted, though she did very little of the work. The woman fed her; a hearty vegetable stew, some bread and a sharp cheese. A tankard of rich, cold milk and a cup of hot water. Ailene would have inhaled it had she had the strength to feed herself. Instead, small portions were brought to her mouth. Rather than be humiliated, she gladly accepted. Her trust in this strange woman may have been far too great, but Ailene could not bring herself to be bothered by it. As Meriel brought a deep blue liquid to her lips, the weary longing seeped out of Ailene’s bones. Sleep soon overtook her. She dreamed of her mother. 

Several months had passed since the old woman, Meriel, took her in. Ailene resisted, at first; her instincts telling her to remain on the move. However, Meriel’s kindness warmed Ailene to the bone, and lulled her ever-present terror into submission. She earned her keep at the inn, using her medicinal knowledge to patch up the odd sell-sword or an overly adventurous fisherman’s son; cleaning plates and stacking bowls or sweeping the ever dusty floor. She had tried her hand at cooking, but after several not-so-serious threats about calling the guards for attempted murder, she soon settled herself to avoiding the kitchens. Meriel had taken her to the tailor’s almost as soon as Ailene was back on her feet; muttering about vagabonds and wanderers and openly gesturing to the torn and stained breeches adorning Ailenes legs. 

“Can’t have someone working my bar who looks as though she was just ousted from one!” 

   She had purchased the new clothes for Ailene out of her own purse despite her charge’s protests. The old woman mentioned something about an old debt leading to a discounted rate, and Ailene decided not to insist. The pair left the little shop with hands full of parcels, ribbons and papers. Ailene, for the first time in years, did not look over her shoulder as they began the trek back to the inn. 

____________________________________________________

The shattering of dishes interrupted the chatter and bustle of the cozy inn. Several people turned their heads to stare at the source of the sound, finding a very pale Ailene standing wide eyed and stiff, a pile of clay shards at her feet. The colour had drained from her face, her arms remained where they had been when the dishes fell, and she began to tremble. She stood shocked for only a moment, like a moth staring at a flame, before she turned on her heel, sprinted behind the bar and raced up the stairs. The sounds of the inn returned to normal, save for a few whispers about the “mad barmaid”. 

Ailene stumbled into her room, her shaking legs barely holding her up as she frantically searched for a satchel. Finding one tucked beneath her bed, she hurriedly began shoving into it whatever she could grab. Barely aware of her surroundings, Ailene started violently when she heard footsteps behind her. Unsheathing the dagger she had just reached for, Ailene whipped around and brandished the ornate blade at her attacker. 

Wait, no. There was no attacker. There was only Meriel, holding empty hands in front of her like a jockey trying to calm a flighty horse. Eyes darting around the room, Ailene slowly regained awareness of the world around her. Weak from her terror, the frightened young woman sank to her knees, dagger still in hand. Meriel inched closer, rushing forward as Ailene collapsed. She gently pried the weapon out of Ailene’s vice grip and tossed it aside; kneeling down in front of her, Meriel took into her hands the tear streaked face in front of her. 

“What happened, my sweet child? Are you hurt?” 

Time weathered hands moved from Ailene’s face to her shoulders, carefully checking the trembling body in front of her for wounds. There would be none, Ailene knew, but she could not bring herself to speak and assure the old woman of her state. She opened her mouth, but only panicked breathing came out. Words would not form, they clung to her throat like a barnacle to a ship, sticky and angry and searching for a foothold to keep themselves anchored. They choked her. She wanted to rip them from her neck, wanted to hand them over to Meriel for safe keeping. Instead, Ailene lurched forward. Wrapping trembling arms around the frail body in front of her, she clung to the old woman. Meriel remained still for a moment, Ailene had surely surprised her. Physical contact was not a common occurrence between the two women. The surprise only lasted a moment however, for soon the old woman’s arms encircled the sobbing girl. The words were scrambling in Ailene’s throat. They were beginning to lose their footholds and with the next wail that ripped itself from her lungs, they tumbled out onto the floor beneath them. 

Ailene left nothing out. Not her father’s sickness, not the hungry faces of her younger siblings that she had to pick pockets to feed. Not her run in with the provincial guards after her fingers grew just a touch too heavy in the pocket of a travelling noble. Not how they punished Ailene’s parents instead of her. She spared not the details of her training at the hands of the Judgement, how they broke the little finger of her left hand to force her to learn to slash with her right. She did not keep to herself how she met Mazex as a mere girl, how they had grown up together. How he had been the elder brother she had always wanted to protect and guide her. She confessed to Meriel the number of lives she had taken in service of the Judgment. Two hundred and eighty seven. How she had become the gods’ judgement incarnate like the cruel woman who broke that little finger. The words did not stop when she recounted how she learned to poison even the strongest of men with a single droplet. Which venoms and juices mixed perfectly to create a tasteless liquid, which leaves could be ground to a powder that could incapacitate a bear if inhaled. How to soak the quills of a Shega in their own venom and fashion them into darts that could kill a warrior from thirty yards away and escape silently before her enemies could even blink. Those stubborn words, however, became sticky in her throat once again as she attempted to describe her downfall. How her pride and stubbornness got her most beloved companion speared in front of her own eyes. His dying breath used to utter the illusory  incantation that allowed her to escape. Mazex’s last command to her, Escape. Run and don’t look back. Go home. Her words became almost incomprehensible when she told Meriel about the state in which she had found her family. They had been burned in punishment for the failed mission, the death of Mazex, who was a high ranking member of the Inner Circle. Their lives had been stolen in payment for her own, which she had pledged to the Judgement. Her divine punishment. Their souls traded for her sins, for her shortcomings, for her pride. The words did not stick in her throat anymore. She wanted them gone. Those bastard words would suffocate her if Ailene did not force them out. Then, the final words flew up from her lungs and out into the air. Her soul was still owed to the Judgement. Their people were after her. Her divine punishment would only be complete after her own life had been snuffed out. 

