#which is fine for logistical reasons. we’re all leaving from work and then I’ll drop them off there after to get their cars which is by my

[sochilll]

*gritting my teeth while forcing myself to be slightly inconvenienced for the sake of being included in future activities instead of isolating myself as always*: I love to be social and hanging out and even talking

[samthemarvelfan]

Hard Day’s Night: One Shot

Summary: CEO!Bucky is a dick. He takes out his frustration on the one person he shouldn’t have. Honestly? The dude just needs to get laid.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC, feat: Wanda Maximoff

Warnings: Angst, Smut!

A/N: This is just a small idea that hit me outta no where! I hope you enjoy! 18+ please!

Taglist: @iheartsebastianstan @jjlizz @stuckysbabe @sk493494 @lefoutoir @nickangel13 @marvelismysafezone @lilulo-12 @warmvanillafeels @star-spangled-beard-burn @ravenesque @pinknerdpanda @wintersoldierissucharide @snapcapquartet @ellen-reincarnated1967 @unlistedpond @my-drowning-in-time @supernaturalwintersoldier @kimvmarvel @roseboho @disaffectedbarnes​ (strikethrough means the tag didn’t work! I’m sorry!)

Your heels echoed through the halls of the empty lobby. A sound you’ve come to enjoy, because it meant you can enjoy your morning in peace.

It was calm—serene, even. The best part of getting here a full hour before your co-workers; having your coffee in peace and watch the sun come up over the Hudson.

You’d ditched the heels the second you got to your floor, no way you’d suffer in those things and not have anyone around to see you in them.

The ‘refreshment room’, as you’d been instructed to call it, was always fully stocked with snacks, essentials, and coffee. You hummed to yourself, deciding on an iced vanilla latte. Being sure to stir it carefully, not wanting to splash it on your white top.

You were about to take that first delightful sip, when you heard someone walk in behind you.

“Would you look at that, just the person I wanted to see.” The voice called from behind you.

You have got to be shitting me. You grumbled internally.

Clearing your throat, you turn around, plastering on the fakest work smile you could.

“Mr. Barnes, I didn’t expect to see you so early.” You greet, smoothing our your black pencil skirt.

James Barnes was the foremost author of the decade. 12 Novels, a TV series, and a screenplay—I guess the guy liked to keep busy.

“Could’ve fooled me.” He said curtly, gesturing to you stocking-clad feet.

You felt heat rise to your cheeks with embarrassment. “Oh. I’m sorry, Sir. I’m just usually alone this early and I thought—“

“You thought you’d treat my office like it’s your home?” He quipped.

You shook your head quickly, “No, no I was only—“

“Forget it. Listen, these sales reports? They’re horrendous. Who taught you how to summarize an account?” He was already in a mood...and it wasn’t even 7:30.

You cleared your throat in an attempt to control your temper. “To be fair, I’m not an account executive. I was filling in for Sam, and you asked me to do them.”

He scoffed, “Oh I see, it my fault you’re incompetent.”

Your jaw dropped.

“Incompetent? I do every assignment you ask of me, most of which are above my pay grade. I do them to the best of my ability, and when something isn’t up to the ‘Barnes Standard’, I’m chewed out for it. Regardless if I’m even trained in the job or not.”

He threw the file on the table next to you, before gripping the back of a chair, leaning forward on it.

“Is that how you see things? Tell me then, Miss Monroe, what would you like? Me to hold your hand through every aspect of your job? Or maybe just do your job for you.” He said sarcastically.

That’s. It.

“How about you learn how to treat your employees! Maybe then you wouldn’t go through so many! How many secretaries have you been through this year alone, hm? ‘Cause I’ve met at least 6.”

You couldn’t stop the word vomit. James Barnes was an awful boss. He was crass and arrogant, and looked down on everyone.

But he pays well. You thought to yourself.

After watching you for a moment, Mr. Barnes suddenly stood straight up, grabbing the file from the table top.

“You can go home. Your skills aren’t needed today.” He spat.

A pit opened in your stomach. Did you just get fired? For speaking your mind?

Time to grovel.

“I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry. I can—“

“You can go home.” He said, turning his back and leaving you.

Your legs felt like they were going to give out on you. You had one of the most respected authors as a boss, a job most people would kill for, and you couldn’t just keep your mouth shut.

“Fuck.” You whispered with tears in your eyes.

You didn’t even grab your drink. You just picked up your heels and your bag, and did the proverbial walk of shame to the elevators.

“Just put a fucking dress on and come out.” Wanda shouted through your phone’s speakers.

“Wanda, I’m not in the mood! For all I know I was just fired from a very well paying job. All because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut.” You groaned, flopping backward on your bed.

She sighed, “Even if you were, who cares? Do you really want to keep working for that asshole?”

She was right. Was money really worth getting verbally accosted everyday?

“Fine. I’ll get dressed, but I reserve the right to wallow if I get an email telling me I’ve been canned.” You bargain.

Wanda laughed, “Deal! Now go get ready. Wear a dress. The navy one!”

You pressed end, and stood from your bed.

That navy dress Wanda mention was a showstopper, but was it really pub appropriate?

Velvet, long sleeves, a deep v neck to accentuate your curves. Pair it with black heeled booties and you felt unstoppable.

Hair curled, burgundy lips, and the right perfume. You made a mental note to thank Wanda for pulling you out of your funk.

“Two more, please!” Wanda shouted at the very attractive bar tender.

The pub was full of people and the music was blasting through the retro jukebox perched against the wall.

“Thank you for making me do this.” You say to her.

She smiled, “I know you, don’t I? I know when you need a push in the right direction.”

The bartender returned with your shots of tequila, and you all too quickly downed them.

“I’m a good fucking employee.” You slur, feeling the effects of your 3 previous shots.

She nods, “I know! I mean, I don’t know...but I bet you are! He’s crazy, to not see that.”

You were about to reply, when you see a man looking at Wanda. His eyes flitting between her and smiling shyly at his drink.

“I’m going to go down to the other end of the bar, and I’m gonna order a beer. It’s probably gonna take a loooong time.” You say dramatically.

“What?” She asks confused.

You nod your head behind you. “He’s cute. And he definitely thinks your cute. Don’t worry, I’m only a dozen bar stools away.” You wink, stumbling off the stool you’re currently perched on.

The other end of the bar is further than you thought, but thankfully, there was one seat left open.

“Can I sit here?” You ask the person beside it.

They paid you no mind, “Go ahead.” He grumbled.

You glanced at the bartender, “Beer. Bottle, not a glass, please.”

The person next to you scoffed.

“Something funny?” You ask.

He laughed again, genuinely. “That’s my order too.” He replied without looking at you.

You stare a bit longer than would be soberly required. When his featured start to seem familiar. You quickly turn back to face the bar.

Not here. He can’t be here.

“I was wondering when you’d recognize me.” Mr. Barnes said causally.

Your heart pounded in your chest. Of all the fucking bars in Manhattan, he chooses this one?

“Sorry, I’ve just never seen you outside of work. How long have you been here?” You asked, praying he’d only just arrived.

He sipped his beer, “Oh I think I arrived around shot number two.” He smiled.

James Barnes smiled.

“You saw that, huh?” You ask, feeling the blood rush to your cheeks.

He nodded, fiddling with his bottle.

“Figured your day musta been pretty rough when I saw number four.” His voice was somber, almost ashamed.

“Mr. Barnes, I—“

“Bucky. Please, we’re not in the office.” He said, finishing the last of his beer.

You smiled shyly. “Speaking of...” you sipped at your drink, “Am I...did you...was I—“

“Fired?” He asked.

You nod.

Bucky -gosh that’s weird to say- laughed, “No. I just wanted you to stew in fear for a little bit.”

Typical James Buchanan Barnes. “That’s kind of you.” You seethe.

He put a hand on your back. “Relax. I realized I was being an asshole about 3 minutes after those elevator doors closed, and I knew you wouldn’t answer if I called.”

He raised a hand in the bartender’s direction, and in seconds had another beer. “I know I’m...difficult at best. That’s no excuse. I shouldn’t have taken my frustrations out on you. I’m sorry.”

Bucky’s hand slid from your shoulder back to the beer in front of him.

You nod at his sentiment, “Thank you for saying that. I’d thought I’d get an email telling me to pick up my things.” A nervous laugh escaped you.

He shook his head, “God, no. I don’t think that office could run without you. Logistical Liaison is a made up position, but I invented it for a reason. I need someone who knows how to run things when I lose control.”

Bucky tipped the bottle towards you, “and that’s you, Ella.” He hesitated, “Can I call you that?”

You giggle, and nod. “Like you said, we’re out of the office.”

A silence fell between the two of you. It was comfortable. Surprisingly comfortable.

“You look beautiful, by the way.” Bucky suddenly spoke. It was a hushed tone, meant only for you.

“Oh yeah?” You replied.

He nodded, “I wanted to say that a lot earlier, but then it would look like all I was doing was hitting on my employee.”

“Wouldn’t want that, would we?” You quipped.

Was he flirting? Were you flirting?

His eyebrows raised in agreement as he nursed his beer. “No we would not.”

The two of you had 3 more drinks between you; a beer and jack and coke for Mr—Bucky, and a Jameson on the rocks for you.

Now you stood on the brisk Manhattan streets, waiting for a cab.

“I gotta say Ella, you’re so different. You’re much different than I’d thought you’d be.” He said, clearly feeling the effects of the booze.

You surprisingly weren’t as drunk as you’d usually be at this point. Perks of eating pizza before going out.

“You’ve thought about me, huh?” You ask slyly.

Bucky’s cheeks redden. “I might have. You're so kind. You’re kind to everyone at that godforsaken office. You help anyone who needs it and you’re always professional, no matter the circumstances. You’re a good person. I know you are.” He thumb swipes tenderly over your cheek.

Now it was your turn to be timid. “And you, Mr. Barnes, have a way with words.” You smile, playfully slapping your clutch against his shoulder.

Bucky flagged a taxi down, “Come on, share my cab. I don’t want you going home alone like this.” He offers.

You nod, agreeing you’re probably not in the best shape to be alone in a cab at damn near midnight.

After giving the cab driver your address, you relax, leaning against Bucky’s shoulder.

“This was fun. I’m glad I ran into you.” He said lowly.

You glance up at him, “I never thought I’d say this, but me too. I had fun, and bonus, I’m not fired!” You jest, and share a laugh.

A short while later, the cab pulled up in front of your brownstone, and Bucky helps you out.

“Well, this is me.” You say, sadness coating your words.

Bucky nods, “I’m kinda bummed. I don’t want this to end.”

You let out a small breath.

Now or never, Ella. You think to yourself.

“It doesn’t have too.” You say boldly.

He looks at you, a new glimmer in his eye, before waving the cab on, sending the driver away.

“Guess I’m not always professional after all.” You say, shyness making its way back into you voice.

He put his hand on the small of your back as you walked up the steps to your front door. “I think I can make an exception for tonight.”

You pushed the door open. “Just tonight?” You ask.

Bucky looks at you, slipping his hand around your waist. “That’s up to you, Doll.”

Your back pressed against the front door. His nose nuzzled yours. “Are we doing this? Cause I’ll be honest, If we do what I think were gonna do, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”

His warm lips moved to you neck, leaving bites and wet kisses up to your jaw.

“James.” You breathe.

This seems to work him up. His mouth moves to yours, soft at first. Longing.

You tangle your fingers in his hair, tugging at it slightly. Bucky takes this as an okay for his hands to roam your figure.

“I’ve watched you.” He says between kisses. “The way you float around that office.”

Kiss.

“I’ve seen you look at me, too.”

Kiss.

“The way you bite that lip. Mmm, I think I want a turn.” He nips at you again.

You push off the wall and tug his hand to follow you.

The door to your bedroom is pushed open agonizingly slow. You get the impression he doesn’t like being teased, so of course you have to tease him.

Bucky’s hands are on you again, finding the zipper to your dress. It hits the floor and he steps back, admiring the view.

“You’re killing me, Sugar.” He moans, seeing you topless.

Heels kicked off, you crawl backwards into your bed. He ditches his shirt and pants, and he crawls up your body.

“Can I taste you?” He asks seductively.

Your eyes meet his; cerulean pools of lust drawn you into him.

“Yes. God, yes.” You beg.

He smirks. His lips attaching to the skin above your breast, before taking your nipple into his mouth.

You let out a feral moan, “Oh.”

His lips trace a line down your torso, stopping above you panties.

“Now who’s teasing who?” You breathe.

In seconds, your aching heat was exposed to him. “Baby, baby, baby.” He whined.

Bucky attached his mouth to your throbbing clit, sucking it gently.

“Fuck.” You groan. Grinding your hips upwards.

He puts his hands on your belly. “Don’t move.”

You’re panting, gripping the bedsheets. “James...Oh my God I’m—I’m.”

“Let go,” he coos, “I’ve got you, Sugar.”

At his behest, you come undone. An explosion of ecstasy exploding in your belly.

“Come up here.” You pant.

Bucky smirks as he attaches his mouth to yours.

You press your hands against his chest urging him to lay on his back.

In a fluid motion, your straddling him. Grinding your heat onto his cock.

“You’re a little tease, you know that? I should punish you.” He nips at your breast.

You smirk, lifting yourself just enough for him to slide into you. He was buried to the hilt when he grunted into your ear.

“So wet. So tight. So perfect.”

You rode him like there was no tomorrow. Feeling that familiar burst building in your abdomen.

Bucky lifted you from him, knocking you to your knees and slipping in from behind you.

“James.” You moan.

“I know. C’mon Doll, give me one more. Together.”

He pounded you harder and faster, chasing his own release. Bucky snaked a hand between the two of you, fingering your clit.

“I’m gonna cum. Oh my God, I’m cumming!” You shout.

Bucky’s groans became rhythmic, matching his strokes. You came—hard. Feeling the his warmth spill into you as he lay his chest against your back.

You both flop back. Panting like you’d run a marathon.

“Holy shit...” you breathe.

Bucky leaned over and kissed your head.

“I think I realized why I was such a miserable bastard.” He jokes between breaths.

“Oh yeah?” You ask.

He nods, “I needed to get laid, and I needed it to be you.”

You leaned over and kissed him. “Well, what’s gonna happen on Monday?”

“Based on that? I should fucking promote you.” He jokes.

You slap his chest. “I’m serious! I don’t want this to get weird.”

He grabbed your hand and brought it to his mouth, kissing it softly.

“It won’t. I promise. In all honesty, I had planned on asking you out at some point—this kinda just happened first.”

You looked up at him as he closed his eyes peacefully. He really was handsome; a tortured writer in his prime.

“Ask me.” You say suddenly.

Bucky opens one eye. “What?”

“Ask me. Ask me out.” You urge happily.

He looks at you for a moment, before smiling wide. “Miss Monroe, would you like to go out to dinner sometime?”

You leaned on your elbows, kissing his lips longingly.

“I would love to Mr. Barnes. I have to make sure my boss doesn’t need me to work overtime. He’s a real hard ass, ya know.”

Bucky chuckled, “Is he? Might have to knock some sense into him.”

A smirk lands on your lips, and you wink. “Just make sure you leave his mouth alone, that’s precious cargo.”

[sunflowerstache]

Falling pt.2

What do you do when the person you pictured your entire life with, suddenly seems to have fallen out of love with you?

Word count: 3.2k A/N: Hi y'all! We’re back with part 2 AND I'm really happy and excited with this piece! I can’t wait to hear what you think and I just really hope you enjoy! It’s not as action packed, but it is nearly as emotional... and yes, there will be a part 3(:

The beige walls in front of you had always brought you a sense of comfort. It wasn’t because of the trees hiding the inside from any prying eyes, or the welcoming, bright blue door, or even the best chicken avocado blt wrap you’d ever had. It was the simple idea of spending time with the love of your life within the four walls. The four walls that held too many memories count; the release date of Harry’s first album, when you told him about the job at Gucci you’d accepted, Bella explaining what she learned at school, plans for future photoshoots, and talks of the future. It was the kind of place that gave you the chance to experience normality - or the closest you’d ever come to it again. Inside the Beachwood Cafe, you got to just be the Styles family, not the Styles family.

But were you even that same family anymore?

How could you consider yourself the same when things had gone so horribly south since the last time you’d stepped through the door? When you hadn’t seen Harry in five days and that idea alone didn’t make you feel sick. Not once since you first met him, were you okay with being so far from him for more than a day. You always felt your body had a magnetic pull towards him and the second you seperated, it knew something was wrong. But not this time. The second you walked out of your front door, you didn’t feel that pull, that need to go back in and be near him. It was like the invisible string pulling the two of you closer together had been cut the second you saw that magazine cover.

However,  you didn’t just have yourself to think of. Long gone were the days that you could stay cuddled in bed all day and wallow in self pity, eating tubs of ice cream, and thinking about all the ways Harry had hurt you. Because the little hands on either side of your face every morning didn’t know what was going on. She didn’t know that the entire world was speculating if you and her father had split up, or that daddy wasn’t actually away for work. All she knew was that the two of you were having a girls vacation at Auntie Steph’s and she missed her dad.

“You can’t avoid him forever, babe.” It was late one night when Steph spoke up, the two of you watching your second film of the night, coated in blankets and a bowl of popcorn nestled between you.

“Steph -”

“You can’t and you know I’m right. You heard what Jeff -”

“Steph I don’t care. I can’t go and sit with him and pretend that he didn’t sit back and just accept that he slept with someone.”

Obviously you knew she was right, there was no way you could stay at her house forever and simply never see him again. Not only was it not logistical - considering your job and your shared daughter - but emotionally you weren’t strong enough for that. Before he was your other half, he was your best friend. He was someone who was always in your corner, ready to give you the pep talk you needed or make a stupid joke to make you laugh. After everything you’d been through, and as hurt as you were,, you knew that you couldn’t cut him out of your life completely.

“I’m not telling you to accept anything, Y/N. I’m telling you that you need to hear what he has to say, and you need to bring your daughter to see her father. What you do after that if up to you, and you know I’ll back you up whatever you decide to do.”

Cher Horowtiz had begun her debate on refugees while you listened to Steph talk some sense into you. Five days was the longest you’d spent apart since becoming a couple five years ago, and you knew in order to either move past this or move past him, you needed to see him.

“So what, I just ask him to meet up for lunch? Like we’re sixteen year olds going on a first date?”

“No, you ask him to meet up for lunch like you’re twenty five year olds who have a lot to discuss.”

Having only sent the message a few hours prior to when you wanted to meet with him,you were a bit surprised that Harry had immediately agreed to lunch. He was right in the middle of creating his second album and the hours of free time he had could almost be counted on one hand, so getting a response only seconds after initially asking was a bit of a shock to you.

Then again, you shouldn’t have been surprised; Harry was never one to put work over family. From day one, he made it extremely clear that he would drop everything if someone he cared about needed him. And you finally responding to him after so long, on top of saying his daughter needed him, was something you should have known would take precedence over whatever he had planned for the day.

“And I have to give him my drawing! You have it right mumma?” Bella’s sweet voice sounded over the bell above the door as you walked into the cafe. She had picked her own outfit to see Harry; a pair of dungarees and a white shirt, her hair tied up in two cute little space buns so that it wouldn’t get in her face all morning.

“Of course I do, love. He’s going to love it.”

There was no guessing as to where Harry would be waiting for the two of you, because it was the same table you’d been sitting at for years. Just to the left of the service counter, was a smaller, more private room filled with tables. It was separated by a large wooden entryway which opened up into the bright yellow room you’d grown to adore. And as soon as you shut the front door, there was no trouble finding him. His head was upright, clear he had snapped it up the moment he heard the bell ring, almost indicating that he had been there for some time and had done the same with everyone who entered before you, and he stared right at you.