The shattered plates and whispers of the madwoman had all been because of one man. A tall fellow, sat on a stool at the bar just behind Ailene. Pale blue skin and a bald, ridged head identified him clearly as a Goftyrnian, and the missing eye and bloodied knuckles identified him as a rough and tumble type of man. Ailene hadn’t fully heard what he was talking about, his bar companion next to him seemed to be a stark contrast. They were most likely two complete strangers making small talk whilst waiting for their mead and eggs. However, years of constant vigilance could not be erased from Ailene’s mind so quickly, and through the steady murmur of a full dining hall, she managed to make out a mere snippet of the conversation. 

“The judgement.” 

“Defector.” 

“Venom.” 

Those few words, which were part of a conversation about some captured soldiers from a small militia group, were all Ailene needed to remember that she was not yet free of the chains that had bound her to her past transgressions. Transgressions that Meriel had taken in stride, as she held Ailene’s face in her warm hands and wiped her tears. 

“The gods have long since forgiven you, sweet girl. You have suffered enough; It is time to forgive yourself. You were doing what you had to to survive. Nobody in their right mind could fault you for that.” 

Meriel’s voice, warbled with both age and emotion, comforted Ailene. Her words, though not powerful enough to close the deep wounds in Ailene’s soul, were certainly a much needed salve. They warmed her, and the trembling that seemed to emanate from her bones themselves began to cease. 

[perksofbeingatallpotato]

Love Not At First Sight

Eggsy Unwin x Reader

Downstairs, someone knocked at your door but you didn’t hear it through the music. You took a sip of your wine, closed your eyes and leaned back on the tub.

A few minutes later, the bathroom door swung open. You opened your eyes to see an equally surprised male with your duffel bag slung on his shoulder.

“Holy shit!”

“What the hell!” You screamed, and then threw a soap and it hit him on the chest, he dropped the bag and took off immediately. He was wearing a baseball cap, a black hoodie, jeans and a pair of white sneakers.

You stood up, grabbed your robe, took your taser from your bedroom and swiftly went downstairs. You saw your telly and other electronics on the floor by the door.

PRESENT DAY

After the barista took your order, you moved to the side of the counter to wait. Standing there waiting was a man wearing a pinstriped navy-blue suit. He has blonde hair and is wearing a pair of glasses. He turned to where you’re standing, and he saw you looking at him, then he gave you a wink. Cheeky. He’s cute. You rolled your eyes playfully at him.

“Afternoon, luv.” The blonde guy said.

He was about to extend his hand and introduce himself when you gasped.

“Wait. What the -?! I know you!”

His eyes widened and mouth dropped.

“Oh shit.” He face-palmed. “Look, I’m really sorry about that. But I’m a different man now."

"I’m Eggsy Unwin,” he extended his hand “and I’d like to make it up to you.” He said with a cheeky grin.

You were a bit unsure if you should trust him or even talk to him after he tried to rob your flat about a year and a half ago. But he does look different, apart from the clothing, there’s something different with the way he carried himself. What could possibly go wrong, you thought. You’re in a public place anyway.

You took his hand and without giving it much of a thought, you introduced yourself.

“(Y/N)”

“Hi (Y/N), so can I at least get you anything here?” Eggsy asked.

“Thank you, but I’m alright.”

“Come on. How ‘bout some cheesecake, eh?” He smiled.

He really insisted and bought two slices of cheesecake. The two of you sat at the table by the window.

“So, Imma tailor now. At Kingsman. I just started working there. And I’m really sorry about what I did, but I swear I didn’t see anything that day on the bathroom or take any of your stuff.”

“You really did surprise me more than once that day.” You said while taking a spoonful of blueberry cheesecake.

He laughed. “So, what do you do, (Y/N)?”

The two of you sat there for hours talking and laughing until sundown.

“Would you like to talk a walk? I’d like to show you where I work.” He asked and you agreed.

During your conversation whilst walking, he told you about his half-sister Daisy. You could tell he’s so fond of her and loves her very much.

When you arrived outside the Kingsman tailor shop, Eggsy was beaming with pride.

“Here we are, come on in.”

As you two stepped in, he acknowledged the man on the front desk with a measuring tape hanging on his neck. “Hello Mr. Finlay. I’m just showing my new friend here where I work.”

Mr. Finlay smiled. “Good evening sir,” he looked at you, “good evening, ma’am.”

“Good evening Mr. Finlay. My name’s (Y/N)” you walked closer to him to shake his hand. He returned the gesture. “It’s nice to meet you.” You added.

“Likewise, Ma’am. Now, I must leave the two of you.” With that he disappeared to a room which you guessed might be the stock room.

“So, I hope you do believe Imma tailor now?” Eggsy asked.

You laughed. “Of course, look at you, you’re wearing a bespoke suit.”

“Never off the peg.” He added. “I have a friend here at work named Roxy, I’d like for you to meet her sometime, you know, if you’d like to.”

“Sure, I’d love to. But I’m afraid I must get home now.” You two left the shop and stood on the sidewalk.

“So, thank you Eggsy. See you around, I guess.”

“Well, I can drop by your place sometime. I think I can still remember where you live.” He flashed his cheeky grin and winked.

You laughed, “as long as you don’t take anything from my flat, that’ll be fine.” And then he called a cab for you.

On your way home, it is evident to you that you like him. And you could tell he’s a genuine person.

Weeks passed and the two of you started dating. You’ve met J.B, Roxy, his friends Jamal, Ryan, Liam and Brandon. He also introduced you to his mom and Daisy. He’s very sweet, loyal, and a gentleman.

And despite meeting on a bizarre circumstance, you’re very glad you gave him another chance.

[chaniters]

SUPERSIZE ME

Ortega has developed a plan to finally free Sidestep from the farm... And it’s initial stage involves facing some of his worst nightmares come true. 

This is a follow up to the “Sick” fic. 

Hope you enjoy it!

WARNING, heavy Chargestep included. Also included, fluff.

SUPERSIZE ME

"No. No way. Fuck it.  No, I can't do this Ricardo. I can't let's turn back."

"We're almost there! Come on!" he insists.

"I just can't... it's too..."

"Too what?"

"Too risky! What if it doesn't work? I don't want to go back!"

"You won't go back. We already have all the support we need"

"But you don't know these people! You don't know what they can do!"

"I know that when the Panama thing exploded the evidence against them was a million times smaller and a president almost gets impeached. We've got all the safeguards."

"I'm... I'm fucking afraid Ricardo."

"Look, I get it. But what's the option? Getting back into your suit that NO ONE can fix and go on bombing stuff until we both get killed?"

"Yes...?" you say causing him to glare at you "... ok no... but... are you sure there's no other way?"

"I'm sure it's the only way we can stop them." He groans “And you agreed if i recall”

“Yes, but I know jack shit. I mean I’m no model of sanity!”

You stay silent for a few moments, pondering the options.

He takes your hands with his and places them over his chest looking at you with the puppy eyes. 

“We have to do this”

Fuck. You're supposed to be the telepath not him.

You inhale profoundly and finally answer.

Leap of faith it is.

And so you step into the men's salon with him.

Every single customer steps outside as you enter and the hair stylists don't question it as their clients leave. They all think they left something on the fire at home, even the ones who don't own a kitchen.

Ricardo nudges you from behind. "Did you...just...?"

"Yes. Big time. No way I'm going to wait in here" you state matter-of-factly. He seems about to protest but decides not to fight this battle.

Ricardo goes through a magazine showing different hairstyles. You can't really focus on it. All the guys in there look really attractive. You are just... whatever.

"This isn't going to work," you say looking away. "You just pick whichever you want, it'll be fine by me." They can't fix you with some scissors. You know that.

He seems a bit taken back, but he simply tells the barber to inflict one of the pictures onto you.

Your mind races back to the Farm... they would just shave your hair with a machine back there. It was fast. You remember they shaved you when they recaptured you. It wasn't even a choice they made to punish you. You were going to surgery and they needed the hair out of the way to fix you.

This is different. He cuts so slowly... and he touches your head... positions it to the side.. to the other side... forward... back...

You feel the panic levels rising. You need to make it stop ...

He nudges you slightly. The contact of the cold scissors... makes you tremble.

It has to stop...

Ortega's hand presses on your shoulder. You look at the mirror and he's giving you a "Mind your manners"  look. You notice the Barber has frozen and his left eye is twitching.

Fuck.

You relax and let the barber's mind free. You weren't even doing it on purpose.

Ricardo sits by your side. Maybe to give you moral support. Maybe to stop you from breaking the barber's brain.  

And then it's done. He brushes you excess hair off your clothes, sprinkles some water all over and then finishes with a shot of the hairdryer while combing your hair.

You always simply cut your hair yourself. And now you're afraid to look at the mirror.

"What do you think?" Ricardo asks.

You take a brief look and mumble that yes, you do like it.

Whatever.

He's afraid of you not liking your haircut. Maybe he doesn't believe you when you tell him you're terrified of your own body, or it's reflection. Mirrors. You hate them.

And then the torture continues.

Off to get you some clothing.

You remember the first time you picked your own clothes... the colored mountainwear ensemble. Ortega's never stopped joking about it...

You liked it so much. And It was just so hideous. You could dress up Eden as fancy as you wanted, but you just can't do the same with yourself. The farm issued your clothing when they needed you to look presentable... And even among other regenes, when left to your own devices, you were clueless. Perhaps you'll rely on Ricardo's sense of fashion this time.

He guides you to the store. They sell tailor-made fancy suits and men's clothing. You have avoided these places like the plague since ever. Hoodies don't generally need to be tried on as long as you pick the right size, and can come off the rack.

You walk in, and service is fast because you're with Charge, hero of the Rangers.

You make a quick scan of the room and set off a small barrier that will make any other customers coming in think the place reeks and stinks of dead skunks. You don't want anybody else in here either. If you need to suffer this, you will do it alone.

When they take your measurements you smile nervously to Ricardo, trying to pretend you're not about to explode and erase everyone's memories in a one-mile radius. The nightmare goes on and on, as they finish touching your body over your clothing.

And then they have you try several models of suits and other clothing. You've never put these things on before. You're not familiar with buttoning and unbuttoning. The shoes hurt. The socks are too thin. The shirt and pants are too fit. You have to expose your tattoos to try some on some things and you just can't.

Finally, Ortega comes with you inside the dresser to help you. Even if you've become used to physical touch with him, this is extremely uncomfortable. You don't like him seeing your tattoos at all. And there are mirrors on 3 walls and only a thin curtain separating you from the shop assistants. Nightmare accomplished.

No one in the staff says anything. This is a very exclusive place. What you gather from their minds is that they've and they've seen everything. They are just glad you're not on drugs or drunk and throwing up as some superstars have before. Good to know the bar is low enough to allow you in some places.

Ortega keeps bringing new clothing... going in and out. It takes an eternity. Finally, when you think you're about to lose it he puts a hand on your shoulder. This is quickly starting to become his "Keep your shit together Cyrus" gesture.

"I think this is it"

"Great, can we get out of here please?"

"Hey! Take a look first at least?"

"Fiiiiine" you go on.  

Just a peek. Odd. You feel nothing when you look at your reflection.

Because that isn't your reflection.

That's someone else. He's someone confident. Someone you could never be around. It's a man who knows what he wants. And he looks fucking handsome. And Sexy... and...

You look away.

"I can't... I can't wear this!"

"Hm? You are doing it right now Cyrus"

"But... but that's not me!"

"You do know how mirrors work, right?"

"Look... I don't... I don't look like... THAT!" you say waving your hands at the mirror.

The sexy fucker in the reflection, he waves his hands back at you, making the absurdity of your words sinks in even harder.

Ricardo tries not to laugh.

You blush and look away.

"Do you like it?"

"I... " you blush, looking away "Is this really necessary?"

"Yup"

Fuck. You haven't been so confused in a long time.

"Ok then... If you... say so"

"Perfect! Let's pay up!"

Ortega wants to buy the clothes you're wearing, along with a suit he thinks fits you well enough and a host of other things... And even a Tailor-made suit that'll be delivered next week. It's a whole new wardrobe.

He seems about to pay.

"No, let me," you say.

"But i ..."