“Daddy!” it was a soft shout, her being well aware of not drawing lots of attention to your family, and Bella quickly let go of your hand so she could run towards her father.

In an instant, Harry was at his sliding off of the bench and bending down so she could run right into his open arms. His stood in stark contrast to the yellow wall; a black bottom up and cream colored trousers adorned his body; a look that he had recently grown to love. It was a look that had the fans making comments that left the two of you in hysterics, but also leading them to recreate in their own fashion sense. And it was a look that he was happy and comfortable in, so you enjoyed it.

“Hello little love! I’ve missed you!” you heard him coo into the side of her head once you joined the pair. The room was oddly empty, leaving the three of you to have some sort of privacy while in the bustling business on a Monday afternoon.

“Missed you too, daddy! How was work?!”

The question caught the two of you off guard. Logically, you knew Harry had to have known you told Bella some sort of cover up as to why he wasn’t around, but the look in his eye informed you that he hadn’t even thought about it. His body had stiffened and eyes shot up to meet yours immediately, heartbreak seeping through his lashes.

“It was great, sweetheart.” he replied, pulling back so that he could pick her up. “But never as much fun as being with you.”

“Good. I don’t like when you leave, daddy.”

You swore, it was like the universe was out to make this lunch as painful for you as possible. There was no other reason for why today was the day your daughter decided to be the sappiest version of herself, or why Harry very clearly had tears in his eyes that weren’t noticeable by anyone but yourself.

“I don’t like it either. But doesn’t it make being together so much better?” his voice was thick, and if you had to hear one more second of it, you were going to explode into a puddle of your own tears.

“How about we get some food, huh?” you cleared you throat, earning a concerned look from Harry.  “Weren’t you just complaining to me in the car that you feel like you haven’t eaten in six years?” trying to make jokes with Bella to avoid having to talk to Harry wasn’t something you were proud of, but you just needed a few more minutes before you could talk with him like everything was fine. At least until Bella wasn’t paying attention.

“Six years? My god, we need to get some food in that belly then, huh?” Harry feigned shock as you sat down, his arms moving Bella to let him bring her torso up to his face, his cheeks expanding with air so that he could blow onto her belly.

“Daddy!”

“You’re going to vanish with no food! My baby’s starving, we need a grilled cheese stat or she’s going to disappear!”

The two of them together was like watching the sunrise; beautiful and warm. The bond that they shared was stronger than anything you could have ever expected, and hearing them giggle with one another was infectious, a smile spreading to your lips before you could even realize what was happening. But you couldn’t help it. They had so much love shared between them that it made every other problem in the world seem so insignificant.

“How’s Steph?” this time, his attention was pointed at you. The green in his eyes seemed to be glowing in the rays of sun that shined through the window. But that’s where the brightness ended. Unlike the last time you saw him, he had bags under his eyes and his forehead was home to the red bumps you hadn’t seen litter his skin in years. Clearly, this was not what the two of you wanted or needed to talk about, but getting past the awkward initial conversations and making the day comfortable for Bella was the first and foremost.

“She’s good. She has a meeting with some people in Hollywood next week, so she’s pretty excited to start expanding again.”

“Wow, good for her. She stopped by Jeff’s the other day, was having dinner with Cam I think, but she looked good.”

“Oh I - I didn’t know they were - well I should have figured though when she came back with Il Fornaio leftovers.”

“I don’t think it’s anything serious, but they’re funny. Both of ‘em are the weirdest people I’ve ever met so…”

As always, Steph had given you advice that you didn’t instantly regret, and you made a mental note to thank her once you got back to her house. Whether it was because of your mutual need to make sure Bella was none the wiser to what was really happening behind closed or how much you had grown to pretend nothing was wrong, lunch went perfectly. For hours, the three of you sat in the yellow room and enjoyed time as a family. You laughed at the nonsense Bella was spitting, reminiscing on how the last time you were seated at that exact table, you were getting ready to head to New York for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, as well as listening to Harry talk about what kinds of cities he would like to go to on his next tour - whenever he finished his new album. But just as you learned in the recent days, some things that are so unbelievably good, inevitably have their downfall.

“‘M tired, mumma.” Bella had managed to leave Harry’s iron grip after everyone finished eating, and found her spot in your arms; her arms wrapped about your neck while she complained into the soft spot where your shoulders and neck met. Because of your unplanned lunch, she missed her nap for the day, so it was a ticking time bomb until it caught up with her and she either passed out in your arms or had a complete meltdown inside the quiet cafe.

“I know, B. Gonna go back so you can have a cuddle with Mr. Jeff, yeah?”

“Mhm. And daddy will come too, right?”

With her head tucked and hidden in your shoulder, neither you or Harry worried about containing your looks of worry at her comment. Harry because he didn’t know where the situation stood and you because you knew she’d wake up without her dad there.

“Daddy’s really busy, love, so he has to go back to work. But he’ll be back soon.”

Realization spread across Harry’s face at your words, understanding what the meaning behind them truly was, and his gaze fell to where his hands held an empty coffee mug. It seemed that the two of you would make it the entire lunch without bringing dirty laundry up, but now that Bella was fully asleep in your lap, there was nothing holding you back. It was time to have the conversation you so deeply wanted to avoid.

“Harry -”

“I didn’t sleep with her.”

Just as you did some nights ago, he spit out the one thing that was plaguing his mind, unable to hold back the information he was dying to tell you. But if he was going to replay the night that started all of this, you would do the same. So, just as had made no shocked movements at your accusation, you didn’t act shocked at his admittance. Because you weren’t.

“Jeff has videos of me spending the night with him and Glenne. Alone.”

In fact, you knew he was going to tell you exactly that. But hearing it come from his mouth gave you some sense of relief. Because as much as you appreciated hearing it earlier, nothing could compare to hearing it from Harry directly.

“I know.”

“Y/N I swear I can show yo- you know?”

You had to admit, seeing the look of shock cross his face was something you didn’t know you needed. His eyebrows furrowed which caused his eyes to squint, and he simply stared at you, waiting for an answer. But you didn’t immediately do so, instead, you rubbed your hand over Bella’s back in attempt to keep her asleep despite your wild heartbeat.

“Jeff sent them to me a few days ago.”

“A few - a few days ago?” This was one of the reasons you had thought about having this meeting in private; the tone of his voice started to go up at your confession, which you knew would happen. He was someone who couldn’t contain himself when his emotions got the best of him. “And you didn’t think to tell me? You just let me think everything was crumbling while you knew the truth?”

You didn’t have to tell him what you were thinking, because the second he said those words, you knew he knew. That was almost exactly what you had accused him of days ago. Asked him how he could let you think your relationship was one way, when in reality, it was something completely different.

“I didn’t not tell you to spite you, Harry. I didn’t do it to make you feel the same way I did, because we aren’t sixteen and this isn’t just some fling I don’t care about ending.” you worked so hard the entire day to not show the emotions you had bubbling around inside of you. But just as every other time you’d been around Harry, there was no hiding them. He brought out the vulnerable side of you, and the tears couldn’t be kept at bay. “I love you so much, Harry. I don’t think I’ve ever cared about someone the way I do about you. And these last few days… I’ve missed you more than I ever thought possible.”

“So why are we doing this, Y/N? Why are you going back to Steph’s and why are we not fixing this?” his thick voice was pleading, reaching across the table to grab ahold of your free hand. “I didn’t sleep with her.”

“But you thought that you did, Harry. You thought that you had slept with someone else, and lied to me about it.”

“I didn’t lie! I told you that I didn’t know if I did, and that was the truth!”

“I know, but you lied to me every day after that night. You walked around every day thinking that you did something so horrible and vile that I would leave you if I ever found out, so you kept it from me. That’s what hurts, Harry. Not the girl or what you thought you did. The fact that you would rather lie to me than work together and find a solution.”

His mouth hung open and you realized that he had nothing left to say, because he knew you were right. Every minute of your relationship had been built on trust and knowing that you each had the other’s best interests at heart, so what did you have when those values seemed to dissolve?

“Don’t leave me.”

Three simple words made your entire facade crumble. In all five years you’d known the man in front of you, never had you heard him sound so small and scared. And it hurt to know that it was directed at you, but just as you did five days ago, you needed to do what was best for you.

“I’m not. Harry I don’t think I could ever. But I just need some time. A few more days, a month, I don’t know. I just need to get out of the mindset this whole situation put me in, and when I do, we can do this again. But that time, we can leave together.”

It wasn’t ideal and it wasn’t ever how you thought your relationship would go, but it was reality. Sometimes the things you hold dearest in life are tested and the only way to see the light at the end of the tunnel is to go through it. But you had faith in Harry. You had faith that no matter what happened while you apart, that you would find your way back to each other. Because there was no way, after five years together and five as friends, that you would lose each other. He was the one part of fame that you’re glad no one warned you about. The ride the two of you had taken wasn’t something you wanted to be one step ahead of, as living in the moment with him was the happiest you had ever, and will ever be. He was the brightness your life needed.

But that bright, happy, yellow room would forever be tainted with the day you walked away from Harry.

[ifthefandomfitzwritings]

Mistletoe

Based of this prompt list

"We should do something for Christmas," Sirius said as he stared at the canopy above his bed.

Remus, James, and Peter all looked at each other before James spoke. "Like at home?"

"No, here!" Sirius said, sitting up quickly. "It's our last Christmas at Hogwarts. We should do something fun!"

"Like what?" Peter asked, gladly setting his homework aside for this conversation. "We're all going home for Christmas."

"What about a party?" Remus suggested, already thinking of the logistics of it. "We could do it the night before we all leave."

"Just Gryffindor?" James asked, already getting behind this idea.

Sirius shook his head, "For everyone! We have to have a show of solidarity!"

Peter nodded in agreement. "Especially with how the world is right now. We have to show that we're all in this together. No matter what House we're from."

"Well, what are we waiting for?" James asked, getting up from his bed to grab some parchment from his trunk. "We have a party to plan!"

For the next week the four of them planned the party. At first they thought to have it in Gryffindor Tower but then thought better of it. If the party was there, they'd have to either give out the password or have someone opening it for everyone all night long. The Room of Requirement was also a good idea but they realized they wanted to keep that a secret just for them. They found it, so should other students. It wasn't even on the Map. Finally, they agreed the best place was the Great Hall. Remus wanted to ask Professor Dumbledore for permission but the others managed to convince him not to. After all, it was going to be one of the last big things they did while at Hogwarts. The last would be at the end of the year and they were still planning that.

Once the place was decided, they thought about decorations. Obviously they wanted Christmas decorations but then Peter reminded them that Christmas wasn't the only holiday celebrated by the students. Remus went around asking everyone what they would like decorated for a holiday party and soon they had a ton of great decoration ideas. And that's when the rumor of a big holiday party started. Thankfully, the students were smart enough to not tell any of the professors. Or at least they assumed that because no one tried to stop them.

After the decoration plans were done, they knew they had to think about food. Peter was the one who went down to the kitchens and asked the House-elves for help. They gladly accepted the requests and Peter thought about ways to have them also celebrate the holidays. It was hard to thank them without seeming rude so he decided that everyone who went to the party was to thank the House-elves whenever they saw them. As he worked with them on a menu, he made sure to thank them often.

As it was getting closer to the date, the Marauders quickly made invitations for all four Houses. It took Remus some time to figure out how to keep them a secret from the professors but eventually he created a charm similar to the one used on the Map to hide it from those who didn't know the incantation. But this one worked so only students could see what was on it. Once it was all taken care of, they started handing them out. James wasn't officially allowed to do it because of his status as Head Boy but he didn't confiscate any of the flyers he saw students holding.

Finally, the day of the party came.

"Did anyone ask someone to go with them?" Peter asked as he fixed his shirt. Because it was an informal party, no one had to wear anything fancy. They had already seen some of the other students dress up and they figured they should do the same.

James dropped the shoe he was about to put on and looked at them in horror. "I didn't ask Lily..."

Sirius stared at him like he was an idiot while Remus tried to stifle a laugh. "How could you not ask your own girlfriend to go with you?" Peter asked, shaking his head.

"I just assumed we'd go together!" he said, wringing his hands together. "Should I go ask her now? Or should I just go get her? Is she mad at me, Remus? Oh, Merlin, I bet she's pissed."

Remus walked over and patted his shoulder. "I'll go find her," he said with a reassuring smile and waved to them before leaving.

"What about you, Pete?" Sirius asked as he went back to getting ready.

Peter blushed as he smiled then nodded. "I ask Mary to go with me and she said she would."

"That's great, mate!" Sirius said, smiling proudly at him. Peter had had a crush on Mary McDonald since Fourth Year. "About time you asked her."

"What about you?" Peter asked, waving away the compliment. "Ask anyone special? Maybe a certain werewolf?"

Sirius's face grew red at the implication. "How did-"

James raised his hand, trying to distract himself from the spiraling thoughts about his relationship he was having. "You're not very subtle, mate," he said with a shrug. "I don't think I've ever seen you stare at someone as much as you stare at Remus. And that's not even including the times you've stared at his arse."

If possible, Sirius's face grew redder. "Shut it, both of you. For your information, no I haven't asked Remus. Why would I do something as stupid as that?"

James and Peter shared a look before they both shrugged. "No reason except you'd be happy," James said and finished getting ready.

Sirius ignored the both of them as he buttoned up his shirt then headed downstairs. Before leaving the dorm room, he checked his face in a mirror to find it it's normal pale shade.

Which was good because Remus was down there with Lily. They were both laughing so it must mean that James wasn't in trouble. "All's well in paradise?" he asked when he reached them.

"Remus explained it to me so...for now," Lily said with a small laugh and looked to the stairs going to the boys' dorms. "There's our Head Boy."

James smiled when he saw Lily not mad and rushed to pull her into a hug. "Ready?" he asked and smiled again when she nodded. The couple waved at the others before exiting.

"I said I'd meet Mary there," Peter explained as he followed after them. "See you two there!"

Remus waved their friends off then turned to Sirius. "Looks like you're my date."

"What?" Sirius asked, staring at him for a second.

"Oh, come on," Remus said, not meeting his eyes. "Let's just go or else the good pastries will be gone."

There wasn't a single professor as all the students made their way to the Great Hall. A few ghosts passed by and winked at them all, giving them a silent okay. The room was filled with tables, students, and plenty of food. Remus had figured out a way to play music that morning and it had already been working before any of the students had gotten there.

Just another example of how the professors were allowing this.

When Remus and Sirius arrived, the party was already well under way. Students were talking, dancing, and eating. As they walked past, everyone waved at them and told them how amazing the party was already.

"I can't believe you do did all this," Marlene said as she walked up holding Dorcas's hand. "And the mistletoe was a nice touch."

"The what?" Sirius asked as Remus looked up.

Zooming around the room looked to be about 20 sprigs of mistletoe. Some of them were hovering in place above student's heads and would fly away if they kissed. But most of them seemed to be looking for targets.

"I didn't do that," Remus said as he started to look for James or Peter. Judging by the look on Sirius's face, he also wasn't the one you did that.

Before either of them could move, Dorcas grabbed Sirius's arm. "It's fine," she reassured them. "From what we can tell, they hover there for about a minute and leave if you don't kiss someone. Nothing nefarious about it. Plus, I think a lot of people like it."

Indeed a lot of the students getting caught seemed to be okay with it. There were even a few who were chasing after them, trying to find someone to kiss underneath it.

"Well..." Remus said, still not sure about this. This could make someone very uncomfortable and that's not what their party was supposed to be about.

Sirius grabbed his hand when it looked like he was going to go search for one of the others. "Are you saying you don't believe Dorcas?" he asked, pretending to be scandalized by the idea.

Marlene laughed at his theatrics and pulled her girlfriend away. "You two have a fun night," she said, waving at them before going towards the food.

There was a worried look on Remus's face so Sirius decided to distract him. A fast song was playing so he pulled him towards the dance area. "Dance with me, Moony!" he said as he started to shake his hips to the beat.

Remus stared at his dancing for a moment before relenting. It took some encouraging but Remus finally started to loosen up and really started to dance with Sirius. They stayed out there for a few more songs before Remus grabbed his hand and tugged him towards the drinks.

Once they were rehydrated they went back to dancing. But, as soon as they reached the area, a new slower song was playing. As the couples moved close to each other, Sirius looked at Remus. Although it was dark, he could have sworn there was a blush on his cheeks. As he went to step away, to make a joke to relieve the tension, Remus took a step closer and wrapped his arms around Sirius's neck gently.

They stared at each other for a moment and when it felt like Remus was about to pull away, Sirius gripped his hips to stop that. The blush grew as they two of them swayed to the slow rhythm.

The next few songs were just as slow but neither of them pulled away when they changed. They were so wrapped up in each other that they didn't notice the little green plant floating above their heads until some of the students around them started whispering and pointing at it.

Each boy looked up them back to each other. Sirius was about to try another joke, to let Remus know it was okay to not kiss him, but Remus moved forward. There was just enough room that Sirius had to close the distance. Remus was giving him a chance to stop this.

But Sirius moved forward and kissed him lightly on the lips.

A few students cheered but neither of them noticed. They also didn't noticed James with Lily as she moved the mistletoe away with her wand.

[goatsandgangsters]

Connect (Con Man AU; Chapter 3)

Characters: Meyer Lansky, Charlie Luciano, Benny Siegel, Frank Costello Pairing: Meyer/Charlie Word Count: ~5,000

(also on ao3)

“How’s it looking?” Meyer’s voice—though he seldom raised it—echoed louder than usual as he entered the empty room. The ceiling wasn’t high, but the exposed concrete and beams made everything sound louder than it was, his footsteps sharp and distinct.

Benny sat perched on the windowsill before a wide expanse of tinted glass, the large Citgo sign behind him. He looked up from the wad of cash he was counting, a plastic spoon dangling from the corner of his mouth. “Not great,” he said around the spoon.

Meyer stopped in front of him and bristled. “Not great?”

Benny offered a toothy grin, plucking the spoon from his mouth. “The clam chowder, I mean. Not all it’s cracked up to be, you know.”

Meyer let out a sigh that was equal parts relief and frustration, rounding instead on Frank for a straight answer. “What about you?”

“I didn’t have any. Seafood doesn’t agree with me. Besides, my wife’s got me doing this cleanse, so I’m only supposed to eat—”

“Will somebody—” Meyer said sharply, “please tell me about the damn Red Sox.”

“Oh, yeah, them. Probably gonna win,” Benny shrugged. “Unless they all get sick from this clam chowder. Chowdah,” he amended, adopting a mocking accent as he tossed his half-full cup halfway across the room into an open box.

Meyer smiled wryly, clasping his hands together as he looked out the window. It was early afternoon, the sun still high in the sky, but he knew that soon those stadium lights would be burning hot and bright around the green edges of Fenway Park. “Well, don’t go slipping them any. We need them to win the World Series.”

Frank scooped Benny’s chowder cup out of the box and set it on the ground. “And don’t go messing up the merchandise, alright?”

“And this location. It’s secured?” Meyer asked as he cocked his head and peered down into the boxes. Frank was good with logistics—he knew people, knew which palms to grease, plus he had out-of-town connections in several major cities outside of New York. But, for as reliable as he knew Frank to be, Meyer knew it was better never to rely on anyone else.

“Secure and discrete, with a backdoor in case of emergency,” Frank confirmed.

From the windowsill, Benny laughed. “Sounds like a Craigslist ad.”

Neither Frank nor Meyer paid the comment any attention, as Frank continued rattling off a list of checks and information.

“Good. I want everything set up before Game 1,” Meyer said as he and Frank finished talking over the finer points.

“Where’re you goin’?” Benny asked, jumping down from his perch. The sound of his turquoise sneakers slapping the concrete floor reverberated around the room.