You simply hand over your credit card to the cashier.

The savage thoughts assault you as she takes the card.

Her thoughts about you aren't dim and off as usual, but she's getting a very positive reaction instead. She will remember you.

Fuck. You take the credit card back, trying not to look at her.

“So... I’ll put back my own clothes and hand these over so they can...”

“I threw them away” Ricardo states.

“You what?”

“These are your clothes now.”

Speechless you end up following him to the exit.

"I could have paid," Ortega says changing the subject "I've got a discount here"

"I can handle it... I robbed all those banks, remember?" you say feeling a bit grumpy about your old clothes. You feel as if you were using a halloween costume.

"Oh," he says remembering the fact.

"I'll return the money... to charity or something else," you say in the end.

"Good," he says relieved.

“I just can’t believe you did that” you say in the end. 

“It’s a change for the better. You’ll see.”

He locks his arm with yours as you walk off together. The two of you are clearly drawing stares now, and you're sure you're face is red as a strawberry by now. If that mirror was showing anything resembling the truth, you are the sexy fucker right now, and Ortega is one of the hottest men on Los Diablos according to that magazine you keep under your pillow back at your lair.

You are a cuckoo. All your life you've been trained to avoid people's attention. Not to provoke it.

You push their stares away with your mind. All of them.

Ortega chuckles as people look away from you two.

"You know you can't keep doing that forever"

"You just watch me" you answer. And then you cling closer to him.

This is the first part of his plan...

The easy part.

You just hope to outlive it.

---------------------------a few minutes later---------------

He stops in his tracks. 

“Something wrong?” you ask

“I just remembered... do you recall that night before the ... before you died?”

“Hmm? That... that was a long time ago” 

“Yes, but do you remember it?”

“Yes... we ... we were training? By the beach right?”

“At the park, I think”

“Oh... right. It was some time after the... Nanosurge”

“Yeah. Do you... recall what you told me?”

“I... “ You have to make a mental effort. “Oh.” You say in the end. You remember. You told him you were going to accept a dinner invitation... that he had made even before that time. You were going to tell him everything. But you never could. You died instead.

“Do you remember?”

“Yes”

“Does it still stand?” he asks.

You nod slowly. 

“Good... because you are looking hot tonight. And I know a place”

“I..” you don’t even know how to respond to that. How could anyone respond to that?

And then he leans in. And you kiss. 

And time turns back it’s course for a few minutes. 

Just for the two of you. 

______________________________________

My Fanfiction: https://chaniters.tumblr.com/post/181692759294/my-fanfiction-for-fallen-hero    

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fan fiction using characters and the setting of the Fallen Hero: Rebirth and upcoming Fallen Hero: Retribution games written by Malin Riden. I do not claim ownership of any characters from the Fallen Hero wold. These stories are a work of my imagination, and I do not ascribe them to the official story canon. These works are intended for entertainment outside the official storyline owned by the author. I am not profiting financially from the creation of these stories, and thank the author for her wonderful game/s, without which these works would not exist.

[tap-dat-agent]

Who Knew? 4/? (Merlahad) - A Roxy Aside

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

A/N: Not necessarily vital to read if you wanna skip it (no Merlahad/Eggsy interactions in this)…just wanted to give Roxy some much deserved attention. Also, her not being dead is a great thing Vaughn & Co. should consider.

Part 4

Everything hurt.

The bedposts had held steady, as she knew they would, but the destruction beneath her had heaped a bit more than just a few scrapes and bruises. Already she struggled to breathe in the suffocating fallout. Only the fact that she could feel every ache in her body kept her hopeful that the damage was very minimal and that somehow, in some way, she’d get out of this mess alive.

Roxy passed out.

When she came to, it was morning. She could see sunlight refracting off dust and smoke. It appeared her room had been split into two, by the destruction, tipping her bed ever so slightly to reveal the debris of Kingsman’s country house training facility. The structure had been compromised beyond salvaging, with only a few crumbles of its former self still standing. The sight triggered a series of mental regressions wherein missiles threatened to take out all of Kingsman. Despite the agonizing pain, the agent known as Lancelot forced her body up from the confines of what might have literally been her deathbed and moved to free herself from the rubble pile.

“Fuck,” she hissed, her hands clawing weakly at stone and mortar, the infrastructure of what had become her home away from home too solid and heavy to push out of the way. That didn’t stop her from trying, of course, she was insanely stubborn that way. She hadn’t ranked highest in her year and graduated with top marks for sitting on her arse and waiting for things to happen, no…the rubble simply wouldn’t budge.

Roxy collapsed into a tight sprawl, subduing the urge to hyperventilate. The damage was all-encompassing, in her hair, up her nostrils, and beneath her fingernails. The heat of the explosion had singed the room’s materials into nothingness, leaving only the clothes on her back and…and her glasses!

Roxy reached over her shoulder, wincing form the pain of it, as she searched the dim and small space for where she’d felt her glasses fall. She’d held onto them steadfast, in the skirmish to take cover, knowing even in the face of certain death that her eyewear would be worth even more than her life in the event of Kingsman’s total annihilation. She finally found them, somewhere above her, head and quickly put them on, releasing a pained exhale to find that the equipment still worked. The lenses were pretty scratched up but, with the slightest nudge to the bridge of the frames, they fired up a reboot display of systems detail and basic Kingsman clearance information.

Kingsman glasses were military-grade, meant to last, equipped with every tech utility and augmented virtual interface a spy would need to be the best eyes and ears on the field. The day Merlin had fitted her with a pair was the day she’d truly become a Kingsman.

Roxy’s heart seized to imagine that man might now be dead.

It troubled her to think any of her colleagues were now similarly inconvenienced or, worse, possibly scattered in bloody bits among the wreckage of a missile attack.

Roxy touched the sides of her glasses to reopen communication channels and received no return signal.

“Hello?” she said, the word escaping in a raspy breath, the reality of having a stronghold estate collapse on you sounding as apparent as it felt. “This is Agent Lancelot. Does anyone copy?”

The readout continued to search for a signal but received none.

“Agent Lancelot reporting. For the love of fuck, please, tell me someone receives me.”

“…Message received, Lancelot.”

Roxy jostled her addled mind to pin a face to the voice on the other end of her eyewear’s mic piece.

“Percy?”

“Agent Percival reporting.”

“You’re alive.”

“Trust, I’m as shocked as you,” Percival said, a smile of relief in his voice. “Hang on a moment—I’m establishing visual.”

Roxy waited, all she could do, the frightening helplessness of her predicament at last setting in during Percival’s brief absence.

“Ah, there we are,” Percival said, popping up in a window screen, a reflection of his disheveled state appearing before a dingy-looking mirror. “Can you see me?”

“Yes,” Roxy said, smiling tearfully, the relief of seeing her mentor’s very-much aliveness washing over her. “Where are you?”

“I can’t say,” Percival said, the uncertainty of his own declaration evident in his eyes. “Are you alright?”

“I think so,” Roxy said, looking down at what she could see of her person. “I followed protocol, got under the bed, and activated the frame-seal. I think the mechanism’s broken now. I can see the room around me. Perce, it’s gone. I saw the incoming missiles. I’m still here, at—”

“Don’t tell me, I don’t want to know,” Percival interrupted. “In fact, I shouldn’t even be talking to you right now.”

“What, why not?”

“The doomsday protocol,” Percival sighed. “It went into effect the instant headquarters went down. In the event of such a catastrophe, we must assume no one is to be trusted. All communications are to cease before convening at the safe point.”

“Right, of course.”

“Lancelot, if you’re where I think you are, it’s best to find the groundsman.”

“What?”

“I have to go—I’m still on assignment,” Percival frowned, eyeing his surroundings. “Find the groundsman, Roxy.”

Percival, seemingly her last vestige of hope for escaping her would-be tomb, signed off without warning. Roxy worked to memorize his surroundings, the nastiest lavatory she’d ever seen, and it wasn’t enough. He could be in any part of the world, on a mission of nondescript importance, and it would still matter more than coming to her rescue. That was the job. She could already hear Merlin, with his hardened Scottish cadence, drilling into her the importance of the mission and how it would always outweigh their safety and the lives of their colleagues.  

Her heart sunk to think that that man, above all others, might no longer be among them. After all his dedication, having lost those that were clearly dear to him, to have been robbed the opportunity to go out on his own terms seemed an offense to all that he was. Fighters didn’t deserve to go out unawares. Fighters deserved to go out fighting.

“God damn it, Eggsy,” Roxy sighed, staring up at the metal under of the bed. “You better still be alive.” She never imagined him going out on his arse either, munching down on a plate of meatballs and lingonberries no less. If Percy managed to escape unscathed then perhaps there was hope for the likes of Galahad and Merlin.

Roxy’d be damned to go out without a fight. After a deep breath and a reassessment of the situation, she realized she had a key tool in her possession. Her glasses seemed to function at full capacity, no worse for wear, and so she touched the sides of the frames again and troubled through the eyewear’s many functions. Roxy prayed that what she sought after might actually work when she found the dropdown option wedged between face-mapping and infrared vision.

Two red beams shot out from the corners of her glasses and started breaking through the metal bed frame on first contact. Roxy took the eyewear off to turn away from the slight sparking as the combined laser points created a perfect square cut-out above her.

“This is fucking ridiculous,” Roxy chided, sneaking glances at her work, her having to laser her way out of the collapsed wreckage of a missile attack on a secret service agency base a fact of life she couldn’t quite square away. Yet there she was, buried alive, cutting her way through a mechanically-reinforced bed.

Also, she was a fucking spy.

The slab of metal cut out dropped down at about three stones. Roxy caught it before it could crush her already compromised frame and pushed back against it with all the strength she could muster. The wood had already splintered, the mattress itself scorched beyond recognition, so when the metal slab finally fell through there was nothing left but her and the sweet air of freedom.

“Ugh!” she gasped, chugging down relatively breathable oxygen like her life depended on it…because it did. “Oh my god…!”

Roxy, aching, injured, quite put off, annoyed, angry, confused, and afraid, used what was left of her energy reserves to attempt climbing out from under her own would-be tomb, pushing and tossing away rubble ranging from the size of small pebbles to jagged blocks the size of her head.

“Oi!” called a voice from above the wreckage. Roxy looked up, noticing the nearly ten-meter drop from ground level for the first time, to find a sizable man sporting a healthy beard and a casual disposition staring down at her. “Are you still livin’?”

Roxy stared up at him, beside herself in astonishment.

“Wait right there!”

The man strolled off, and Roxy did what anyone stuck in a 10-meter deep, country house-sized hole would do: sat her arse in wait.

The man that pulled her from the newly-made chasm of structural integrity and decimated top-secret information was the groundsman, Balyn, who’d been canvassing the area since the previous night. He wore black gloves and a navy-blue herding jacket. Roxy thought she might have seen the man here and there, maintaining the property, but she kept to limping behind him as he led her to some onsite cabin all the same, just in case the very man that had rescued her had ulterior motives, like say, participated in the destruction of Kingsman.

“Welcome to Avalon,” Balyn said, pulling open the large sliding door of a cobble fixture that looked neglected and unassuming on the outside but inside marveled with the kind of high-tech displays that not even the tailor shop could parallel. It was small, true, but looked to be a more condensed version of the control room and weapons annexes of the Kingsman training facility. “Please, come in. Wipe ya feet on the carpet and try not to die on my watch.”

Roxy had no intention of dying just yet.

“Back already, Balyn?” carried the questioning voice of a women from behind a wall divide. She appeared quickly thereafter dressed in plaids, brown boots, and a deerstalker. A figured redhead with pastel skin and more breasts than Roxy would have known what to do with if it had been her appeared. Seriously, she imagined the woman suffered from chronic back ache. In her hands she carried a high-caliber hunting rifle which appeared to have a few tricks of its own up its sleeves. “Well, bloody cock.”

“I should hope not,” Balyn huffed, assessing a cascade of monitors projecting various camera feeds and mapped locations. “Quite fond of the knob.”

“You are a knob,” the women declared, staring Roxy up and down. “You Lancelot, yeah?”