Frank handled moving the merchandise, buying, reselling, underselling, overselling. He took care of the practicalities of the operation with the same care that Meyer took in the planning. Meyer handled the numbers, the details, all the information they needed. They didn’t need to worry about encryption when they had the most secure data storage in the world—Meyer’s memory. Betting, selling, scamming. Credit cards. Even hacking when things got slow. Gambling was the big money-maker for sports, but any large event brought all kinds of other opportunities with it. It was all about volume. Keeping as many fingers in as many pies, but never an entire hand—so to speak. Enough to get by, to keep moving, to afford the next round of jobs, but not enough to be noticed. Not enough to raise suspicion.

“I need to crunch some numbers in peace. No distractions.” He pointed a finger at Benny as he turned back towards the door.

Benny fixed him with one of those looks that used to mean his mother was about to get a call home from the principal’s office. “When have I ever been distracting?”

Fortunately, it was a short trip back to the hotel—only a few stops by train. He had been advised by everyone to avoid driving in Boston at all costs, which was a shame. Meyer had so little opportunity to get behind the wheel back home that it was one of his favorite parts of out-of-town jobs. Certainly better than the little bars of soap he still felt wasteful leaving behind in hotels.

The hotel itself was an ornate building downtown. It was fancier than suited Meyer’s personal tastes, but this wasn’t about his preferences. Besides, he noted as he crossed the street from the train and walked across the brick plaza, the hotel was right next to the library. Not that he would have much time for reading during the World Series, but it was nice to have close by all the same. Maybe he could bring his notebook across the street for some quiet.

The doorman held the door as he entered; Meyer nodded and thanked him. It would always make him a bristle a little, being treated like some kind of big shot when he was more than capable of opening his own doors, thank you. His ego didn’t need someone to do it for him—but this was a “big shot” kind of job. The World Series was a big deal. He had a part to play.

He fished his key card from his wallet as he entered the lobby, but the woman behind the front desk waved him down. “Sir? Excuse me, sir? Your husband wanted me to let you know that he’s waiting for you in the hotel restaurant.”

“My… husband?” Meyer hesitated, keeping his face neutral.

“Yes, he said that his phone died and you’d already checked in, so he’d wait for you for dinner.”

Meyer managed a tight smile. “Thank you,” as he reversed direction from the elevators and through the doors into the plush, maroon-carpeted hotel restaurant. It was early enough in the day that there were not many people inside. A couple at the bar, one or two tables filled. At the far side, by the window, a familiar face sat with his knees up against the table, typing away on his “dead” phone.

So much for no distractions.

He walked over, pulled out a chair, and sat down. “When exactly did we get married?”

“You’re so bad at rememberin’ our anniversary,” Charlie teased, looking up at him with a smirk. He dropped his feet back to the floor, grinning, but Meyer was all business.

“How’d you find me?” he asked, giving Charlie a steady stare. Running into each other by chance in Manhattan was one thing. Charlie finding his hotel in Boston—when he had no reason to even know Meyer would be in another state and city altogether—was another matter. He needed to figure out which security breach he had to close.

“I’m lucky,” Charlie answered with a cheeky grin. Meyer raised an eyebrow; he caved. “Alright, fine. After you disappeared on me without givin’ your number, I asked around,” Charlie explained, shooting Meyer a fond-but-grudging look that almost made it seem like they actually were a couple. Meyer had to commend his commitment to a rouse.

“I figure, Meyer ain’t exactly a common name, but nobody’s got any idea who I’m talkin’ about. For bein’ the best in the biz, you’re either way under the radar or you got everybody too scared to talk. But finally, I find a guy who tells me you work big sporting events. I’m thinkin’, 2013 World Series got your name all over it.” Charlie paused and took a sip from his glass of water. “Besides, I ain’t ever been to Boston before. Never been outta the five boroughs, actually.”

He looked at Meyer expectantly, who nodded as he digested the information. Charlie was right about one thing—he did operate under the radar. It was safer that way. He had other people who could be the front, who could strike the deals, shake the hands, meet the contacts. Meyer organized it all. “So you’ve just been wandering the streets of a major metropolitan area in the hopes of running into me by chance? You do know how many people are coming in for the game, right?”

“That’s the thing, though!” Charlie said, emphatic and excited, sitting forward in his seat. “That’s how it happened.”

Meyer raised an eyebrow, opening his mouth to offer a retort, when the waiter appeared to refill their water and take their orders for drinks. Charlie—practiced and confident—ordered a cocktail involving peaches and vodka that made Meyer’s teeth ache just thinking about it. Meyer opted for pernod, while Charlie tacked on an order for pretzel bites and beer cheese with an award-winning smile.

Meyer took a sip of water and looked out the window at the people passing by in Copley Square. “Really? Pretzel bites?”

“If you don’t want any, more for me,” Charlie teased.

“I’m just surprised that a place like this even has pretzel bites.”

Charlie flipped open the black leather menu book. “What, so I should order some ‘olive oil poached octopus’ when he comes back?”

Meyer grimaced. “Pretzels will be just fine. But don’t think you’re getting out of this easily. I believe I’m still owed an explanation.”

Charlie leaned against the high-backed leather chair; he seemed to be enjoying this, retelling his detective work. At least it wasn’t hard to get him talking. Useful flaw. “Alright, so I get here, figure next step’s gotta be Fenway, maybe start askin’ around, see if anybody who’s in the business here knows anything about you.”

“Seems doubtful, considering you didn’t have much luck with that on our home turf.”

“Hey, I gotta plenty of luck, thanks. ‘Cause there I am, gettin’ a slice of pizza, courtesy of some guy’s wallet—and it ain’t New York pizza, I’ll tell you that much—”

Meyer smirked. “I don’t hear great things about the clam chowder, either.”

“That’s just it! There I am, eatin’ my shit pizza, and there’s these two guys. When’s Meyer meetin’ us, and suddenly I’m all ears.”

“I’m not the only person in the entire world named Meyer, you know.”

Charlie ignored this point and kept talking. “So the one guy—beanpole, can’t stand still—he’s all, how come Meyer gets that swanky Copley hotel and we’re in a Best Western. And the other guy—looks like an Eddie Bauer catalog—he’s sayin’, well you know Meyer, all cautious, wants to stay separate. So now I’m here and I was right.”

Charlie grinned in satisfaction, evidently quite pleased with himself and his work, even though it was nothing but stupid dumb luck and stupid dumb Benny and Frank. Meyer clenched his teeth; he’d be having a word with them about being so cavalier with their details in public, where anyone could overhear.

“Well,” Meyer said, brushing a few lingering crumbs from earlier patrons off the table and into the palm of his hand, “I’ve never had a stalker before. Is that standard in your repertoire, or are you branching out?”

Charlie scoffed, indignant. “I’m not a stalker!”

“What do you call following me all the way to Boston?”

“Skill.”

Meyer snorted, which seemed to get under Charlie’s skin.

“Come on, admit it. You’re impressed!”

He wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction so easily. “Maybe I’m just creeped out.” It was unbelievable, after all, that he could come all the way to Boston and Charlie could still track him down in one afternoon all because of some goddamn clam chowder. And more than a little worrying. If Charlie could do it, who else?

“Listen,” Charlie said, sitting forward and drumming his fingers against the menu. He spoke quickly in a lowered voice, a look in his eyes as he met Meyer’s. “If I’m honest, I didn’t think it’d work, but then I found you and—and it’s like what you said. Things connect. Like us.”

Meyer sat back. “You’re twisting my words. That’s about strategy, you’re talking… fate.”

Charlie cocked his head. “You sayin’ you don’t believe in it?”

Meyer scoffed. “No, of course not. Do you? Fate is nothing more than what you make of it.”

“And I made it here.”

They fell into silence as the waiter set their drinks down on the table. The moment he was out of earshot, Charlie raised his glass with a winning smile. “So what do you say?”

“About fate?”

“About me. Whatever you got goin’ on, I want in.”

Meyer paused, tracing a finger along the outside of his glass. “I’m not sure it will work.” Rather than look at Charlie’s face—like someone had killed his puppy—Meyer riffled through his bag instead. “If you come onboard… Something tells me you’re a Yankees guy, but we need someone to be the idiot fan,” he said as he pulled out a Red Sox cap.

Charlie’s face split into a grin as he reached for the hat. “Anything for you, honey.”

Despite himself, Meyer laughed and clinked their glasses together.

*****

They didn’t order the Prime New York Strip, despite Charlie’s insistence that they have a full dinner instead of drinks and appetizers. Really, he just wanted to order the most expensive thing on the menu.

But, Meyer had said, there were better cuts.

Charlie couldn’t tell if he was being a snob or offering to buy him a nicer steak dinner later. Either way, he planned on sticking around to find out.

A short while—and several people’s wallets—later, Meyer was leading him into a building across from Fenway Park. The wallets weren’t part of the plan, per se, but Charlie wasn’t about to cram his ass onto an overcrowded, stopping-and-starting, screechy excuse for a subway without making it worth his while. Meyer noticed, of course, and said nothing; he only smirked. And maybe Charlie liked showing off a little, liked the way Meyer kept his lips in a stern little line, but his eyes crinkled in the corner as Charlie lifted a pair of designer sunglasses from a stuffy business type with a bit of bravado.

He liked the way Meyer moved through the crowds like no one could touch him, as though the sweaty ambling bodies around them were water he could part effortlessly with the angle of his shoulder. He didn’t walk into the building like he owned it—none of that swagger or arrogance. But no one was going to stop him. He looked like a Boy Scout who got a law degree in-between volunteering at the orphaned puppy shelter and helping little old ladies cross the street. But Charlie also saw that look in his eyes, the calculations, the assessment, the darting glances taking in all the details, underneath the unassuming veneer. The ultimate con man.

And here Charlie always thought he was a pro because if he smiled nice enough, no one noticed what his hands were doing. It worked, sure. But Meyer was next level.

If there was one thing Charlie learned in this business, it was to move when you saw an opening. And this was a chance he wasn’t about to let slip away.

“I still think you oughta put that table on the far wall—” Eddie Bauer Catalog was saying to ADHD Beanpole.

“Why, in case Batman repels in and steals our shit?”

“No, it just doesn’t feel right. Y’know, the feng shui.”

“Jesus, Frank, we’re only gonna be here until the end of the World Series—whoa, who’s the homeless guy?” Beanpole said as he noticed them approaching.

“I been on a bus all day!” Charlie snapped back. He wasn’t about to surreptitiously smell his armpit in front of people he didn’t know, but was he that much of a mess? Beanpole and Eddie Bauer were looking at him with uncertainty, wary in a way that had nothing to do with what he looked like.

“This is Charlie,” Meyer said, matter-of-fact. “He’ll be working with us.”

They exchanged another glance.

“Who the fuck is he?” Beanpole looked Charlie up and down; he didn’t seem impressed.

The other cut in for him. “What Benny means to say is, we didn’t think that bringing anyone else in—especially day of—was part of the plan.”

“It wasn’t,” Meyer said, a small smile on his face that didn’t reach his eyes as he clasped his hands behind his back. “But he stalked me to my hotel all the way from New York because a certain set of people—and I’m not naming names—decided to announce my whereabouts in a public place.”

“I didn’t stalk—we worked together before. Once,” Charlie explained in a hurried grumble. Okay, so maybe he did stalk Meyer. A little bit. But that’s how it was in their world.

The Beanpole—Benny—scoffed. Like Charlie wasn’t even there, he turned to Meyer and said, with disdain, “Since when do you work with anyone else?” The besides us didn’t need to be said.

This was a dumb idea. This was stupid. He shouldn’t have come all the way to Boston on a fucking hunch. He’d been beyond lucky even crossing paths with Meyer again, but he didn’t picture Meyer having a little gang like this. Which was stupid, he should have figured. After all, Meyer wasn’t gonna be a big player all on his own. But somehow, he figured he was like Charlie. Maybe a shitty subpar partner here and there, the Toninos of the world, but at the end of the day, all on his own.

“Fine,” he snapped. “Looks like you got it all covered.” He turned to go, but Meyer grabbed his arm.

“He’s good,” Meyer said with such finality that even Charlie believed he meant it. He fixed the other two with a firm stare. “Any other questions?”

He was a head taller than both of them, but it was clear that when Meyer said something, they listened. The one who couldn’t stand still didn’t look happy about it, but he also wasn’t going to argue. The other one was still looking at Charlie kind of funny, and Charlie prepared to square up, when he said—“Oh! You’re that Lucania kid!”

Charlie did a double take. “How the fuck d’you know that?”

He swore he’d never seen this guy in his life, but he just laughed warmly and shook his head. It reminded him of a grandparent with little kids, like he was about to start saying shit like yea high. “Yeah, knew you looked familiar. Got my start runnin’ errands for those old country types in the neighborhood, worked the corner store on East 11th. You were always givin’ your mother agida.”

All Charlie could do was stare at him and then laugh. “Just what everybody in this business wants, huh? Doin’ a job with somebody who knows your mother.”

The other guy waved a hand at him. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell her.” He paused. “For her sake, of course. Not yours. Don’t want to put her through the stress.” He extended his hand to Charlie, with a shake that seemed to belong more in the halls of Congress. “Frank Costello.”

“Oh yeah. Rings a bell.” He couldn’t have told you anything more about him, but it was a name Charlie remembered hearing around the neighborhood. Everybody liked Frank, he knew that. He solved problems. You just weren’t supposed to ask how.

In an undertone, he nudged Meyer in the side with his elbow. “Guess you was right about one thing, huh?” He flashed a grin and pointed his two index fingers together. “About it all connectin’.”

Meyer returned the look with a wry grin. “I think I was right about more than just that.”

Benny misinterpreted the gesture. “Oh eugh. Look, I’m happy you finally got laid, Meyer, but this guy?”

“What’s your problem?” Charlie snapped back with an entirely different finger gesture. Even in his annoyance, however, the word “finally” lodged itself into his brain. From what he remembered—and Charlie did remember—Meyer wasn’t such a bad kisser for a guy who apparently wasn’t getting laid.

“Don’t take it personally, Benny’s goal in life is to get under people’s skin,” Meyer explained in a tone of voice that suggested he was used to explaining away the other’s behavior. Then, with a sharp point at Benny, said emphatically, “And no, we are not—It’s just business.”

Benny snorted. “Always is, with you.”

That was all it took. Before Charlie knew, Meyer was running through their jobs with the precision of a wartime general. Frank moved the merchandise—and no, Charlie, it wasn’t petty theft; it was more what you might term a grey market. They handled sports betting of all types, card games, credit card skimming, and some more complicated jobs that Charlie didn’t fully follow as Meyer spoke with meticulous quickness.

“And if he doesn’t keep me busy enough,” Benny interrupted as Meyer wrapped up the basic overview, “I get bored and jack a car.”

Charlie hadn’t known him long, but he already knew that wasn’t a joke.

“For the record, I hate it when he does that,” Frank said with a sigh.

Benny smirked. “Yeah but Meyer loves a good chop shop more than anyone I know.”

That Charlie didn’t believe, but the small fond smile on Meyer’s face said otherwise. He didn’t argue, instead saying, “Just as long as you’re careful about it.”

“Is there anything you guys don’t do?”

Silence filled the office space. Finally, Frank said with a considering expression, “Not murder. Usually.”

Charlie squinted. He didn’t have a good read on Mr. Eddie-Bauer-for-Senate yet. “Is he kidding?” he asked Meyer.

Meyer didn’t answer, too busy staring out the tinted windows at the glowing lights and milling crowds in baseball caps below. “C’mon. Let’s get out of Frank’s hair before the local hires show up.”

*****

By the time they left the game after the sixth inning—Meyer had work to do before the game actually ended—the sun had long since set and a chill hung in the breeze outside of the bright stadium lights. Benny and Frank split off for their hotel in the neighborhood—Benny protesting all the while that Meyer got the nice hotel for this gig. But neither of the other two paid him much mind, so Charlie figured the kid was just like that. Besides, Meyer had to fit the important businessman role for this. And he did.

“You clean up pretty nice, by the way,” Charlie said, motioning to Meyer’s clothes—slacks and a button down.

“Thank you. You look like shit.” Meyer flipped through his phone while Charlie’s face fell into a scowl.

“Alright, look, I spent six and a half hours on a Megabus, alright? Cut me some slack. You wouldn’t believe the traffic.” He crossed his arms and leaned back against some restaurant, huffing. He could clean up nice, too. Maybe not nice-nice, like a real somebody, the way Meyer looked, but he had his own kind of nice. He wouldn’t be able to do the kinds of cons he did otherwise.

The smirk at the corner of Meyer’s lips was the only sign he noticed Charlie’s pouting. “Well, you should get some rest then. Where are you staying?”

Charlie hesitated. “See, that’s the thing…”

Now Meyer looked up from his phone. They looked at each other—Charlie pulling on that puppy-dog charm, while Meyer raised an eyebrow and sighed. “Come on,” he said. He didn’t sound enthusiastic about it, but at least it was an agreement.

Charlie didn’t steal anything on the short ride back to the hotel, but he did slip his hand through the crook of Meyer’s arm as they walked into the lobby. He flashed a winning smile to the woman at the front desk, who returned a polite wave and reiterated the company line to enjoy his stay. Meyer tapped his keycard inside the elevator as the doors slid closed and hit the button for 12.

“Only 12?” Charlie chided. “You didn’t spring for the penthouse for our anniversary?”

“I’m saving it for the Golden Anniversary,” Meyer replied evenly.

“Well we ain’t gonna make it that long if you don’t spoil me every now and then.” He flashed a winning smile, but Meyer looked away. The tips of his ears were pink. Huh. So he could get flustered.

Charlie grinned to himself about that as Meyer swiped open the door. He dropped his backpack—crammed with his own belongings and those of a half-dozen people who had the misfortune of taking the same train as him—onto the carpet.

“Not a bad room after all,” he said, taking it all in. More of a business suite. The walls were crisp hotel white, the leather desk chair stiff and uninviting, the modern furniture chic but obviously un-lived in. “But I gotta warn you,” Charlie grinned as his eyes fell on the king-size bed against the wall, “I’m a bit of a blanket hog.”

Meyer looked startled, but regained composure quickly. He grabbed a notebook from his luggage and settled into the uncomfortable leather chair. “I don’t plan on sleeping much, so feel free,” he said, non-committal and not looking at him.

Okay. That worked, too.

“I’m gonna shower,” he announced, a little awkward, because standing in the middle of the room and not knowing what to do with himself was getting to him. And because Benny wouldn’t stop calling him a hobo all afternoon, so maybe he did need a wash.

When did he get bad at this? Had he always been bad at this? He made a living off a combination of petty theft and seduction cons—he knew he wasn’t bad at this. Meyer was just different from everyone else. Not that he was trying get anything from Meyer the way he did marks. Sure, he wanted someone to show him the ropes, pull him into something bigger, so he wouldn’t have to operate on his own anymore. But that wasn’t a con. That was just how people worked—everybody always wanted something, otherwise why bother? But what Meyer wanted remained a mystery.

By the time he scrubbed his curls with the little bottle of free hotel shampoo and washed (and rewashed) every part of him with the unscented soap, Meyer still had not moved. Steam billowed out of the bathroom door after him as Charlie emerged from the bathroom, damp, in only a pair of fresh boxer-briefs. He padded barefoot across the carpet, rubbing the towel over his hair and tossing it aside.

As he knelt by his backpack to find a shirt, he noticed Meyer looking at him, then quickly glanced back down at his notebook. Charlie smirked. “Y’know,” he said, a little too loud, just to make Meyer look at him again. “We seem to go back to each other’s hotel rooms a lot,” he said, with slow and easy grin.

“Mm. Twice,” Meyer agreed, maybe sarcastically.