“How did you—”

“We’ve got you on the scanner, see?” the woman explained, tilting her head towards the monitor set-up. “We picked up the glasses’ signal and couldn’t believe our fucking luck could we, Balyn?”

“Thought everyone dead.”

“Name’s Balan,” the woman said. “Balyn and Balan. That’s not too confusing, now, is it?”

From Arthurian legend, Roxy thought, but she wasn’t prepared to accept the common thread of naming as any proof just yet.

“Who are you?” she asked though, from the make of their setup, she could make a few intelligent guesses as to who they might have been and who they might have worked for.

“Obvious,” Balan ruffled, leaning her gun up against the divide. “We’re Kingsman.”

“I’m sorry, but, what?” Roxy looked between the pair, frowning from behind the film of debris and dust caking her face. “What do you know of Kingsman?”

“Questions later,” Balan said, approaching, and Roxy concisely but carefully considered the many ways in which she could overpower Balyn and Balan, if it turned out they meant her harm. “We’re not gonna attack if that’s what you figure.”

“That’s what she figures,” Balyn chimed in, never once taking his eyes off the monitors at his post. “Like a wounded animal ready to pounce.”

“Let’s get you cleaned up and checked for any internals,” Balan took Roxy by the arm and led her to an automatic sliding door that opened up before a descending staircase, “then you can ask all the questions you like. If you think they don’t hold, you’re welcomed to try and kill us. Emphasis on the “try”.”

From then on it was surrealism within surrealism. Roxy had just gotten to feeling seamless in her double life, as both only daughter to an old family with investments in textiles and mobile parts and international spy working independently from Queen and country, before an unknown threat leveled a building on top of her. Now the likes of two people she was admittedly unfamiliar with, who claimed an affiliation with Kingsman, had rescued her from the rubble pile and fashioned her wounds.

“Who do you report to?” Roxy asked, sometime later, as Balan patched her up. The other woman had already treated her to a full suite wash room and a set of new clothes stored in one of the numerous underground rooms situated beneath the cabin post. “If you’re Kingsman, why don’t you attend roundtable debriefings?”

“Eyes and ears aren’t obligated,” Balyn said, his voice projecting from the speaker systems installed in the corners of the room.

“We see everything, we hear everything, and we answer only to Arthur,” Balan answered, finishing her work. “You’re good to recover. You can rest up, as room and board is yours. Now that we have you here, however, we can’t let you out of our sight. It’s the doomsday protocol.”

“Percival mentioned the doomsday protocol,” Roxy said, in earnest. “He’s alive.”

“We know,” Balyn’s voice rang true. “Listened to the relay through access on your eyewear.”

“Can’t say the same of anyone else,” Balyn said, a learned indifference about the shrug of her shoulders. “We received the same incoming warning as you did. After that, silence.”

“Couldn’t pick up on Percival’s location,” Balyn revealed. “The explosion must’a muddled the systems.”

“No signal from the tailor shop, either.”

“No,” Roxy exhaled, her hands clutching onto the edge of a surprisingly comfy bed, and her heart sunk. Her worst fears were coming true. In the pit of destruction, she could pretend to be of one and a few onsite staff harmed by the attack. Now that she was safe and seemingly secure, the reality that others just might not be as lucky was beginning to settle beneath her freshly-washed skin. “Percy survived.”

“The only other it appears,” Balan said, recognizing the devastation coming over Roxy. “I’m sorry about your mates. They were good agents.”

Eggsy, Roxy thought, remembering the last message he sent her.

‘ur da best’

“Best agent or best friend?”

‘both ;)’

“What can we do?”

“Well…” Balyn hummed over the intercom. “Until we sauce out who’s friend or foe, we do nothin’.”

“We just sit here?”

Balan shrugged again. “We wait.”

[kalaire-roseblade-blog]

Out and about;

While being away from any people that she had associated with in the past, giving herself some time to write and get the ship.. Ship shape. As all repairs were made with hard work each and every day, all with the help of her wolf, she loved that he was there and was very grateful as not many people came aboard her ship- who would anyways? No one even knew where she was really except one human she had allowed to come aboard and take a while to recover for himself, even though that alone turned to a night of fun and play for both to enjoy.

Though she hasn’t even seen him in awhile, alas she was alone again, no one to bother, fuck, drink with. Though no complaints as she had always enjoyed her alone time. A roll of bare shoulders was made as scratching of the quill was filling the air, jotting off what coin she had left to continue her small bit of repairs within the captains room, wanting it to look a bit nicer, as well as what sexy clothing she would start getting from a nice  and sexy tailor store that was in dalaran, the man was hot, and she wanted to explore him more next go.

{Slightly NSFW.}

Moving from the chair she sighed and pushed herself up using the table, needing  to get ‘dressed’. With that she slowly walked, one foot in front of the other to the dresser and would pick out some black laced panties and a bra, enjoying the feel from it. Slowly getting dressed, wiggling into the panties that were snug against the curves of her body, wiggling and jiggling she chuckled as she put her bra on, adjusting her breasts to sit right cupping them and gripping the cloth that now covered her mounds, assuring they would sit right; very happy she had went to the tailor’s shop, needing to go again some time to add to her ‘growing’ collection of lace.

“My goodness, I might need to work out soon, getting a bit of pudge.”

Talking to herself she looked to a mirror that was on the wall, she was indeed gaining some weight, as she gripped her love handles and grinned, not really minding this as she adored her body, not overly pudgy but enough to slightly puff over the clothing she wore, with that she would start getting dressed; pulling out a very well decorated ‘bra’ to be placed over the one she had on, normally she went free willing boobage, but she was loving the feel of lace against her skin; brushing against and tickling her when she moved sometimes.

A quick walk to the door she would leave the room now; stepping upon the deck slowly taking in a breath, enjoying the nice chilling air, it was time for things to start getting cold, though the woman wore revealing clothes now, even she would need to start putting actual clothes on, she was not ‘used’ to this, though even in tanaris and Uldum there was a chill blowing about. Glancing to her left and down some she noticed Madal just lazing about, the large oversized Night howl was  fast asleep, though a small click of her tongue was given at this, movement was made as he quickly adjusted himself to get up and come out from under the stairs she had made into a dog house.

“ I know we worked a lot this past month, but I think it's time to either go to Tanaris and work for coin, or somewhere else.. I wanna go somewhere else.”

Rolling her bare shoulders and shrugged to him as he padded to her side and nudged her shoulder, the nighthowl were larger than her, this was why a lot of people did not wish to get to know her, and why the undead's, along with the undead kids stopped coming near where the ship was beached, as the wolf seemed to run after them stealing limbs here and there. Meaning no harm to those who don’t place harm on his friend, he just wanted a bone or two, and it was always fun to chase people! Soon enough the two would happily descend from the ship, well she did, Ma’dal would just leap from it with no problem, even for a large wolf he had agility and smarts to get up and down, and with the ship tilted at an angle due to its placement made it super easy.

Glancing down and to her, a small flicker of his ear was made, the woman had stopped and looked back to the ship, deep down he knew she was still worried about getting it back to the sea, the tides have been too low, when she beached it when she had people aboard, she wanted it to be permanent to an extent, though now over the years, and the tilting back and forth of it, sand had built up too much, and now it was just laying there, thirsty and wanting the sea water to quench it, she soon looked out and to the sea and a small wave of sorrow had overcome her.

“ We need to get the rose back into the water… Let's go work and get enough damn coin to just do  it this time… I can manage it with your help, with the sailing at least. You’re a good boy, and you won’t break the ropes too often.”

Teasing her best friend, she would grip the fur and hoist herself up and softly patted him, looking ahead and scared to look back again, knowing it will just eat away at her inside, the bare spots of her belly dancing attire, the large wolf would start trotting to the zeppelins port, looking up as the flying ticking time bombs to the two. They would turn and head to the undercity, claws hitting the stones echoed within the stone hallway as they entered, the grueling stitched up guards stood and conversed with their own babble, the elf's ears flickered slightly to listen to them, though as soon as the elevator door creaked open the woman and wolf entered it, decending down slowly as chains creaked and gears clicked; this always made her ponder if any of this shit has killed someone before, due to rope and chains that were woven in for a tigert hold, one could only ever wonder how often these were changed and kept managed.

After what seemed like forever the board would finally fit into its place, as the air escaped so did a bit of dust from the underneath; the large wolf lifted his head walking out, looking to the ceiling baring his teeth as his nose wiggled, the woman quickly gripped his fur, one would think with how he was right now he was about to go and rip someone's head or, maul their bodies, alas no, indeed his body shook along with his head as he sneezed, shaking kalaire back and forth as he did, the sneeze would echo, as well as her laugh as she watched him doing this.

Though after he was done with the sneeze fit the two padded to the mage quarters and waved to a undead they knew, though the man stepped away and pointed right at ma’dal, the worms that were in what skin he had left, the nearly jawless man would huff and mutter shaking his finger at the wolf.

“Don’t be takin my damn arm this time! Do you know how hard it is to get another one?! Last time I had to pay a grave keeper!! Bad dog!”

The woman just chuckled and leaned over ma’dal, arm placed down on him and the other she tucked to her chin pressing her chest out as the pink glossed lips curled to a devious smile looking at him and hearing his complaints.

“ Rob my love, don’t be sticking it out next time, you know that he loves to hear you scream and yell, last time it took what… An hour to get him to give it back to you?”

“Thats cause ya didn’t help me! All be damned if he does it again, my legs nearly fell off just running after him! And ya know what? I held it out cause I was casting your portal!”

“Well, maybe he just likes you, you know when boys like someone, they tend to tease and try to get someone to chase them.”

“ I am not gonna love Ma’dal back, just for that!”

The undead and her just laughed about it, it was always a pleasure to converse with this undead, feeling like she could truly trust someone like him, it wasn’t just because he was an undead, no, it was cause she never trusted anyone. Into the portal they went, with friendly waves and happy good byes the scent of autumn and sweet plum wine filled both their noses, ah, pandaria was where they decided to go, after exchanging words and where work may be needed, knowing ma’dal could help plant, or till up the soil for the springs crop they would step towards the pandas, people glancing and quickly moving out of the wolf's way, be it intimidation ma’dal put off or them not wanting to spill their drinks or be ran over.

“Let's go explore first.”

The two quickly took off to the outside, the breeze hitting and her hair waving with it, viewing the sun slowly hovering and moving down, just about to kiss the mountains that were seen all around, sectioning parts of the island itself off, the two took off down the steps and ran to the woods to go and explore what they have not in what seemed like years, it may as well have been a year now at least.

{Mentions: @kenpierce, @detectivecarlisle}

[collecting-stories]

A Short Stay - Danny Whiz-bang

I'd love to see a Danny Whizz-Bang imagine. Like... Some fluff that ends in tragedy. Idk. I've been bored as of late and started to rewatch season1 @thinkingsofamadwoman

A Short Stay - Danny Whiz-bang

The bell tolled twice and you stood in black beside Tommy Shelby. Freddie Thorne had been round earlier in the morning, as you were getting Daniel dressed, to pay his respects. It was in the kitchen there, over a hot cup of tea that Freddie generously made for you, that reality had seemed to set in. This wasn’t the first funeral you had attended for your husband but this time he wasn’t hiding from Italians in London. This time he wouldn’t return home to you and Daniel.  

Before the war, Danny Whiz-bang was brimming with confidence. More than Tommy or Freddie even. If Danny was in a room everyone knew it. You had been kids practically when he set his sights on you. Just sixteen and working for your father’s tailor shop, you and Danny crossed paths one afternoon when he brought in clothing for his mum. After that he seemed to come by the shop all the time. He’d have a rip in a pair of trousers or a shirt, once he brought you a jacket that looked as though he’d torn the sleeve off himself. You could always see Tommy or Freddie, occasionally even Arthur, glancing through the window as Danny chatted you up.  

“I’ve told you what my dad says Danny.” It was the same reply every time he asked you to out. It was never a no, because, truth be told, you liked Danny a lot and you looked forward to seeing him at the shop everyday. But your dad thought he was no good. No child of his would date a Peaky Blinder.  