He meant the comment to be flirty, but Charlie couldn’t help glance over his shoulder at the door. “Benny’s not gonna bust in and hold a gun to my head, is he?”

Meyer laughed. “Oh, he might. That’s not the plan or anything, you just never know.”

“Great. That makes me feel better.”

He pulled a shirt from his bag, but slung it over his shoulder instead of putting it on. He sauntered over to Meyer, perching on the arm of the chair. “Y’know, if you’re gonna game the whole World Series, you might wanna get some sleep.”

“Do you mind not dripping on me while I’m working?” Meyer asked with a smirk, not looking up.

Charlie swung his shirt into Meyer’s face, and they both laughed.

Meyer worked all through the evening while Charlie sat up in bed, scrolling his phone and watching the TV with the sound turned low—even though Meyer insisted it wouldn’t distract him, after his years of practice tuning Benny out. He ordered room service for dinner and insisted Meyer eat something, even though he said he wasn’t hungry. As the hubbub of honking cars from the street below finally faded into a sleepy 2 AM haze, Charlie switched off the TV.

“Will the light bother you?” Meyer asked, speaking for the first time in hours as Charlie slipped into bed and pulled the comforter up around himself.

“Nah. Got used to sharin’ a room, growin’ up,” he said back, barely stifling a yawn. The whole bus trip up to Boston had really taken it out of him.

It didn’t take long until the room slipped away, sleep starting to pull him under. But even through the haze settling around his mind, he heard the click of the light and the tread of careful feet. He dipped back into a doze to the ambient sounds of the water running in the bathroom.

The bed creaked beside him as Meyer carefully arranged himself on the other side, a wide gap between them. Charlie flipped over to face him. He blinked his heavy eyes in the darkness. “Does this mean you trust me?” he asked, voice groggy already, as they lay on opposite sides of the king-size bed.

There was a long pause. He could feel Meyer’s slow and steady breathing through the mattress in the darkness. “No,” he answered quietly. “I don’t even trust Frank and Benny.”

[thetourguidebarbie]

MORE OF “AND THEY WERE QUARANTINED” BUT WITH A HAPPY ENDING PLEASE!!!!

Yeah, yeah. Okay. Rushed as fuck, but hopefully it makes up for what I THOUGHT was a promising ending, but apparently was unacceptable ;)

First drabble here.

-------

 "I have to sleep on the couch?" Klaus asked, his eyebrows raised in disbelief.

"Yes," Caroline said firmly, shoving two throw pillows in a pillowcase and handing it to him. "We're not dating."

"Yes, I'm aware," Klaus said dryly, setting the frankenpillow down on the couch and turning to look at her with his hands clasped behind his back. "But I'll be stuck here for the foreseeable future, and it's not as though we haven't shared a bed before. Many, many times."

"Yeah, we lived together, I remember," Caroline said grumpily. "But this is my apartment, and it's my bed."

And she'd just gotten sort-of used to sleeping alone, at least enough that she didn't toss and turn, and she couldn't have him ruin that.

"You're being a rather rude host, you know."

"Usually hosts ask to have guests," Caroline pointed out. "You could have just dropped off my stuff at the doorstep, but you had to come in and talk to me for long enough that you stayed until we were on freaking lockdown."

"I had no idea there was going to be a lockdown," he said defensively. "How was I supposed to know?"

"Well, either way, no bed," Caroline said, trying to convince herself as much as him. "We'll just cuddle, and then we'll kiss, and then we'll have sex, and then we'll get back together, and then you'll leave and we'll be back to where we were before."

"You say that as if being together a bad thing."

"It is!" Caroline snapped. "Relationships are a 'two yes or one no' situation, Klaus. Either both of us have to agree or if one of us says no, then we're no longer in a relationship, and I'm saying no."

He held up his hand in a surrendering gesture, giving her an exasperated glance. "All right, Caroline. I apologize for pushing the subject."

She let out a sharp breath. "Thank you. It's just for the night, anyway. Tomorrow you can get a hotel, right?"

He looked at her like she was crazy. "All the hotels have been commandeered for the state as beds for hospitals," he said slowly. "So no. I can't. And the new tenants already moved into our old apartment this morning."

"Right," Caroline said, dragging the word out, feeling more tired than she had in a long time. "That's...okay. So I guess you're here for awhile."

"If you'll have me," he said evenly, every inch of him tense.

"Of course! I'm not letting you go out on the street and get arrested or something," she said, rolling her eyes. "I'm not a sociopath."

And I still love you.

"Well, not to put too fine a point on it, but I think you might be if you make me sleep on that," he said, nodding to the small, lumpy couch, which she'd gotten from a thrift store the day after she'd moved out as a sort of insurance policy that she wouldn't move back in (because moving it or selling it would suck). She wrinkled her nose, trying to figure out a reason to keep him on it other than being scared that she'd snuggle back against him immediately and forget why she'd broken up with him.

A legitimate concern, but one she kind of wanted to ignore now that he was right in front of her.

"I guess you're right. If you'll be here for the foreseeable future you might as well sleep in the bed," she said after a few seconds. "Making you sleep on the couch for more than a night would make me a sociopath, probably."

His lips twitched, and she was fairly sure that if they'd still been together he would have teased her, listed all the things he found even mildly objectionable until she bristled and he made it better with kisses to her neck and whispers of how much he loved her compassion, and...

Ugh.

"Well, since you so generously offered," he teased. "It would be rude to turn it down."

"Oh, shut up," she mumbled. "Is your car parked legally, at least?"

"Yes," he said, sounding amused. "I do need to go get a few things, though. Laptop, clothes, that sort of thing."

"Okay. Key's on the front table," she said, gesturing toward it.

She turned around and walked to her (her!!) bedroom, hearing the door open and close and the lock click. She tried to calm her racing heart as she dressed in her pajamas, consciously picking the baggiest ones she owned (not that it would deter either of them from getting hot and heavy, that was the job of her willpower alone, but hopefully it would keep her from feeling his hands on her skin when she inevitably cuddled up to him in her sleep).

She heard the lock turn a few minutes later and peeked out of her room to see Klaus with a laptop bag under his arm and a rolling suitcase of what she assumed was the clothes that he was going to bring on his road trip to New Orleans. He closed the door behind him and gave her a small smile. "I do appreciate you letting me stay," he said softly. "You have no obligation to do so, and you're doing me quite the favor."

"Sure," she muttered, shrugging and trying to ignore the warmth of his tone. God, she was weak for him.

"Do you have any plans for the night?"

Caroline shook her head. "Nope. Just TV and relaxing. I'm trying to stay inside as much as possible because...you know...the plague."

His lips twitched. "Right, of course. Do you mind if I watch with you?"

"I'm going to catch up on some trashy TV dramas you hate, but you can watch with me if you want."

"Sounds lovely."

He sank down on the couch, and she went to the kitchen to get a quick snack, setting the bowl down on the coffee table. She relaxed into the cushions of the couch, keeping a careful foot of space between them. It was close enough to feel the heat of his body near hers, but far enough away that she wouldn't cuddle.

Hopefully.

She turned on the tv and used the remote to navigate to her recorded shows, selecting one of the ones she knew he didn't hate too much and starting it up. It was almost nine o'clock now, and she had to be up around nine the next day to start working on the copy for an ad for a client. She sincerely regretted taking it off Stefan's hands, but he had two tiny kids, and keeping them home with him while his wife went to her 'necessary' job hadn't been conducive to working.

She curled her feet underneath her as she watched, not realizing until she'd done it that it moved her closer to Klaus, though he didn't seem to mind, his arm resting on the top of the couch the way it usually did when they watched TV together, though her head had usually been set comfortably on his shoulder.

She lasted about fifteen minutes before giving up. "Would you really have wanted to make it work long-distance?" she blurted out, her voice embarrassingly shaky.

"Of course," he said without missing a beat, as though it should have been obvious. "I love you, Caroline."

"Right, but like, do you think you would have been okay with long distance? Really? Like, with logistics in mind?"

"Yes. You know that I intended to spend two years there and build up my resume before coming back here."

She frowned. "No, I didn't. When did you say that?"

"The day I applied," he said slowly, the reality that she hadn't known he was coming back clearly dawning on him. "You thought that I intended to stay in New Orleans?"

She swallowed, trying to remember what had happened that day. Everything was fuzzy, to be honest. She remembered her heart pounding when he told her that he was applying to leave, the crushing reality that he might be leaving her hitting her like a punch to the stomach. She remembered that she hadn't quite processed his words for a few seconds after he'd told her. Maybe he'd said it then. "Um, yeah. That's basically what you said when you took it. You said you were going to find a house there and I could come visit."

"I meant to rent, love. I thought you knew."

"Oh," she breathed. "I...I didn't realize that it was temporary."

"And you didn't ask?" he asked, his expression somewhere between exasperated and amused, his lips pulling into a smile as he clearly realized that this was his opening. "Caroline, sweetheart, I never intended for us to make long distance permanent."

"I thought you were going to go down there and wait until I caved and followed you," she said, her voice small. "And I always promised myself after Tyler that I'd never mess up any plans because of a relationship. I wanted to keep my job, and I knew going to New Orleans would hurt my career."

"No," he said firmly. "I would never, and I'm a bit offended that you thought that's what I wanted, to be honest. I know how important your career is to you."

She swallowed, feeling a lump grow in her throat. "God, I feel like such an idiot."

"No, I should have talked it through with you more," he said quickly. "It hadn't occurred to me that you'd think I was leaving permanently. I care so much for you. I thought that was obvious."

"Well you don't need to rub it in that I missed all of your signals," she said, her voice a bit tight. "I already feel bad."

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he said again, his arm wrapping around her and tugging her slightly to encourage her to let him hold her. She did almost automatically, resting her cheek on his shoulder, her arms wrapping around him, and he rubbed her back for a few seconds before he spoke. "Does that....does that change anything for you? About us?"

"You still want to be together even though I walked out on your over a misunderstanding?" she asked, a bit stunned. 

"Of course," he said, his tone almost offended. "You know that I've never felt this way about anyone but you, that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you."

Well, that was another thing he'd never said. 

"You do?" she asked, sniffling.

"Yes. Don't you?"

"I mean, yeah. Obviously."

If she was honest with herself, she'd never really let herself believe that Klaus was quite as serious about her as she was about him. There was something about opening herself up to the kind of hurt that came with hoping he'd think she was enough, that he wanted her,.and having him prove her wrong, that was terrifying. When he'd told her that he was leaving, she'd felt betrayed, like all her fears about him not loving her enough had come true.

"Look at me, sweetheart," he murmured, waiting until she'd disentangled herself from him and met his gaze, reaching up to wipe her eyes. "I love you, Caroline. I never meant for you to think that I wanted anything less than to be with you for the rest of my life."

"I love you, too," she said after a few seconds, sniffling. "I'm sorry that I misunderstood."

"Don't apologize," he murmured, kissing the top of her head. "The most important thing is that we've talked it through now. And we should talk more later."

"We should," Caroline agreed, nodding. "Yeah. Like, logistics and stuff. If you want to still--"

"I want to," he interrupted, his tone more sure than she'd ever heard it. "Never doubt that for a moment."

"Great," she said, giving him a weak smile. "Okay."

He reached out to wipe her tears away with his thumb, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to her lips. She returned it,  her arms going around his neck as she basked in the familiarity and the warmth, humming in contentment when he squeezed her waist lightly, tugging her so that she was more on top of him, one of his hands burying itself in her curls. "Are you working from home?"

She nodded. "Yeah. I'm non-essential, or whatever. Gotta check my email by nine tomorrow, but otherwise free."

"Good," he said quietly, reaching to tuck a curl behind her ear. "This couch is more comfortable than I'd expected, I have to admit."

"Liar," she teased, pecking him on the lips, the happy burst in her chest at what it felt like to be with him making her smile.

"Perhaps, but with you on top of me it's at least tolerable."

"Ha," she said dryly. "Good to know."

He kissed her again, his hand now pressing against the small of her back as he deepened the kiss, tugging her hair lightly as a hint for her to expose her neck. She hummed as he pressed soft kisses to her collarbone and shoulder, shifting slightly on top of him to get more comfortable. God, she'd missed the way his lips felt on her skin.

"D'you want to finish the show?" he asked, nipping her ear lightly.

"Mm...I forgot we were watching something," she said, pulling back to stretch languidly and resting her cheek on his chest when he laid back. "But yeah. Too early to go to bed, and I don't think we should have hot reunion sex until we really talk this through."

"Ah, yes. Making lists is foreplay for you. I'd almost forgotten."

She snorted, poking him hard in the chest. "Jerk."

He gave her an unrepentant dimpled grin, pressing a kiss to her temple. "If it makes any difference, I'm quite looking forward to making plans with you. Permanent ones."

"Me too."

[michaelbfanfic]

2.

Michael

“So we’re defiantly doing the French Alps next week”

“Just for a week?”

I questioned Lori as we went for our morning run. I’ve really been taking a break from everything. Movies, Directing, and Boxing just to focus on the business aspect of life. I stopping to smell the flowers rather than work myself to death.

“I mean, I say a week because of work. But I mean we can do longer”

I shrugged. Like I said, I had no commitments at the time. My Billion dollar.  Where do I start. My name is Michael B Jordan. I’m 30 years old and I am worth $85.112 Billion. How? Easy I decided at a young age I wasn’t going to be hungry forever. I made sure to work smart with my funds and it took me a long way. I realized early I was more than just TV and so I decided to be more than just movies and TV.

I am the CEO Of  Whitley J Incorporation. We invests in and holds dozens of major public and private companies. As part of our portfolio, my company also owns and operates several self-titled companies, including Toussaint Home Services of America and WJ Direct Insurance Company. But apart from our branded companies, WJ does a bit more than provide insurance. In 2017, WJ companies and holdings contribute a variety of commodities and services to the market - including producing computers and electronic products, providing insurance, producing clothing, serving food products, automotive products and services and much more. 

Although I originally started out primarily in the textile industry, I’ve grown to become a conglomerate that invests in a diverse group of major companies and provides the prime example of my famous value investing strategy. 

 I have 100% ownership in multimillion and billion dollar companies. And not all of them are the same. I’ll name a few. For starters, Billups Brick Company, it’s construction, I own it 100%. AlterLinks, Electric Transmission, I own it 100%, and it’s also a  subsidiary of WJ Energy. I mean the list is long, jewelry, auto sales, utilities, Insurance, Bond Insurance, Media,  Logistics, Food and Beverage, Pipeline, Clothing, Luxury, Jets, Furniture, Sports Equipment,  Pharmaceuticals, Materials and Construction, as I said before the list exceeds my age of life. Plus more. 

“Well if you leave baby, I might not come back with you right away”

She shrugged and nodded her head.

“Okay. That’s fine”

Pecking my lips she jogged ahead leaving me behind to catch up. My relationship with Lori was.... nice. I mean she’s younger than me, our view on a few things aren’t the same at all. And where as I wanna chill, she wants to go out and shit. I mean I like going out but, sometimes quality time at him is a better move. 

Feeling my phone vibrate in my phone, I stopped, turning around to see the security car behind me stop as well. Raising the phone to my ear I cleared my throat and began to speak.

Michael: Wassup Johnathan.

Johnathan: Hey man, you got a second

I looked at my watch. This was my don’t disturb hours, but obviously homie had something important to say.

Michael: Yeah wassup

Johnathan: Do you know a Kianna De La Oz?

I didn’t even need time to remember the name. First of all, she’s a well know hairstylist. From LA, to ATL, to NY, to Miami, country wide, she’s a big deal. Oh, and we use to mess around before me and Lori became a item. After I told her I was in a relationship, she dipped out. I still regret that day. I had feelings for her, and no doubt cared about her. 

She didn’t want a relationship on public display though, and that bothered me. I should have went about shit differently. I haven’t heard from her in like 3 years I think.

Michael: Yeah, I know her

Johnathan: Yeah well, she reached out to me through my friend which is also her sister, saying she has a 3 year old daughter by you.

I stopped. Laughing to myself, I rubbed the top of my head. A lot of shit started running through my head. Lori, this child, and seeing Kianna again after years. Damn.

Michael: Uh... damn... uhm

Johnathan: We don’t need  to react at all until there’s a DNA test in place and we confirm it.

I nodded. Not that I needed a DNA test. Kianna was never that type of female. She was too involved in her work to fuck around on me like i did on her. Lori still doesn’t know that while we were in the talking phase I was fucking someone else.

Michael: Just um.... text me her number.

Johnathan: Okay

Hanging up, I exhaled and continued jogging. 

Kianna

So I did it, I allowed Kendall to reach out to her friend, then I spoke with him. It was time to receive help, her father’s help. And besides that I know how much I adore my father, so no matter how me and Mike ended, I’d hate for her to miss out on that type of love. 

Sadly though, that was this morning, and I still haven’t heard back from either Johnathan or Mike, so I’m not really even worrying about it. I am however happy it’s Friday. This weekend is my weekend off. Ima find something for me and my girl to do.

“Did you have a better day today?”

I questioned AnnDrew, looking at her in my rear view. She nodded with a bright smile as we pulled up to Starbucks. One thing another is she’ll tell on her self. When she was spitting and shit she started crying as soon as I walked into her classroom door.

She be knowing when she’s wrong which is why she get’s her ass beat. She knows thoroughly right from wrong. I don’t spare her.

“Good baby. And you need to keep it that way, understand me?”

“Yes mommy?”

Pulling up to the window, I rolled down my window and prepared to place my order.

“Welcome to Starbucks! What can we get for you today?”

Looking at the menu, I took my time as if I ain’t been to this shit before.

“Hey, can I get a Birthday cake pop as well as 2 Vanilla Bean Frap’s. One mini and the other venti. Also can you add caramel to both”

“Yes ma’am absolutely. You’re total is $9.35″

“Thank you”

Pulling up for the next person to order, my phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number, thinking it could be family or something, I answered.

Kianna: Hello

Michael: KiKi. It’s Michael

My stomach dropped and my heart began to race. Calming my breathing and the thoughts that were beginning to overwhelm me, I took a deep breath and responded.

Kianna: Uh hey.. hey

Getting to the window, I stumbled getting out my card to pay for my stuff. 

Michael: Wassup. Are you able to meet up. Or can I come by.

This was not the reaction I was expecting. But then again, he knew just the fuck better. One thing I’m not is a hoe, he can look at AnnDrew and dead see that she’s all him. She has my hair, that’s about it.

“Here you go. Have a good day”

“You too”

I spoke grabbing the drinks and cake-pop. Handing Kenya her snack, I exhaled and pulled off.

Kianna: I... umm.... You can...we

Michael: I’ll just come by. Send me your address

Kianna: Okay

Quickly hanging up, I calmed down a bit then looking back at AnnDrew who could give not a shit about anything as she tore her cake-pop up.

7:04 pm

"Whose that on TV?”

I questioned Kenya. This was usually my time to not only watch her favorite shows but test her knowledge, pick her brain and brush up on her conversation skills.

“Dat’s poppy?”

I gave her a surprised face watching as she continued eating from her bag of chips.

“Poppy. Okay, and what color is her hair”

“Ummm... pink”

I smiled, leaning in to kiss her cheek. Returning back to the TV, I then heard the doorbell. It was him. My heart began to race and my stomach dropped once again. Getting myself together, I got up and walked to the front door. Opening it, there he stood with his security in the driveway.

I didn’t say anything, I just stepped to the side. Walking in, he looked around closing the door behind him then following me into the kitchen. Kenya could give a damn, she was in her own world. Didn’t even budge.

Leading him to the kitchen, I handed him a water bottle and we sat at the island. There was a silence, and I watched as he looked over at Kenya he in between her falling asleep ate a few chips.

“Why didn’t you tell me about her?”

“Come on now. You was in a whole relationship. Let’s not forget that part”

He shrugged, allowing his eyes to land on me.

“Still, I would have dropped everything for ya’ll, for her”

I scoffed.

“Listen, my reason was valid. To protect you, me and her. I didn’t want her twisted up in shit, I didn’t want people in my business, and I didn’t want to smear your name”

It’s crazy how even when we’re hurt, we still seem to try and protect black men. I could have aired him out, went to court and all. But one day my daughter would see the hostility, so I opted to not take it that far. 

“So what we gonna do?”

I shrugged. I’ve never shared her before, this was new to me.

“I don’t know. I’m all she knows”

“Well I wanna get to know her as well. I have a part in that. I’m her father”

I nodded. 

“How about this. Talk to your girlfriend about it, this is more than us. Talk to her, come and visit her every day. Stop by her school. let her get use to you. Then we can talk about her spending time with you”

[neshabeingchildish]

The Swellview Shut In

This is for Pearl @pearlselegancies, though I don’t know if she’ll feel up to reading at the moment. I do want to preface it by saying that it involves the quarantine, but not in a sad and negative way (mostly). Really, I wanted to do more of a focus on the good things in life/friendship/found family and bonding type of premise. Hopefully, she enjoys this and anyone else who reads, too.

Charlotte Page: Student Mentor - The Swellview Shut In

A sickness was sweeping over the globe. Charlotte figured that it wouldn’t get to Swellview. Nothing ever really reached Swellview, but apparently, this was everywhere, because whenever Jasper showed up to her house in the morning, he had on gloves, a mask and was carrying a cleaning caddy in his hand. “What is up with this?” She wondered.

“The sickness has made it to Swellview, they’re closing school for at least two weeks!” He said. Then, he pulled out a can of disinfectant and began spraying her door and her things.

“There’s no school today?” She asked. 

“Oh, no… There IS, but it’s only so that we can go in and grab our things, then they are promptly shutting the doors until further notice. Come on, I have stuff in my locker and I know that you do too.”

“If there’s really something going around, isn’t it stupid for them to even have the school open?”

“They were going to straight up close, but a lot of parents and stuff made a big deal about stuff like devices that teachers took up and locker possessions, so they had to open for that, but they’re like, setting up handwashing stations in the front and stuff. Do you not watch the news?” 

The school didn’t have handwashing stations set up at the front of the building, but there were handwritten signs reminding everyone to wash their hands before and after touching things. Charlotte went to her locker and emptied it into her bag, still not fully believing that it was necessary, but taking her stuff, just in case. She texted Henry to see if he was going to do the same. He had no idea what she was even talking about. She texted Piper and moments later, the freshman met her at her locker. 

“They’re kicking us out of school for at least two weeks! What do they expect me to do for breakfast and lunch? Eat the food at home? That’s way more expensive! Henry is gonna flip. Can I stay at your house?” Piper made prayer hands. Charlotte thought about it for a moment. Her parents were out of town and she did have an extra bed, but also… Her parents would flip out if she invited someone over in the middle of a possible pandemic… “Tell them it’s for charity!” Piper squealed, knowing by now how Charlotte’s mind worked. 

At that moment, Jasper walked up to the two of them and handed his cleaning caddy to Piper, “You need to sanitize and gear up,” he said. “Gloves, mask. Charlotte REFUSED, like a fool.” Piper sighed and furrowed her eyebrows, then dropped the caddy on the floor, letting it spill products, to Jasper’s dismay. He rushed to collect them and also told Charlotte, “Char, I’ve gotta quarantine at your place.”

“What? No,” she said. “I’m not gonna have you and Piper at my house while my parents are gone and school is out!” Charlotte said.

Piper squealed, “You’re letting me stay!” and she bounced up and down.

Jasper stood up, with his products collected and asked, “You’re shutting me out? Ugh. Charlotte. You know that I can’t stay at my house for something like this. I spent hours cleaning up last night and barely made a dent. My mom’s not working again. This morning, the threw her empty ice cream pint right onto the recliner next to the couch she’s been sleeping on. I JUST cleared all of the trash off yesterday! I don’t want the illness in my space, Charlotte. LOOK AT ME!” She looked at him. He really appeared to be freaking out about the possibility of germs. 

She sighed, “I’ll ask my parents, Jasper.” She wrapped an arm around Piper and said, “Come on. Let’s go get you some clothes from home.”

“TOO MUCH TOUCHING!” Jasper said and began to spray both of them with disinfectant, until Piper punched him in the ribs. “OUCH!”

“Jasper… tone down,” Charlotte said.

“She literally just punched me!”

“After you assaulted us with disinfectant!”

“For your own good!” Jasper said.

.

Piper let them into her house and was surprised to see Henry there. “For some reason, I assumed that when they closed school, you’d rush into work,” she said. He gave her a little smile, but didn’t respond.  Charlotte raised an eyebrow and went over to him while Piper rushed upstairs to get packed. 

“So, I’m gonna take her and Jasper in for a few at my place. My parents are actually stuck overseas and the town is officially going under curfew. So, I’ll make sure she’s taken care of for a little bit. Slight bit of stress off of you, right?” He frowned and nodded. “Why do I feel like it isn’t?”

He sighed and glanced towards the stairs, before saying quietly, “I’m temporarily out of work.” Charlotte gasped. Henry was the one who kept them above water and she could tell from his face that being out of work was going to most likely really hurt them. He noticed her face and forced a smile. “Don’t worry, Babe. I’ll figure something out.” He gave her a little kiss on the forehead and she smiled, in spite of being completely worried about him and Piper. But, there was something about him calling her “Babe” that kind of… made stuff at least go under the radar for a moment. 

Their relationship was a little assumed, and not officially spoken of, but Henry was usually affectionate with her and called her “Babe,” so in her mind, they were pretty much married. In fact, she had been working out the logistics in her mind, hypothetically, for what if he came along with her whenever she left for college? Sure, it would be a struggle, but he was used to some level of that and the job market where she was going was actually better than Swellview. And, yes… They would have to bring Piper, because he certainly wouldn’t leave her to fend for herself, but she could have a fresh new start at a new school and maybe even thrive if she had a happy Henry there with her and also the mentorship of Charlotte, reaching beyond the school’s program… “Babe? You okay?” Henry wondered, cutting into her overthinking tangent.

“Yeah. You… wanna come over? Since, you’re not gonna be at work? We can maybe play video games and stuff. No school for the next few weeks. You rarely get a relaxing night.”

“Yeah, I actually want to try to see what one of those ‘good night’s sleep’ things feel like,” he said. 

Piper came downstairs with her bags and said, “Henry, bring these to Jasper’s junk heap for me. I gotta see what cleaners we have. That’s what I’m using for “gas money” while we’re out of school.” 

She dropped them on the floor by the door and Henry laughed and finally let his hand drop from Charlotte’s hip. “Guess WILL be working,” he said. 

He went to go get her stuff and she went opening cabinets, “Do we SERIOUSLY not have basic household cleaners in this place? Are we THOSE people?”

“The oldest adult in your home just turned 18 a few months ago,” Charlotte reminded her. “Don’t worry about it, though. There’s plenty of cleaner at my place and Jasper took everything from his, because his folks were never going to use it anyway.”

“Dude… Are we about to do the apocalypse like the last kids on Earth?” Piper asked, excitedly.

“We’re spending some days, maybe a couple of weeks at my house. Did you bring hobby stuff? Because you’re not gonna be able to go out and hang with your girls when you’re bored. You need like books and stuff.”

“Books? Like… in case we run out of toilet paper? I think we’ve got some, somewhere…” Piper left and Charlotte didn’t even stop her. 

Henry came back inside and Charlotte wondered, “So… Are you coming over? We might be stuck there and that might mean not seeing your sister for a few…”

He made a confused face. “You worried about me not seeing Piper, or me not seeing you?”

“I mean… Are you worried about it?” She asked, nonchalantly shrugging her shoulders.

“It’d totally suck. Let me go get some stuff packed and I’ll meet you all there.” 

“Cool,” she said. She was really cheering inside. In fact, mentally, there was an entire Glee Cheerios performance, complete with stunts as she awkwardly left the house. 

Piper came back into view and said, “Well, most of these pages are pretty rough, so I vote making Jasper use these as toilet paper whenever stock gets low…” Henry stared at her in confusion. She waved a hand and stuffed a book into a duffel bag. “That was for Charlotte’s ears. Forget I said it.” She left, too and Henry sighed. This was going to be… Interesting.

.

Jasper and Piper worked on getting everything cleaned up while Henry unpacked and brought everything to the rooms that Charlotte assigned. Jasper was fine to take the couch, but most of his stuff would have to be kept in Charlotte’s room, simply because she wasn’t going to have her parents come back to see Jasper had moved into their living room! She and Piper were in her bedroom, all of Piper’s stuff fit beneath the spare bed, so Jasper’s was in the closet. And Henry was given her parents’ room, because he was the least likely to impose on their stuff. In fact, he was so uncomfortable that he didn’t want to unpack any of his things in there, but their bathroom was amazing. He was ready to at least spend some time in that shower. 

In fact, he got into the shower after he unloaded everything from Jasper’s car. Charlotte was making a list of things that they might need - which, she felt like they were pretty stocked up for the house - but normally, 3 people lived there, and now four were and there was a different basis of need, too. Her mother told her to use the emergency credit card to stock up and to message them everyday updates on how things were, and also photos of the house. She and Jasper went to gather everything, people were really wilding at the store, like… she was shocked at their behavior. Jasper had to guard her several times, and when they finally made it out, hours had passed. 

Henry and Piper were in her room whenever they got back to the house. They both felt uncomfortable being anywhere else in the house without permission, so they were just catching up in there. But, Henry rushed to help them bring everything in once they got there. 

They all unloaded the truck and Jasper and Charlotte told them about the way that people were behaving and how much more serious it seemed after having been around them like that. Henry was bothered by the fact that people were getting rough with Charlotte and he hadn’t been there to protect her. Protecting was kind of his thing, and Charlotte was kind of his girl. 

Piper told the others, “So, I’ve planned out a movie night thing for every night this week, since we’re gonna be in here at least that long. I’m thinking that it’ll be cool to watch some apocalypse kinda stuff. Maybe some zombie stories. End of the world, dystopian mood.”

“In this climate?” Charlotte wondered.

“Especially in this climate,” Piper said. 

“I think we should have assigned chores and designated dinner making nights,” Jasper said.

“Good idea, but I don’t cook. I suck at it. It would be a waste of food.”

Charlotte said, “My mom told me to make meals, do meal prep and also freeze some meals, so I’m going to get started on that today, since it’s more people than I usually have had to do stuff like this for.”

“You’ve had to do stuff like that before?” Henry asked.

Piper chuckled, “Her parents are almost literally never home,” she said. 

“They work a lot and since I’m older now, they take on a lot more overseas ventures than when I was younger,” Charlotte explained, defensively. 

Henry furrowed his eyebrows, wondering how he didn’t know that piece of information, but then again, he and Charlotte didn’t tend to discuss family stuff. Or at least… not hers. In fact, it occurred to him that he didn’t even know what her family LOOKED like. He didn’t want to ask, but he made a mental note to look for a photo later or something. In fact, he checked her social media. Surely, she had something there. But, her social media was pretty lacking in the parental area. He did see some people with her last name, though they were all white, so he clicked on a few, just out of curiosity. He found Fiona Page, who actually had a lot of young photos of her and Charlotte and one of the posts was her wishing her daughter a great time at Future Visionaries Camp. Now, he felt the need to investigate…

Charlotte and Jasper went to the kitchen. They had a routine for things like this, and they got started on their cooking party while Piper learned the remote control to the Pages’ system and Henry sat on his phone, looking at Charlotte’s mom’s page. Charlotte was fine to leave them to that while she and Jasper made a meal. It was the first time that she had Henry over in all the time that she’d known him. Mostly… Charlotte didn’t let people into her home. Piper was the first person in a while, and even she had only been over a couple of times, and only in the past few months. Jasper was the only friend that came over kind of regularly, and that was because (she believed) that her parents saw him as a charity case, and boy were they big on those. 

.

One week of denial passed. Then, a week of realization. By the third week, they had touched base with all of the adults - her parents were going to remain overseas for now, but didn’t mind if she kept her friends there. Jasper’s parents were BOTH so sick that they could barely leave the house. Charlotte told him to just stay put and fight that urge to go help take care of them. They could always call 911 if they simply couldn’t stand it. He was no doctor and this was a pandemic. Henry’s mom had “been trying to figure out where on Earth her children were” this whole time (she was at the Hart house, had found Jake in an alley and brought him home and the two of them were going to spend the citywide quarantine there). Piper wanted to go home, but whenever Charlotte told her that she would have to stay there if she did, she opted for just staying, also; but she was very visibly upset about it. Henry spent time trying to cheer her up. His boss called to tell him that he wasn’t sure if he would even be able to reopen the store after all of this. Nobody was in a good way, except for Charlotte and her family, so she tried not to harp on the things that she was feeling too much, because she felt like it was petty in comparison to the others.

Charlotte left all of her friends in the living room after dinner to go into her room and relax for a moment. She usually had some time just before dinner to meditate and unwind from the school day, but the past few weeks, she hadn’t done so, considering the change in the house. She needed at least a couple of minutes. 

After having been there for only a moment, Henry knocked on the door and peeked in, “Hey. You okay?” He asked. She forced a smile and nodded her head. She was lighting a candle and had a record player playing in the background. “I feel like I just interrupted something. I’ll go,” he said. She didn’t stop him. He sat down outside of the door and got back onto his phone. In case somebody else came around, he’d let them know that she didn’t seem to want to be bothered at the moment. 

Charlotte went into her bathroom and drew herself a bath. She could shower tomorrow. It wasn’t like she did a whole lot today, anyway… Well… maybe she should shower afterwards, just to be safe, if there were so many germs going around that now they were getting emails about prom being cancelled and POSSIBLY graduation. That was a hit to her gut. She knew that she probably wasn’t going to win prom queen. That Bianca most likely had that in the bag, and while Charlotte got a lot more popular her senior year than previously, Bianca had been on the road to prom royalty since junior high. But graduation? That was basically robbery. That was something that she PERSONALLY looked forward to for 13 years of her life! The first day of school, she asked her teacher, “When does school end?” and they said 3:00. “Forever?” she’d asked. Well, she certainly loved learning, but going to classrooms full of other people to do it was never her favorite thing and now that she was the best of the best in her area at it… she hated the thought of not finally being front and center, standing up to say, “Nobody can force us to go to school anymore!” Though… she wouldn’t really say that and she was gonna continue to go to school, but… Graduation was just really important and the thought of not getting one was a huge loss to her! 

She cried, listening to scratchy vinyl crooning, soaking away as much of her physical stress as possible, and posted a tiny rant about losing the opportunity to have prom and a graduation ceremony, and then just let it all out before taking a shower, doing her hair and resurfacing for her friends to let them know that she was going to go to bed and also to remind them to try to get some rest themselves.

She made it to the living room, where they all appeared to be having like crafts time or something - weird, but maybe not since they were quarantined. She furrowed her eyebrows in confusion, then said, “Um… I’m gonna go to bed. Probably like lay down and read or something. You all should try to get some sleep too.”

Henry had a pile of flowers he was toying around with until she began speaking, then he looked up and wondered, “Can I tuck you in?”

“I guess?” She said, laughing a little bit. He set down his craft materials and went with her. “You all look awfully busy with… crafts?”

“Yeah. We’re workin’ on something big,” he said, smiling. She wanted to ask him what, but she was actually exhausted from worrying and crying, so she kissed him goodnight and went to bed, opting for a book instead of reading on her phone, because she really didn’t want to see another mention of the quarantine, the virus, or the panic surrounding these things. 

.

She was always the first one up, out of all of them. The few times she’d crashed at Henry’s, she learned that. Today was an exception, though. Whenever she got up, she noted first that Piper wasn’t in the spare bed, but figured that she probably slept on the couch, because that was where the TV was and she loved TV almost as much as she loved social media. Charlotte turned on some music, went to brush her teeth and did morning stretches. She went to the living room, excited to start the day out with her friends, but paused whenever she got there and Piper was hissing at Jasper that he was hanging it wrong. She stood for a moment, taking in the room. There were these individual sheets of paper, with string connecting them to make a banner and each page was a letter, for a banner that read “HOUSE PROM.” 

“I have to be careful with it, or it’s going to tear!” Jasper fussed back at the freshman. 

Henry came into the house with a bucket full of flowers and paused whenever he saw Charlotte. 

“Morning…” He said. “I can explain.”

“You guys saw that I was bummed that Prom is cancelled, so you figured you’d turn my living room into a makeshift prom?”

“This guy gets it,” Jasper said from the step ladder.

“I know it’s not gonna be like a real prom, but… Me and Jasper are gonna wear suits. Piper’s gonna DJ. I made you a SICK flower crown… It’s gonna be okay,” Henry said, smiling and wincing at the same time, hoping that he sounded convincing. 

She sniffled and went to hug him. “These are for additional decoration… I was gonna make some arrangements and stuff. Nobody’s buying the flowers from the supermarkets, so I was actually able to get a lot of them pretty damn cheaply.” She gave him a kiss on the lips and he smiled wider. “And, I get to see you in your prom dress! You designed it, right?”

“Yeah…” 

“That’s awesome. I don’t think I’ve ever seen any of your design work.” He moved out of her reach to get back to decorations. She went to start on breakfast for everybody. He didn’t want to mention it right now, but he also was working on throwing her a mock graduation. Because, even though she had been trying to convince herself that everything would blow over and they would be able to finish the year out properly, the news said something totally different.

.

The House Prom was fun. Jasper made punch. Piper had great music and went live a few times so that kids at school could know that Henry and her did this FIRST, even if some of the rich kids might wind up doing it fancier. And Henry was stunned by Charlotte’s prom dress. He wasn’t sure what color it was, but went with whites and golds for her flower crown, which didn’t clash bad with the opaque pinkish dress that she had. The style of the crown wasn’t exactly a match for the style of the dress, but she insisted that it was perfect, that everything was perfect, and honestly, that was what really mattered to him. 

Henry knew that he wasn’t as smart as her, or have as much money, or as much education and stuff.. But, making her happy… that still mattered to him, because he believed that he could, so he made sure that he did. The thought of them going their separate ways in a few months was always scary for him as he fell for her, but also… it made him aware that he had only a short period of time to impact her life forever. House Prom was one of those forever impacts. 

They had an after party in Charlotte’s bedroom, which was just them laughing, eating and taking selfies to post to their House Prom tag, which was POPPING! Everyone at school wanted to be at Charlotte’s house, especially upon realizing that there were no adults there for the whole quarantine. She was extremely happy to have been so unpopular before. Now, nobody could just pop up at her house. Eventually, Piper fell to sleep and Jasper began dozing off in Charlotte’s bed. She scoffed, “How’s he gonna just fall asleep in MY bed?” 

Henry said, “I can sleep on the couch, if you wanna crash in your parents’ room.”

“No, no. I’ll take care of it, she said.” She had to shower and stuff, so she went to do that and Henry retired to her parents’ room. After she was all washed up and ready for bed, she went to look at Jasper, halfway hanging off of her bed, his suit all disheveled and his hair tousled. He looked like a little boy and more importantly, peaceful. She sighed grabbed a blanket and left the bedroom. Henry was already in bed when she peeked in, but he sat up, so she either woke him or he hadn’t fallen asleep yet. “Hey… I wanna crash in here, if that’s cool with you?”

“Yeah. I’ll take the couch, sure.”

“No.. I wanted to crash in here… with you.”

He smiled brightly, “Even better!” She came and climbed into bed and pulled the blanket with her. “How did you like being Prom Queen for a night?”