“Yeah and it’s shit innit?” He replied, leaning against the counter. You were sat on the other side, busting stitching a blade into his cap.  

Your dad didn’t like the Peaky Blinders, as they called themselves, but Tommy paid you good money under the table to sew razors into all the boys caps. You would’ve done it without the pay simply because it meant some extra time with Danny.  

“He’ll be livid if he finds out.” You answered, glancing up at him. Danny was taller than most and had less meat on his bones than Freddie it seemed.  

He shrugged, not bothered by the threat of your father. He stood up and stretched his back before leaning over again. “Just think about it would ya? We wouldn’t have to tell your dad."  

"On Tuesday yeah, down by the water." You said, passing the cap across the counter to Danny.  

He grabbed the cap, holding onto your hand as well. "Yeah, down by the water." He agreed, smiling at you.  

Until the war broke out in France and England stepped in to help your relationship with Danny was just simple. Neither you or he went with anyone else but there was no progression toward anything too serious. No talks of marriage or children. You thought about those things and, unbeknownst to you, so did he, but you never spoke on it. Then he enlisted in the war.  

He came by your father's shop, the way he always did, though this time looking more somber than usual. When you thought back on it you were sure that was the last time you saw him truly himself. He told you that he was going to France, that he, Tommy, and Freddie had enlisted. He was so proud of himself that you couldn't possibly be upset. Not when he asked you to wait for him. That was the first time in years he had ever seemed serious about what you and he shared.  

"I was thinking, perhaps, you would wait for me." Danny requested. The confidence of the boy had been quieted by the reality of the man. He knew that war was dangerous and there was talk that not everyone may return but if he should return he knew that all he wanted was you waiting for him.  

"Of course Danny," you answered, "Of course I'll wait for you."  

And you did. You waited for three years of a war for Danny to come walking back through the door of your father's shop. The war in France progressed as did life in Small Heath. Almost as soon as you saw Danny off you learned that you were pregnant. Your father fell ill that winter and passed away before your son, who you named Daniel, was born. You inherited the shop and kept sewing razors into peaked caps even in the absence of the Shelby boys.  

You raised your son for nearly three years alone, telling him stories at night about his father. You painted a picture of a man full of confidence and bravery, a man who no longer existed. That became clear when you saw him step off the train with Tommy and Freddie. All three came back changed from the war, the boyish charm they'd all possessed had been stolen from them. But Danny suffered the worst fate, his head was changed by the carnage and the fighting.  

Still, when he stepped off the train, he greeted you the way you knew he would. Sweeping you up into his arms and spinning you round, placing kisses eagerly to your face and neck. You were engulfed in a hug from Freddie and received a handshake from Tommy, all three alive and mostly well. Danny cried when he saw his son and carried the boy on his shoulders all the way home.  

"Is he asleep?" You asked, looking to where Danny was in the doorway. He'd spent the whole evening with Daniel and insisted on seeing him off to bed.  

"He's all tucked in." Danny replied. He glanced behind him, toward his son's room, and then back to you. The war had been terrible, Danny could hardly believe that he was home now, with you sitting in bed waiting for him and his son asleep in the next room.  

You waved your hands at him, beckoning him to come in to see you. "I can't believe you're here," you whispered as you hugged him.  

"I missed you every day." He replied, sitting beside you on the bed. You leaned against him, holding him close to you. It felt like he was going to disappear at any moment. That you would wake up and he would be back in France.  

"I was afraid you wouldn't come home to me but you're here." You held his face in your hands and kissed him.  

He was home, but his mind was elsewhere. At first it seemed to just be night terrors. He would wake up in the middle of the night screaming. It took all night to sate him, you would sit in bed with him, holding him and whispering that everything would be okay. Sometimes he would cry from embarrassment, sometimes he was too far gone to notice.

He felt guilty knowing he put you through this. That he'd asked you to wait for him and then had come back half the man he was before. The outbursts became worse as time went on. Noises would set him off and send him into a rage. Around the house you tired to keep Daniel quiet, cautious of having him upset his father in some way. You knew when Danny through his fits you couldn't stop him. More than once he'd destroyed furniture.  

"I'm so sorry," he apologized after one such event, the kitchen table broken and china shattered on the floor. You were on your hands and knees cleaning and you'd told him to go upstairs to lay down but he lingered in the doorway. "I'm so sorry."

"It's okay Danny, you were just startled is all." You replied.  

Danny couldn't work. He did odd jobs for Tommy but the war had robbed him of his ability to work enough to make a living. The shop was your only income and you worked endless hours to make enough money to provide. Between Daniel's terrible three's and Danny's outbursts it was as if you had two children. It was exhausting most every day but you wouldn't change it.

Looking back at Danny as you sat up on your knees you couldn't be angry about the kitchen. "I'm just glad to have you with me. I'd rather you than a couple plates any day."

"Let me help you clean up." Danny offered, already kneeling down to grab the other dustpan.  

"That would be lovely."

Freddie stood at the kitchen window, looking out at the clothes hanging on the small line drying. A pair of Danny's trousers. It had hardly been an hour since the fight with Billy Kimber but he had come straight here to tell you. He had volunteered to take care of this while Tommy took care of business. Freddie always promised you that he would watch out for Danny and you had confided in him about the sickness that infected your husband's head.  

"I'm sorry I couldn't do more."

"It's no one's fault Freddie. He loved Tom, and he hated being stuck here in the house. It was hard for him, seeing you and Tom alright and seeing himself not so. I would like to think he's okay now. That he's somewhere that doesn’t hurt. Where he can be happy."  

"He was happy everyday he was with you." Freddie replied.

"As was I."  

On the day of the funeral Tommy came to collect you. He walked you up to the graveyard, a small headstone on the hill with Danny's name on it. After the small gathering Tommy took Daniel, letting you have a few moments alone. You rested a hand against the cold stone of the grave marker, cheeks and nose red from crying and the cold.  

"I'll wait for you still Danny," you whispered, leaning down to place a kiss on the headstone.

Is this fluff that ends in tragedy?