“It was awesome! You’re amazing. Thank you for doing that for me. I really didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. Your situation with your parents and Jasper’s… I’m actually so lucky and to complain in front of all of you felt cheap.”

He pulled her to himself and hugged her, “I want to know things about you, Char. You’re my girl. I don’t want you to feel like you have to wait until things are good for me to tell me what’s wrong with you. You’d be waiting forever.” She looked up at his face and he gave her a little half smile. “I never want you to have to wait on me,” he said.

She sat up now and placed both of her hands on his chest, tapping a little rhythm while she thought of how to say what she wanted to say.

“So… I was thinking… I know that you and Piper are a package deal, at least while she’s still so young, and that you hadn’t thought about things beyond graduation very much, but I was thinking and I’ve also kind of been looking into the details… IF you wanted to come with me, when I leave for Harvard, I’m gonna have a place out there. You won’t have to work to pay bills, but if you need something to hold you and Piper over, the job market is better there than it is here, and… I don’t know… Maybe you want to stay here and try to help your parents, or something, but if you did want to…”

“I do.” He smiled and then laughed, with tears in his eyes, “Of course I do! There’s nothing keeping me here and Piper… well, she’ll just have to understand that there’s not actually anything keeping her here either. I was so scared that whenever you left, you’d just forget about us. You’ve been… looking into the details?”

She shrugged her shoulders, “I can’t imagine my life without you in it anymore.” 

He smiled and gave her a kiss. “Come on, it’s bedtime.”

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

Also Tagging, because now I feel like I should be because of how y’all been talking about it @sunbeameyes @kiddangers @bitchmilsky @chenoahchantel @adorkable-blackgirl @daintyurbanprincess @ciara-knightly I think that’s it. My comfort level has expired. Lol. 

[tiannarosetarot]

Wonho Current Energy Reading - June 29th

Very long reading ahead, but I hope you’ll check it out! 

There is a lot going on, yet at the same time things feel very balanced. Wonho has just announced his new fandom name and has made his first vlive. This already feels like he has passed over the first major hurdle. He’s been slowly climbing back up from basically rock bottom. Ever since that terrible day in October, he is rebuilding his image, his self esteem and his career. He’s been holding back quite a bit, reasonably so, but I’ve thought since the beginning that when he makes a vlive, that’s when we’ll know. His vlives are extremely special to Monbebe and he has always used the platform to share his life with us and bring us along on his journey. I know that now that he is comfortable enough to go live with us again, he has passed that difficult checkpoint, and will hopefully be able to do it a lot now. It’s kinda like when a couple first confesses that they love each other. At first it is scary and awkward, and they’re not sure whether they should say it. But once they do, now they’re able to say it all the time to each other. I think vlive is Wonho’s way of saying ‘I love you’. And if he’s afraid we might not say it back, that will be extremely harmful to him. I think he needed to wait until he felt comfortable enough that we would reciprocate his feelings. Throughout this process there has been a lot of negativity and people attacked him for something he didn’t even do. So the fact that he feels strong enough to show himself to us again in the way he used to is incredibly special. 

 Wonho also used this vlive as a way to announce his fandom name with us, which is Wenee. I’m a little worried, because I see a lot of people who aren’t super happy with the name. I’ll admit that it seemed a little strange at first, but after knowing the backstory behind it, I know that it will become super special to us, as he pushed for this name himself. In order to make sure that Wonho feels ready and comfortable to fully come back, we need to make sure that we’re sending positive energy and messages towards him. He is a pretty sensitive person (which is a good thing), but I know that in the past he has sometimes taken negative comments to heart. It is important that we project into the universe what we want to happen. Whether you believe in this stuff or not, there is some truth that if you try really hard for something to happen, it definitely can. So let’s make sure Wonho doesn’t think we don’t like his choices, or he may stop trusting in his abilities. Let’s trust that he knows what he’s doing and can make his own decisions. We are his fans, and it is our job to support him in what he does. To reiterate this once again, the fact that he released a fandom name is much more important than what the name actually is. It means he is moving in the right direction to coming back into the industry. Even if you wish he were back in Monsta X, let’s trust in his new achievements now and worry about that later. Just because he’s becoming a solo artist doesn’t mean the chance of him coming back is completely off the table. And again, hopefully we realize that it is better to have him back in the music industry even without being part of Monsta X, than not have him back at all. 

Now onto the cards ~

There is a new start for Wonho coming. He needs to work on his insecurities in order to achieve his dreams, because these things may be holding him back from doing so. There is also this feeling that he doesn’t really want to move on. He’s a little stuck in the past, wishing things were back the way they were. He is missing the group activities and the family he has been a part of for so long. But I think he’s finally realizing that the rest of the members are going to be okay without him. Wonho left because he wanted them to still be successful, and I know that he’s been hyping them up with all of their projects. He can trust now that they are doing fine, and take that as a positive sign that he can move forward. He needs to not let his past hold him back from achieving his dreams. He can remember that part of himself, all of the beautiful memories they shared together, without needing to stay in the shadows forever. We can think of this like any other idol who takes on a solo project or album. They work on promoting that for a while, and still can do group projects as well. Although Wonho may not be in the group right now, there is still a chance that could happen in the future. I know a lot of people have given up, which is totally fine, but I do still believe that he could come back somewhere in the future, and to not give up on those dreams just yet. He needs to not allow the hope of that return stop him from moving forward in his life. He needs to take care of his needs and keep fighting for his dreams. 

There is a lot of fire energy in this reading, including a lot of Aries energy. I’m definitely feeling a lot of movement and power coming from this; he is taking back control. Things are happening quite quickly but no longer in a negative way, because he is taking the reins. Things are happening at the right speed for him now. It’s as if he has been using all of this time to sort everything out and now that those things have happened (New Moon in Cancer: he trusts Monsta X is okay, and South Node: he is not letting his past stop him from moving forward) he is able to finally take action. I have a strong feeling that things will all start falling into place now that he has made his vlive and announced the fandom name. Everything has been building up to this moment, and now rather quickly, things will start working out the way they are supposed to. It’s kinda a roller coaster. After leaving Monsta X, he dropped down to the ground. He’s been slowly inching his way back up to the peak, but with a lot of anticipation and maybe some anxious energy. But once he reaches the top he sees where he needs to go. He’s on top of the world again. And he can now soar down the steep track and enjoy the ride; as all of that pent up energy is being released. (I know Wonho hates heights so maybe this isn't the best analogy, but roller coasters are meant to be fun and exciting. I really want to emphasize that this isn’t like he’s reached the top and it’s only downhill now. This is a super exciting drop that will allow him to really set everything in motion. 

The New Moon in Aries card is a big sign for him to be able to achieve anything he puts his mind to. He may still have a long way to go on this journey (Aries is the first sign of the zodiac), but he’s definitely getting there. He is making sure he does things correctly this time, and he is taking all the time he needs to really make sure he’s ready. He wants to figure out the logistics so that he can be able to have it easier later on. The only problem with this is that he might get so tied up into making everything perfect that he never actually takes action. But seeing that he released his fandom name shows that is not the case, and I hope this strategy works well for him. I think he has a really good foundation which will allow him to grow into an amazing artist again, so we need to be patient in his efforts. He knows what he is doing. 

I’m really glad that the Justice card came up in this reading. This whole situation has been based around a legal matter, an accusation that Wonho did something unethical. However he has been proven innocent and has been given a second chance. Through this card, we are reminded that justice does prevail. Love does win, and people who do the right thing will come out on top. Maybe not always, and maybe not often either, but Wonho worked way too hard to have this all taken away from him so quickly. So the fact that he’s coming back just proves that things are working the way they are supposed to, and that hopefully there is a change happening in the kpop industry. I want to point out a quote from this card which says “Even though events in our life may seem unjust, there is a divine order to the universe.” This reminds me a lot of Wonho’s situation. This whole time we’ve been thinking that what happened to him was unfair, but maybe there is some reason why this happened. There is a hope that can be found in this card, that this event will only make him, Monsta X, and Monbebe stronger. This card can also symbolize weighing all sides before making an important decision, which I do think is what he is doing. It is important he thinks this all through before taking any big risks he might regret later. 

The Three of Cups reversed represents overindulgence or an attempt to escape from the unpleasant aspects of life. It could also represent alone time and independence. The upright version of this card represents the opposite; celebration, friendship, community. Wonho is starting out on his own after being part of a group for so long. He has the opportunity to make many more decisions now and get a lot closer to the fans. He has a newfound independence that could have negative and positive aspects to it. He could be enjoying all of this freedom, but he may be overwhelmed in the amount of things he has to do. It’s no longer all being split between 7 members and in the kpop world, solo artists normally have to work harder to become and stay popular. I also sense a loneliness, and a possible emptiness that he’s feeling going through the steps again of things like announcing a fandom name, and eventually a debut, comeback stages and maybe someday his own concerts. In the past he experienced all of these major moments with his members, but he’s venturing out on his own now. He needs to remember that he still has his fans by his side, and therefore he isn’t truly alone. 

This situation really is like he’s starting all over again though. He’s relearning how to do all of these things that he may not have done in a while. I could tell he was slightly out of practice trying to do aegyo today. I think he’s trying extremely hard to learn everything he can. He’s been learning English and Japanese, maybe other languages too. He’s been taking his time to make sure he makes careful decisions. He’s really being like the apprentice in the Eight of Pentacles, working hard through repetitive tasks and using keen attention to detail in order to master his craft. The second time around, he has the opportunity to do things with more ease and enjoy the moments that he may have been too nervous during the first time around. I’m really proud of how hard he is trying lately to better himself, and feel even more inspired by him than normal. He doesn’t want to disappoint, and I know that anything Wonho releases will only be after extreme thought and with thorough execution so I really hope that we can see that. 

I’m so happy to be a Wenee now, and I want to say happy birthday to my fellow new fandom! Although I’ve been with many of you before, we need to get used to the fact that there will be new Wonho fans who have not known him as a member of Monsta X. I hope we can accept them into this family because the people I’ve grown to know through Monsta X are some of the most amazing people ever. I’m so proud to be part of these two beautifully intertwined fandoms and I can't wait to see what happens in the future. Don’t give up on hoping and be patient for what Wonho as well as the universe has prepared. I believe it will to be even better than anything we could’ve imagined. 

[thepilgrimofwar]

Of Dirt and Gold

He waited until all the important people had quit the chambers, until the warplanning and the debates and the logistics were hammered out, until the words were chewed over in his mind. It was all the same, he’d thought-- these plannings were just shoving forces here and there, shoring up edges and pressing advantages. It was the most boring part of war; tactics and strategy that did not survive the first encounter.

Now, though, he waited outside Stenden’s office, waiting for the young Lord to return. He did not pace, instead leaning with booths shoulders to the wall, finger tapping out the tune for Goodember’s Fall on his elbows.

Vissehn did not wait long as Stenden came marching up the spiral staircase. He was exhausted and somewhat flustered from the affairs he just had to deal with. Though it had ended amicably, he felt that he was this close to insubordination if he had not come to a compromise with Lirelle. He was glad for Thanidiel’s presence and suggestion- And Vissehn’s support, the one thing he could always count on.

Seeing his friend at his door, he managed a tired smile. “Hey Viss,” he said, the shortened name he had coined on the rooftops seemed to stick. “I think that went well, all things considered.”

“Ey, Sten.” He tried out the shortening of the name, finding it worked better than he could have hoped. “It sure went.” Vissehn pushed away from the doorframe and stepped into the office first, showing his back to Stenden as he gathered… what he could of his thoughts. 

Once they were in the room, Vissehn perched himself on the edge of Stenden’s desk and levelled eyes at the youth, one brow cocked. “You and the dead woman sure have a lot of thoughts on people whomst neither of you come from. Those soldiers might be your people by law of these lands, an’ she might see their blood as just the war’s due, but unless they’re dead set to dying for one Lord over another, there’s always more there. Least the militia.”

His voice was carefully neutral, despite the words, and he bounced one leg. 

“Do you think I made the right choice?” Stenden’s tone is filled with exasperation. There was no answer to this question of course. Everyone had an answer that was right to them. “I have thoughts of them for sure, but as far as I’m concerned, they are not tools- To be used, expended, until they are of no use to me- That was Mereded’s way, and I’m trying so hard not to repeat his mistakes.”

The anger in the youth abated some at the genuine frustration and consideration Stenden put into the fate of the captured. “It’s a sight better than outright ordering their deaths.” He offered softer, and ran a hand through his golden thatch of hair. “I think yer trying, and that’s more’n I can say for most nobility I’ve come across.” He glanced sidelong, lips pulling into a tight furl. “They’re men an’ women just like us.”

He glanced to Stenden again, taking the measure of the boy once more. That red hair, the fine-boned face that was so like his lady mother’s, the set of jaw that was somewhere between father and uncle. He would grow tall-- as tall as Sederis, in all likelihood, if not taller. Intelligence lit those green eyes, and emotion that was raw and mortal.

“Sten, yer gandsire made his mistakes in thinkin’ oceans of blood would buy lasting peace. There’s no thing as lasting peace-- there’s spans of time where shit isn’t as raw a deal, but it always ends.” He sighed. “If you remember that an’ keep the price of violence low, yer ahead.”

His thoughts swam; Stenden had spent his whole life sheltered in these and the Dawnveils’ walls. He’d never been so hungry his body wasted, never know a violence so far above him he couldn’t retaliate. He wasn’t a cruel or unjust lad-- he was so used to the life of a Lord he knew nothing else.

Finally, he stood up. “After this next engagement, I want ye to set aside some time for yer pal Fish. Not much-- the span of a few days. Leave th’paperwork for yer father for a spell.” He closed the distance and laid a hand on Stenden’s shoulder, forcing his lips to pull the roguish smile that had predicated their trip to the roof. “Ye trust me?”

“I do, of course I do,” Stenden responded with a tired smile of his own, though it would never be as roguish, never be as wide. It was true of course, that he had lived a sheltered life. Never starved. Never struggled for warmth on a cold winter’s night. “It may be difficult, but I’ll make time for you.”

“And I know they are just men and women like you and me, but there are so many voices Viss, so many. From both the living and the dead,” he ran his hands over his face and through his hair, undoing his tie and letting the locks fall across his shoulders. “My father speaks about them as leverage. Mother speaks about them as means to vengeance. Lirelle speaks of tools to war. Sederis speaks- spoke- of them as children. His duty- my duty, to protect them, from the abuses of power- even- especially the ones from myself.”

“That way, I will never be like Mereded. He may have had two hundred years of peace, but the cost of that is one we are paying for now. Because you’re right. Peace never lasts. Nothing ever lasts.” Vissehn didn’t know what the boy was referring to exactly. But neither did Stenden. In a span of two weeks, which felt like an eternity, everything for the boy had changed. He had changed.

The cascade of red hair was so familiar it ached in Vissehn’s throat. If he could have prevented the death of Sederis, he would have-- his regret, as it was for many, from the Phoenix Wars. He could have saved a friend, and saved a youth from a weight far too much for one to carry so young.

“It’s hard, to just see people as people. That’s all they are, though.” He shrugged. “Sederis was a good man but he was blinded by his guilt an’ what his father tried to make of him. Yer mother’s been a pawn in so many politics… I figure, she’s burnin’ herself up to reclaim somethin’ robbed from her and she’d take all of the Emberglades down wiv her if it means getting her pound of flesh. Women don’t get it easy, no matter their place in the world.” His voice is soft on that, something almost bitter and longing in the words. “Yer father sees numbers an’ can’t tell a man from a scarecrow.” His voice becomes a sneer, and his lips curl away from his teeth. “Thinks yer lineage is what sets a man apart. Huh.”He suppressed the urge to spit. 

Taking a breath, he closed the distance and placed a hand on Stenden’s shoulder. “Hey.” Again his voice went low with an urgent earnestness. “Yer doing what you can, right? Just keep trying. Keep making th’choices that no one wants to hear, for the sake of people who may not like or respect ye. You’re more than decent, Sten. I got faith in your choices. I’m here fer advising and helping where I can, but the reason I’m here is ‘cause I got faith in you. I wouldn’t have signed on wiv Solendis, an’ I didn’t become Sederis’ anything but friend, yeah? Ye said you were the Lord of the Emberglades, an’ it weren’t a title-- well, I ain’t signing on with a title, I’m signing on wiv you.”

He speaks with a conviction that he wills to fill his friend, to flow from the place his hand connects. His thumb brushes the place where collar meets skin and he grins roguishly. “I’m here to listen if ye got summat else to tussle with. Or if ye just need some sense beat into yer arse.”

Stenden makes a chuckle, the first today. “I appreciate it, I really do,” he looks up at his friend. “You have to believe me Viss, when I say that I’m trying my best. That if I make a bad choice, it isn’t out of callousness, or that I’ve forgotten that people like you are just that: People.” And at the same moment of confession and a promise not to be callous, he mentioned that very line that got under his skin. Not so much that he said it, but the manner in which it was said. Like it was a matter of fact that there was something that set them apart at the core- and that it was normal

The hand drops. He wants to say it; wants to remind Stenden that they both bleed red, that their bones both bleach white in the sun, that their graves will be no more than stone and earth encompassing decay. Vissehn works the words over like tough hide in the jaws of his thoughts, and no matter how he grinds against it he finds no blood in the meat.

“So long as I have yer trust, we’ll be just fine, won’t we?” His voice is light, grin wide as he throws himself over the chair that faces Stenden’s desk. Words will not make a concept into a man; he cannot break a lifetime of Soldenis lectures with anger or debate or fighting until they’re bleeding, even if his belly screams for it, even if he would feel better by slamming someone with that noble blood hard enough against the stone to see it wash over his hands. 

Lying to survive was given to him in the cradle with milk; lies are the currency of the Unwelcomed, and Vissehn was wealthy beyond measure.

Swinging his long, lean legs, Vissehn whistled. “So! Got an uprising to settle, an’ then those… men in the ground who think we’re still fightin’ the Big Blue Lion, huh?”

“Yes,” he was glad for the redirection to the company of Men of the Black Banner who were somehow still operational in the troll tunnels that line the borders of the Emberglades. “I hear they’ve been stealing from peasants all along the mountain range, occasionally burning crops. Must think that the Alliance won and we’re all just sympathizers providing for the enemy now.”

Stenden wondered if the Civil War breaking out had anything to do with their sudden resurgence, or if they had always been there since the end of the war and Zarannis had been observant enough to pick them out.

Vissehn snorted. “Well, it’s a good thing I ain’t goin’ to that lil shindig.” He drew his hands under his eyes and batted his lashes at Stenden prettily. “These lookers would make ‘em shit bricks an’ shoot first, ask questions later.” His blue-gray eyes were certainly not the common Sin’dorei fare, shiny like metal and without the glow most considered inherent in the elves of the north. 

“Seems a real shite deal, though. Best of luck to them that are gonna try an’ pry them from their foxholes. Must be hard thinkin’ the world ended.” He whistled softly, but there’s no sympathy in his words; his fey mood has returned, masking the bubbling rage that boiled in his center.

Stenden laughed when his friend batted his eyelashes at him. “I’m sure they would. Hopefully father giving Zarannis their banner would at least make them pause for thought,” he said, shaking his head for his own benefit. “Just like the Shalemarchers. We’ll deal with them the best we can, and if we can get them home- All the better.” The boy failed to appreciate that if they had a home, it was likely gone in Lord Tar’saren’s scorched earth policy he employed against Everliegh. Stopping her advance dead in its tracks. The Bulwark functioning as its namesake.

Still sprawled like a kitten, Vissehn laughed, raking a hand through his hair. “I’ll wish ‘em well an be glad I ain’t joinin’. I’ll take a revolt over men who think it’s all over, anyday. A man whose got kin an’ babes an’ land can be reasoned with. A man without shite? Hoo.” He mimed wiping sweat from his brow.

Propping himself up on elbows, he let his grin reach his eyes. “Speakin’ of…” His tongue passed over his teeth as he weighed the capricious desire in him with the anger he struggled to hold at bay. In the end, he was no match for his own baser thoughts.

“Hows about we don some cloaks an’ slip off to somewhere they’re singin’ the good songs, all bawdy and blue.” He lifted his brows invitingly. “Or we can see if’n there’s some trouble to suss up with yon merchants in town. Somethin’ to get us out of this prison of a castle! Tel’dorei don’t do well in stone walls.” He drawled the last, a helpless and teasing whine.

“I really shouldn’t,” Stenden replied, and felt the weight of his station bear down upon him. But, he had already done his duty had he not? Put his foot down on what he could not accept, and what would be damaging to the realm that he had to put back together. The war meetings were over and it was all he was good for. Tomorrow’s reports could wait. His father was handling the amnesty proclamations. Drafting reconciliation clauses had a deadline that lay far into the future for now. All he would be losing was sleep, and with the war no longer in such a precarious state, he reckoned he could afford it.

“But yeah, why not?” He said with a grin. 

Vissehn’s grin was slow and languid, and he pushed up on the chair to rise, slinging his arm over Stenden’s shoulders as she all but pushed the youth out the door to the office and towards the guest wing. “I got a few spare cloaks an’ a ratty tunic that’d suit ye, let’s get gussed down an’ have ourselves a night.” This he whispered into Stenden’s ear, the anger metamorphizing into something capricious and fey; he couldn’t fight Stenden, not right now, so he’d do the damage his father had warned Vissehn against.

He’d make a mortal of the Lord, if it killed the both of them.

--

They made their way through the mostly-empty halls to Vissehn’s suite, and the youth threw the lock as soon as they were inside. “Now, come on, off with that fancy embroidered doily you got on an’ we’ll be out th’window an’ in a tavern afore the maids can gossip to yer father that you were seen walkin’ to my rooms.”

Led by the impeteous youth, Stenden tries his best to be silent as he makes his way to the guest wing. The beating of his heart rises, for the thrill and fears of being caught. Either by his father or the House Guards who would no doubt repeat what they saw to him. “Right then,” he says taking off his shirt of blues and golds and looking to Vissehn to provide him with something… Less telling of his station. “I doubt the patrons at the tavern would recognize me. I’ve hardly shown my face to the people until the last few months.”

“They’ll not think yer anything but maybe a byblow once I’m done wiv ye.” Vissehn’s brows arched high as he dug in his wardrobe, pulling and discarding clothing like mad. He’d earned hazard pay from his stint spying, and a sizable portion must have been blown on the clothing he now tossed wildly-- it was a flurry of linen and cotton. Finally, he found what he sought, and wadded it up before chucking it straight at Stenden’s head.

The tunic proved to be well made, if simple; geometric embroidery around the collar and hems were all it sported by way of ornament, the natural colors of the fibers making it seem of poorer make than it was. “I got that in… I think it was th’humans camp?” He whistled. “Smuggled it on’ to look th’part, but it was Eversong made, the man musta taken it off someones washline.” He snorted. “It’s too big for my scrawny bones but mayhap it’ll fit those growin’ young shoulders of yours.”

For his part, he simply pulled on a tight ocher vest, lacing it over his chest with a skill and speed that seemed uncanny. “Now, out the window we go!” His laughter was wild and bright as he flung himself to the sil and tossed the shutters wide. Without waiting, he was hopping onto the tiles, thoughts already halfway drowning in a bottle.

Stenden caught the wadded shirt as it rushed towards his face and chuckled. Then he gestured at the mess of clothes that had seemed to fountain out of Vissehn’s wardrobe. “I should have expected it but I’m really amazed at all this. You must have an outfit for every occasion.” The boy of the Emberglades pulled the tunic over his head, checked if it fit but tugging on the shoulder edges.

Then, as his friend pulled himself out the window, Stenden smiled inwardly and followed him out. “So do you know where we’re going?” He asked as he pulled himself onto the tiles after Vissehn.

“It’s all part of bein’ a spy, a soldier AND the best damn singer in Eversong.” He grinned as his friend caught up, footing sure on this part of the roof. He’d explored it the first day he’d arrived-- he knew its cracks and shifts better than he knew the path to the front door. “I have to look the part!”

Unsaid was that he’d grown up in the same tunic for a decade, rehemmed and patched until almost nothing remained of the original fabric. When he got his first payment from the Sunguard, he’d been so stunned that the cheque had nearly been caught by a breeze. When the gold was in his hands, he’d spent it all on nothing-- pastries he’d never eaten, amusement and novelties, clothing. His innate vanity had overcome him and he’d been so pleased with the purchases.

It took him longer to realize how he was going to earn the coin; now he kept it out of vanity but the gilt had flaked from the lily. 

When their boots hit the cobbles, Vissehn jerked his chin towards the common parts of the expanse. “There’s a spot what I was told about by the cook, I think-- no one will much care who you are so long as you aren’t an Emberheart, so we’ll just have to pass you off as a bastard if someone gets too nosey.” He flicks Stenden’s nose as they walk, his arm finding its way around the young lord’s shoulders once more.

“A bastard huh?” Stenden folded his arms as they made their way down the cobbled streets towards the nearby township. “Shall we pick an emergency name? Reddy Redwheat?” He gives Vissehn a grin and a terrible, terrible suggestion that he thought- for whatever reason- was a good one.

“Oh, and should I put on an accent as well? I doubt I speak like a peasant.” Stenden cleared his throat to attempt a voice, but realized he had no idea what they sounded like. It humbled him somewhat, and his smile faded into thoughtfulness. “Why are we really going to the tavern Viss?”

Vissehn laughed at the assumed name. “Just say yer name is…” He tapped a finger to his chin. “Ah! Say yer Alya.” He snickered. “Her get won’t be round here, the Bears aren’t fond of anyplace without trolls.” he let the words hang enigmatically, still drawing on Stenden’s arm.

“We’re gonna get piss drunk.” His response was easy. “I’m gonna learn you a bit, after the next fight, but I want you to remember how good it is to drink somewhere where noone cares who yer father or mother are, where yer just another nameless cock amongst the roost. Yer accents fine, plenty of lads from the south get good educations, an’ tonight, yer my friend from the south!” He clapped Stenden’s back.

“Alya,” he raised an eyebrow at his friend. “A girl's name?” He brushes off the engenderment, it didn’t matter too much to him compared to other boys his age. Likely a side-effect of growing up around Dawnveil girls who were valued no less than the boys were.

The smile returns to his face when he gets clapped on the back. “Well no worries then, it even sounds like a spot of fun!” An anxiety spread up from the pits of his stomach but he ignored it. It was likely the first time he’d be regarded without his title hanging above his head. Would people hate him, not knowing who he was? Would he truly be just like everyone else? Only time would tell.

“Alya is a boy’s name where I’m from! Right up there with Ilya, Ivan an’ Ares.” He repeated his cousins names by rote. It was strange; he hadn’t seen them in most of his life, but he remembered their names and their faces and how they’d died. “Now, Alyashun, that’s a Matriarch’s name, an’ so I gave you the name of one of her sons. He’s got red hair an’ long ears cause she got him with a nobleman.” His brows wriggled. “Some of the southern lords got Deals with the Mama’s of the clans.”

It didn’t take long, even on foot, to reach the bar. It was less a tavern than most-- meant to service the soldiers passing through and not the locals. So, when Stenden and Vissehn entered, nobody looked up from their tables or glasses. It was all loud voices and laughter-- they were winning, afterall. The atmosphere was light without being riotous, and it seemed the perfect place for a pair of young roustabouts to get a drink.

Vissehn guides them towards the bar itself, and one of the bartenders behind the wood calls out above the din. “What’ll it be?”

“Two of whatevers cheap, my friend!” He slaps his silver down, turning to listen to the motley men and woman having their grand times. The conversations are as expected; the front, the pay, what came next. However, a small group of men next to the pair of youths were speaking of other things-- the camp followers, and their lovers back home.

Stenden listens in on the men. Though most of their conversation continues about lust and desire there are subtle and occasional reaffirmations of fidelity. So despite Mereded’s best efforts to forge perfect soldiers from his people: Drilling children into trained men and women, praising a warrior ethos that found value in being expendable. The people continued to live, continued to love, and outside the laws they lived under- life continued as normal. It made him wonder if he had it in him to change things. Because if this was proof that was all a tyrant like his grandfather could do, what chance did he have?

But he pushes that away as two mugs of the cheapest ale slide across the table to them. “Victory is on everyone’s lips- Victory and what to do with it,” Stenden says with a smile. From Solendis’ propaganda papers that were being published out of a converted farmstead, winning was only a matter of time now.

They outnumbered their enemies three to one. Between House Swiftquiver’s new orders against a new enemy, and Amnesty Offers forging new companies of men. All they needed to do was march up to the last stand of Westheath at the Illithian fortress-home. But of course, the papers did not speak of the sheer disorganization of it all. Army units were spread throughout the Emberglades, some marching towards Kearn, others assisting with law and order in Shalemarch. Worse still, it did not mention that it could be over- Right now- if the Illithians that remained weren’t prepared to fight to the death.

The boy listened to the men nearby them for a moment longer before asking his friend a question. “No one special, no camp followers that struck your fancy or girls where you’re from?” Stenden did not know of course, of his friend’s people. Only that they were different.

“Well, the best of the Sunguard, this war weren’t gonna last long.” He takes a glug of the ale and his brows shoot up. “Cor, even yer piss ale is better out here. I don’t regret slowin’ myself down here for a space.” His gaze slides over the room, but it keeps latching onto the youth next to him. The warm glow of the candlelight seemed to make him older, show the man he would become.

These men and women would serve Stenden; they would live their lives in service, but at least they lived. It was a comfort, that the nature of living never changed. If there were no lords tomorrow, if the whole system was gone, people would still drink. They would still laugh, and fuck, and cry and die. No matter what, people could thrive. If he could, he’d make it easier on them-- use his place and words to pave a path forwards for the people.

No one should have to starve; no one should fight for their right to live. He’d born it, but he remembered the whispered truths from his mothers lips. He knew the promise of the Tel’dorei.

Freedom.

The question startles him out of the reverie, and he looks to Stenden with a half choked laugh. “Me?!” He snorted and shook his head. “Ha! I’m not th’kind to take a long shine. A pretty girl-- or handsome lad-- for a summer’s hour, lips locked with mine and hands a-wandering-- that’s certainly a pleasant waste of time. But I got too many places to rove for more’n that.” He chuckles. “A tumble, sweet parting words, that’s all it’s gotta be for a lad like me.”

The lies flow easily. It’s not hard; it’s not as if the relationships between individuals were kept from him. He knows the mechanics of intimacy-- has given others pleasure. But the charm he summons is as much armor as it is invitation, and when he leaves he knows his paramores sing his praises without knowing the secret of his frame.

“They got a pretty Lady on the line for ye? Kissed an’ cuddled a gal from the Dawnveil’s lands?” He adds, willing to court danger for awhile with the conversation. He leans forward, so their noses nearly brush. “Don’t tell me my friend hasn’t had such a pleasant diversion.” His words come out low, teasing, those pretty blue eyes lidded with mischief. 

Stenden takes a big swig of ale before continuing, hoping to dull the heavier thoughts that seemed to be dampening the evening. “Of course I’ve had… Pleasant diversions,” he paused and stressed the last words taken from his friend. “There’s a girl from Dawnveil, niece of one of the maidservants who was staying with the Dawnbrooks for the summer- Least, what passes for summers on the Isle.” A blush seems to rise on the boy’s cheeks. It was nothing serious of course, just a kiss and bit of clumsy exploration before their time was interrupted by a dinner bell. But the thoughts still fired up something within him when he thought of it.

“Sheri,” he said wistfully. “But she isn’t on the line no- Lowborn- and all that,” Stenden waved his hand as if chasing something off in mock annoyance. “In either case, I didn't see her the following year, or this one. So I doubt anything will come of it: To my father’s relief if he ever knew about it.”

Then as the ale started to sink in he narrowed his eyes at his friend, “or handsome lads?” That seemed to resound in his memory.

Vissehn snorts. “Yer father likely had somethin’ to do with her not bein’ there the followin’ year, friend.” He shakes his head, the memory of his conversation with the steward not one he would forget, despite the liquor and attempts to drown out the derision and disdain the man had for the people he considered his lessers. “But that’s a start, my friend!” He pats Stenden’s shoulder, in the way the wise do for the uninitiated; congratulatory and yet condescending.

He does not let his thoughts linger on how ephemeral Stenden’s attentions are; his own are flighty as well, save that he sees the common and the noble with the same lack of permanence. 

When his friends eyes narrow, Vissehn giggles wickedly. “C’mon now, you have a good education an’ spent time wiv the Dawnbrooks. You can’t be so sheltered as all that!” He leans in, the ale thick in his breath, and drags a finger under Stenden’s chin-- from throat to the very tip, where he catches the boy quick, thumb at the point of his face. 

“I’ve kissed the Jessamine of th’ Rosewinds an’ made her flush so prettily ye could say I placed the flowers in her cheeks; I courted th’lord of Voidsunder so well he gave me a blade fit for a king... all for the price of my lips.” He runs his tongue over those selfsame lips, slow and deliberate. “Had plenty of pretty lordlings an’ handsome lasses. May be a Fish outa water, but they know me by my honeyed tongue, and aren’t liable to forget what I can do with it, either.” His grin widens and he lets a brow rise, conspiratorial and mocking all at once.

Stenden turns red, half from the alcohol, and half from the embarrassment before pulling away from Vissehn’s hand. “I know! I’m not sheltered it’s just that-” he leaned back and gestured at his friend from head to toe. “You’re Vissehn! I wouldn’t have figured-” the boy quickly went back to his drink to shut himself up. His friend was a man’s man. Loud, boisterous, boastful. But he supposed he was pretty enough to draw the turn the heads of many-a-Lord.

Then, after a moment of alcohol mired thought, he gave Vissehn a look. “Were these courting of the Lords and Ladies intentional or incidental?” He asked a not so subtle loaded question.

Vissehn’s laugh is uproarious, and he grips the bar to catch himself from falling off his seat. “Cor, the look on you!” He slaps the counter and takes a long drink, finishing his flagon. Dropping more silver, he chuckles even after the moment of pure, chaotic mirth is spent. “Ahhh… I forget how young you are sometimes, friend!” He reaches up to ruffle Stenden’s hair. “Hoo. I should be kinder,” though his tone is not promising.

At the pointed question, Vissehn snorts, eyes flicking from Stenden to the barkeep who was pouring him more. “People get drawn in by someone who smiles and has a good time. Half th’time I just grin an’ giggle and they line themselves up neat like-- common an’ not.” He pauses. “I tell you this; I’ve taken a gift or so for my charm, but I’m no whore.” He says it without rancor or shame. “I don’t seek coin, or power, or nothin’. I’d be a mighty fool of a strumpet if’n I turned down your offer back when you asked if I’d join on.” He lifted his brow meaningfully. 

When the mug was filled, Vissehn nodded to the man behind the counter; he knew the kind, and he knew that the fellow was not a fool. Stenden would be known here, for all Vissehn’s posturing, and that he had come to drink-- and not cause trouble-- would be known as well. What happened with the information, well… he knew an ear or three to whisper in. He’d make this a good thing for the boy-lord, and not one for ill.

Solendis might think making a man of an idea made it lose value; Vissehn knew better. Heroes were made from people, lifted high. You weren’t born a god; the best heroes had a little of the godliness in the blood, and fought-- bled-- wept for the rest. 

He shrugged then. “When I was just a sprout, I was popular with my set. Got myself good at talking, and listening, and it did me well. When I joined up with the Sunguard, well-- the good folks there were more noble than not. Myself, Captain Sunshard, The Oracle… who else.” He taps his chin. “Dawnstalker, yeah. He’s common. Highdawn is akin to it. You see how hard it is to name even two hands worth of commborn?” He lifted his newly filled mug for a drink, and then clinked it against Stenden’s. “I’m a simple man; I like diversions. New things, fun things, fun people. I’ll make friends with those around me, easy, and if they want more, well-- if they’re interesting, I don’t see the harm.”

Stenden got a refill for himself as he listened to his friend. “Power flows upwards,” he made the shape of a pyramid with his hands. “Peasants & commonfolk to landowners & merchants, landowners & merchants to their barons, barons to dukes, then dukes to the king- Well Lord Regent in our case.” The boy tried to explain what he knew of the system he was in. 

“Commonfolk are good folks, but in the places that make the world, they rarely have the power to stand the others.” He gave a thoughtful pause. “The Glades, we value merit as much as we do birthright. Take Lady Swiftquiver or Lord Tar’saren for instance. Raised to their stations from action- Not whose loins they sprung forth from!”

The boy had forgotten his cover, and began speaking all Lord-like. Not drawing that much attention in the lively tavern but enough for the man behind the counter and some nearby to really take notice. But to Vissehn’s relief, they liked what they heard and made no mention of it.

“I don’t give a lick about power.” Vissehn offered back with a laugh. “I’ve been poor as they come an’ I’ve lead troops, all the same, and power is just another thing they try’n sell ye. I’d rather be fightin’ on my own. Now, I’ll take it-- when needs must, or when it suits-- but that’s not for me.” He waves a hand, noting that the shift in conversation is far easier for his friend to stomach. Well, that was fair-- he was a sheltered lad, and hadn’t lived the kind of life Vissehn had. And well. Vissehn was luckier than his aunties and girl-cousins; he’d at least had the veneer of protection, and choice with his pursuits, brief and limited as they were. He’d never been faced with the ultimatums or the pressure. He’d been a boy long enough for it to benefit him.

“I got a passel of thoughts on things here but this ain’t my home, so I’m gonna listen more than I talk.” He shrugs. “All I know is, pretty face an’ a way with words-- that gets me in a lot of doors. Noble, merchant, common-- we all wanna feel special an’ get that attention from someone who seems interested. When that don’t work, Hawkin’ mail, or th’Sunguard sign would do the rest. Now, I’ma have to find me other sure ways of finding mischief.” He wiggled both his brows. 

The boy nods, it was never about power for Vissehn. Stenden remembered their first meeting, how he had casually turned down his offer for power. As meager as something as a cottage and a small stint of land. But perhaps, he thought, it was more about freedom than any particular distaste for power.

He chuckles and raises his mug for his friend, “to mischief then!” Stenden cheers and slips deeper into inhibition. But through his ale muddled thoughts he finds a thread that he picked up earlier but discarded at the time. His smile mellows somewhat as he stares into his mug. “Speaking of mischief- What did you mean my father had something to do with her not being there? Sheri, I mean.”

The pair raise their glasses in the call for mischief, and it's as good an oath as Vissehn has ever given. He drains the flagon again, the quality of the ale just beginning to affect him. Everything has a gloss to it that he associates with the edge of inebriation, and it's a pleasant one-- with pleasant company to boot, even if Stenden is just a lad with more nobility than sense. 

The other youth snorts as he puts down the empty mug. "Yee father got some notions about how you ought to spending your time. Which include less of me altogether." He twirls a finger in the air dismissively. "Not the first fucker to tell me I'm a bad influence, first one to say it was cause he'd set his--" Vissehn cuts off, and scowls. "Well, he had his ideas and I got mine. I got the feeling though weren't the first time he's warned someone off of ye, he had the words ready to cut to the quick; we're all just lucky I'm a bastard with no honor to protect from, yeah?" He rubs at the back of his neck. "If he got wind of somethin as sordid as a lordling pawing at a servants girl, well. Seems he's the type to tuck that away and get it gone afore anyone else is the wiser. Hope he just sent her and her auntie packin, an' no worse."

Emotions churn through him, they cut, wash away, and swirl. Like a storm on the alabester wall that was Stenden. He did not know what to do with any of it. "I had my suspicions," his voice hardens, swinging away from the mirth it held just moments ago. "And he must have said the same to you." He gestures for the barkeep to give him a refill.

"To protect me? Did he say what from? From you?"

"Fuck, Sten, I was piss drunk. I'm proud I didn't hit him in the jaw, cause I was that mad but I don't recall all he slung at me. Just that I'd be ruinin' yer future, and he was protectin' your credibility." He will not say he has a much better memory than he lets on; that Solendis knows he is Unwelcomed and Tel'dorei and a lower form of low than even the commoners at this bar, in these lands. Stenden can wring that from his father if he wishes; he can fight the power of his ancestry on his own, without the need to defend the honor of his friend who has none.

There is a quality to the hardness in Stenden that reminds Vissehn of the last days of Sederis rule as Lord in these lands, and it more than the reminder of his own fractured history that sobers the lad. Here was another who would not care to be controlled; sees his father's warning as protection, unnecessary for him, rather than protection of the way of life. He drops silver as a tip, and slings an arm around Stendens shoulders.

"Let's get th'fuck out of here, howl in the hills for a spell. Yer father can't rid you of me; yer the only one who can send my ass to pasture." He offers it consolingly, guiding Stenden to the door.

“Part of me wishes you punched him- But consequ- conse- That’d have been bad,” Stenden slurred minorly.

But as Vissehn slung his arm around his shoulder, the boy rises to his feet and gets guided to the door. “That’s good,” he says, “because I never will.” With one final gesture to the barkeep, he swallowed both his ale and his anger down in one go.

He did not say it, but there was a tension in his heart. Being treated like a houseplant. Put in a box as his father did the gatekeeping. With that information now in the open, he began to wonder how many friends he had lost. Or if that girl from Dawnveil actually did feel the same way he did for her- he had assumed she never came back because he hadn’t mattered that much to her. He had been Solendis’ offering to the Emberglades, except Solendis had never asked if he was willing or not- because the offering was finally beginning to think for himself. Like mother, like son.

-

Image by Jason Manley.

@retributionpriest​ @stormandozone​ @thanidiel​

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

Witches, Chapter 26: back in the courtroom, and everything’s coming up as a shitshow, which is honestly how it always goes. Welcome to hell, Athena.

The second trial day of Themis is one of my favorites because there’s both Blackquill being entirely done with everything, and him showing for the first time that he’s got a bit of a heart left. Good shit.

[Seelie of Kurain Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

[Witches Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

---

Juniper sits on the lobby couch, her hands cradling a lone large sunflower that Athena brought her, watching Athena interrupt her pacing with jumping jacks. “Shouldn’t you take it easy, Thena?” she asks. She was rather green about ten minutes ago, but assured them that it was just the iron and stress of jail that left her that way, and that she would look properly human by the time she would stand before the judge and gallery. And in the elapsed time her skin has settled in its hue, if paler than she was yesterday, her fear still apparent. 

Athena whirls around with a wild glint in her eyes. The tired bags beneath them accentuate her crazed appearance. “I’m taking it easy! I’m fine! I’ve gotta get - be - ready to go!” She jogs in place; she hasn’t had both feet on the floor since she arrived. 

“Did you get enough sleep last night?” Apollo asks, knowing the answer is no. 

“Sleep? Huh?” Athena finally stops moving. “Yeah, sleep! Yeah I totally sleep! I’m fine!”

She sounds like him on his worst days. “That’s not exactly what I asked,” he says. Juniper stares back down into the center of the sunflower. “Maybe let’s just drop it. We’re not inspiring much faith in our client.”

“No,” Juniper says. She looks up. “I have complete faith in you, Thena.”

“O-oh.” From Athena’s face, she’s wondering if that faith is warranted. Apollo will make sure that it is. For both the girls’ sakes. 

“Guten Morgen.” All three of them jump. Klavier chuckles. “Ready to put on a show?”

“Do you have anything about the tape?” Apollo asks. Despite his best efforts, he had found himself wondering when this was all going to come crashing down - if somehow Prosecutor Blackquill would find out and put a stop to it, or if somehow it couldn’t even be proven that the tape was fabricated—

“And not even a ‘hello’ to start with!” Klavier says, still cheerily; he can’t really have expected anything else from Apollo, could he? There’s a trial starting in fifteen minutes and Apollo doesn’t know anymore who he thinks is the killer. “A bit rude, don’t you think? And nonetheless, I have a good-luck present to you both.”

“Guten Morgen, Prosecutor Gavin!” How did Apollo end up stuck with two people like this? Apollo’s probably more fluent in Khura’inese than they are in German (and for Athena, Spanish or Italian or French…), but he doesn’t go around flaunting it like he’s so worldly and cultured. (And he wouldn’t do that even if Khura’in wasn’t something he wishes he would forget.) “Do you have something for us?”

“Of course I do, Fräulein. I could hardly just leave one as lovely as yourself hanging, now could I?” Apollo rolls his eyes, hoping Klavier sees it. Klavier offers to Athena a small stack of papers. “There you are. A summary of the voiceprint analysis, proving that the voice in the tape is most assuredly, exactly the same clip as spoken in the mock trial.” Athena rifles through the pages. “You’ll also notice that there’s still analysis ongoing - hoping to discover what was originally on the tape before it was turned into fabricated evidence. It might give us some other clues, ja? But unfortunately we don’t know much more at this point than the length of the prior recording.”

“Well, maybe that could still help out, somehow,” Athena says. “Thank you! And—” She frowns. “Is this a second copy of the same thing? Wait, this one’s got more information about—”

“About the logistics of the analysis and who precisely down at the precinct was working it,” Klavier interrupts. “That packet is for Herr Samurai. I did not think you would appreciate me tipping your hand to him beforehand, but I imagined there might be more that Herr Prosecutor would like to know to be sure that you are not the ones inventing this wholecloth.”

Klavier made the same warning yesterday when they first discussed this. “Do you think he would?” Apollo asks. “Accuse us of that?”

“Hm.” Klavier considers the question for longer than Apollo would like, idly snapping his fingers. Athena retreats to the couch to discuss their new evidence with Juniper. “Truly, I do not imagine so. He plays a very threatening game, but when it comes to it he seems quite reasonable.”

Apollo thinks about Mayor Tenma’s trial, Blackquill’s dirty tricks that nearly forced the mayor into a false confession. “You and I have different standards of reasonable,” he says. Maybe he means relatively reasonable, that there’s so many other prosecutors who are even worse. 

“Perhaps,” Klavier agrees, “but Herr Samurai could be the most reasonable man and I would nonetheless leave you with this document trail.” His eyes, stormy blue and unwavering in their hue this entire conversation, but Apollo doesn’t remember whether or not this color is the Sight, harden. “I would hate to see your integrity as a lawyer called into question, especially over evidence that I offered you as assistance.” His jaw tightens, thinking, no doubt, of what Apollo has continued to think about since he arrived at Themis. With Phoenix.

This also seems like the most emotionally honest Klavier has been all week. “Thanks,” Apollo says. “I—”

—appreciate it, the sentence means to end, but movement behind Klavier catches Apollo’s eye, and the doors that lead out into the hall thump suddenly shut. “Hey!” Apollo calls. “Who’s—”

“What’s going on?” Athena asks. “Who’s there, did you see?”

“I don’t know,” Apollo says. “It might have been Hugh.” He thinks he saw a bit of the dark blue of the Themis uniform there. “Eavesdropping to figure out our strategy, no doubt.”

“I would expect him not to be the only one,” Klavier says, glancing back over his shoulder. “The cardboard paparazzi and the prosecutor Fräulein are rather nosy themselves, wouldn’t you agree? I’ll go chase them down and make sure they cause no further trouble for you.” He flashes a casual grin, as light and easygoing as he ever tries to be, but it is undercut for Apollo, and Apollo alone; Vongole materializes from the air next to him, red ears pricked and nose pointed at the door, her head held level with her shoulders. A creature ready to stalk, ready to hunt, to pounce, and Klavier barely turns for the doors and she springs, plunging through the door like it’s just a projection. But Klavier, when he gets to the door, without much haste, has to open it, reminding Apollo that it’s Vongole who doesn’t adhere to the physical world, not the door.

What’s she going to do, herd the wayward Themis students back around toward Klavier? Can she even do that if they can’t see her? Can she make them see her? God, Apollo hopes that corralling them is all she’ll do; Klavier’s got control over that hellhound, right? He does, Apollo’s seen that. No need to worry about that. Focus on the case.

(Apollo’s still going to worry about that.)

“Apollo, you ready?” Athena asks. 

“Yes!” Focus on the moment, the evidence, the trial. Forget Klavier and his haunted dog. “I’m Apollo Justice and I’m fine!” He feels better already, and a shaky grin draws across Athena’s face. “Okay, your turn. Ready?”

“I’m Athena Cykes! And I’m fine!”

-

“Ms Newman and Mr O’Conner have recanted their confessions made before yesterday’s adjournment, but you may expect, Your Baldness, to see them again in this courtroom, as I intend later to determine if they should be charged with perjury.”

Apollo has come to think that most of Blackquill’s lauded so-called psychological manipulations are really just brute intimidation that he pretends has more finesse than he actually does. Despite that, the question he finds himself with now is whether or not Blackquill is in as cheery of a mood as he is acting, grinning as he catches the court up on all that has progressed on the prosecution’s side of things. “Ms Woods likewise attempted to recant her confession, claiming it was made in the heat of the moment to” - he rolls his eyes, as if the disdain dripping through his voice wasn’t already making his opinion on the matter clear, and Athena’s expression hardens - “protect her friends, but given that she is already and continues to be the one on trial, that changes little of our situation.”

She did confess, didn’t she? In the midst of Robin yelling and Hugh interrupting, Juniper confessed too, trying to stop her friends from ruining their lives for her. And if he presumes Juniper is innocent, which he has to, because she’s their client, then that means when she confessed to murder, she lied; plainly and wholeheartedly, she lied. Which means that even someone half-fae can lie. 

“Very well,” the judge says. “And the photograph submitted yesterday of the victim and the defendant together minutes before the—”

“Unfortunately, we will find that evidence no longer relevant,” Blackquill interrupts. He is still smirking, even while forced to refute the hand he played yesterday. If this is an act, to unnerve Apollo, it’s working. Or if he’s genuinely amused, then it’s probably because he’s got something new up his sleeve that makes him not concerned with all the ways his case collapsed yesterday. “The art room clock runs fast and will not give us an accurate measure of the time. ‘Tis a pity for our time to have been wasted as such, but the bungling oaf of a detective responsible for overlooking this fact will assuredly be paying for his failure.”

Athena winces. “Poor Fulbright,” she whispers. 

Is Blackquill angry that he thinks Fulbright should have seen it - or is it misplaced anger, Blackquill sure that he would have noticed had he been on the scene investigating and angry that he has to rely on Fulbright, instead. (Is that why they keep spotting traces of Taka around? Blackquill thinking he can’t trust the observation skills of the detective? Taka didn’t notice the clock, either, for whatever that’s worth. Probably not easy for the bird to get into a building. How does it get out of jail?)

“Now,” Blackquill says sharply, and the flashes of mirth he showed a minute ago have vanished. “Today, I intend to prove to you that the accused is the only person who could have moved the body. And to that end, the prosecution calls its first witness.”

-

Hugh O’Conner did assure Athena that he would be testifying today, and true to that word, he takes the witness stand first. His claim is that he saw Juniper moving the high-jump mat that would’ve been needed to move the body without bruising it; he claims to have seen this from a vantage point that would have been impossible, until Blackquill obliquely reminds them of the crane that was present the night of the murder, as involved in the stage setup. This makes sense - the weird thing about it isn’t the statement itself, but Hugh’s reaction to it. He looks pained, clutching the side of his neck in a way Apollo has come to notice him doing each time he is stressed and struggling to regain his footing in an argument. 

“That’s - you’ve said enough, Prosecutor Blackquill!” Is Hugh trying to plead with him or threaten him? Neither, Apollo thinks, is liable to work. “You promised!”

Blackquill laughs, a harsh sound from the back of his throat. “Did I?” he asks. “I recall nothing of the sort. What I do recall is that you came to me blubbering about making a deal that I would keep quiet in exchange for information, but you should have taken care to extract that promise for me before you went ahead and offered me your every secret like a blithering fool.”

Blackquill has a way with words that leaves Apollo incredibly worried about the fates of everyone who is in any way involved with him. Like he’s just waiting for the opportunity to snatch away the souls of anyone who isn’t careful who dares speak with him. Is that part of who he is - what he is - or is it one of his actual psychological manipulations? And is it the witness he means to scare with his phrasing, or the defense? 

“Ah, well, if Golden Boy will not take the chance to lift the weight of truth from his shoulders, then I will tell you,” Blackquill says. Hugh, with his hand still clapped tight to his neck like he’s trying to staunch the flow from a wound, makes a kind of undignified whimpering sound. “He was up in that crane, and not simply mucking about there for fun. He does, rather, work part-time as a crane operator.”

“A high school student!” the judge exclaims. “Operating a crane!”

“No!” Hugh snaps. “The prosecution - there’s no proof that I was operating the crane! The prosecution might be lying!”

Blackquill laughs, and makes no move to argue. “I don’t know where this is going,” Athena says in a low voice, “because this is the point that Prosecutor Blackquill wants to make, but…” Louder, she adds, her voice ringing across the courtroom, “I bet we can prove it was you.”

Which they do, for whatever good it may or may not be about to do them, and the judge is still hung up on a high schooler operating a crane, rather than what Hugh would or wouldn’t be able to see from the vantage point of the crane, but Hugh splutters and protests about how brilliant and talented he is and that’s why. Blackquill watches him, smirking, waiting for his failure of an argument to trail away into nothingness. Hugh goes silent halfway through saying something about practicing archery one-handed, and Blackquill’s smirk splits open into a grin. “Dispense with this inane charade, Golden Boy.” He doesn’t wait for Hugh’s response and continues speaking over the witness’ begging. “Now, we will establish, for the sake of argument, that the age range of high school seniors ends at the upper limit of nineteen - still, legally, too young to operate heavy machinery. That, however, does not apply to Mr O’Conner, does it, now?”

“But he is a high school senior,” Athena says. “Are you saying he’s not around that age?”

Blackquill slams his palm on the bench. “Indeed, he is not. Golden Boy here is twenty-five.” The serious expression that he held on his face for a fraction of a second breaks down into raucous laughter, punctured by his further slapping the bench in uncontained amusement. Apollo really doesn’t like seeing him in a good mood. He’s only ever entertained by someone else’s bad fortune. “He took a seven year break from his schooling!”

They all had secrets - Juniper, Robin, Hugh. The courtroom is quiet; is it ever this quiet after a revelation, without a breath of murmured shock. “Eh?” Athena utters faintly. “Come again?”

“Twenty-five,” Blackquill repeats gleefully. He nods to Taka and the hawk snatches up a paper in its talons, launching itself into the air and making straight for the judge. “All in the school’s official paperwork, as you will find.”

“Twenty-five?” Apollo echoes, sure they’re all going to ask this in turn, a round-table of disbelief. “He’s - he’s older than me?” He’s not good at eyeballing ages, he knows that, and he knows that everyone always thinks him baby-faced and younger than he is, and Hugh could be like that. People in their twenties all look all over the place. How’s anyone to know? But on the other hand, what twenty-year-old, after taking a gap year for seven successive years out of high school, would want to go back to high school all over again? Apollo sure wouldn’t. But maybe instead of going to college to be a lawyer, Hugh went back to a lawyer high school because those teenagers are at his same maturity level.

(Solid burn. If he didn’t get heckled every time he was the slightest bit snide to a witness, he would say it out loud.)

“Seven years?” Athena asks. Blackquill might as well just go over the entire situation again, if they’re all going to ask for clarification on each and every tiny point. “But since you’re such a genius” - she does a remarkable job of not sounding wholly derisive when she says it - “wouldn’t taking a seven year vacation make you boring real quick?” She pauses, frowns, playing her words back in her head. “Make you bored.”

Her first one was probably correct, too. Does Hugh know how to have a conversation that isn’t about his own greatness?

“Heh.” Hugh’s recovery from his shock tips him back into the smugness he always seems to carry. “There’s the dull mindless vacations you ordinary plebians take, and then…” He falters, for a moment. “Even geniuses make mistakes,” he says, resuming with an entirely different thread of argument. “The ones I make just, you know, lost me seven years.”

Rising in Apollo’s stomach is the same kind of fear that Blackquill’s particulars of phrasing invoke. “Er, Mr O’Conner,” he begins, ignoring the shock that Athena sends his way, and bracing himself for the way everyone in the courtroom is going to respond to the utterly insane question he is about to ask, “are you actually, like, actually twenty-five, or just - you know, legally, that it’s been twenty-five years since you were first - you were born.”

He knows that at least half of the gallery is going to think he’s an idiot, have some perception of theirs confirmed about how lawyers are all schooling and no sense in their heads; even Athena stares like he’s just lost his mind. Hugh, though, blanches, his whole body tensing and his shoulders drawing inward. Blackquill’s cuffs clank as he hits the bench and Hugh flinches and nearly falls over with fright. Apollo jumps, too. He’d forgotten that Blackquill as much as anyone would hear this question and would get to respond to it in his typical magic-denying ways.

“What a question, Justice-dono,” he drawls. Apollo raises his chin defiantly. It’s a good question, because all the world around them is crazy. “No doubt a matter first brought to your attention by the rather unique situation of some other golden boy of our acquaintance.” His eyebrows raise and his mouth twists in amusement. Apollo’s heart skips and then stops. How does Blackquill know? It seems unlikely - though technically possible - that Klavier would have told him; the alternative is that Blackquill knows enough to know, to realize, when it took even Phoenix several strokes of luck and coincidence to piece it together. Blackquill shouldn’t be saying this. He shouldn’t know. And why of all times choose this as the moment to drop his pretense of disbelief? To psych Apollo out some more? To give Klavier, up in the gallery, a slap in the face for helping Apollo and Athena?

“But suffice to say, we will find that an irrelevant question,” Blackquill continues. “What matters is the legal age of the witness, that has so allowed him to work the discussed job as a crane operator. He was, therefore, up in the crane with the vantage point to see the accused dragging the mat in preparation to move the body. You must agree how clear this is, and that there is no need to deliberate this much any further.”

Oh. Right. Juniper. This is, after all, her trial, and the reason they have gone down this strange road still has to do with her case, and what she did or didn’t do, and Hugh did or didn’t see, on the morning that the body was discovered.

Back to the fight.

-

Hugh lied about ever seeing the body on stage.

It’s an utterly incomprehensible lie, in Apollo’s most just and honest opinion; it’s also one of a host of shady moves Hugh has made. Though the blood Juniper saw on his hands was his own, from trying to sneak a look at the mock trial script and instead finding Myriam’s spring-loaded razor blade-protected script envelope, and her suspicion against him in that regard can be discounted - well, there’s still his grades, and this, about the body.

If the body was moved during the mock trial - moved in fact at the moment Phoenix and Athena heard the shattering of the statues on stage that drew them outside to discover the body - then Hugh and Robin have airtight alibis, on the floor in front of a crowd for the whole mock trial. Apollo had his eyes on them the whole time. But Juniper, ever-multitasking Juniper, the conductor of her show, the only person alive at that time with all the secrets of her script, was not always down on the floor playing the defendant. She was up at the back of the hall in the sound booth, moving back and forth even during Professor Means’ speech. At any of those times, she could have slipped out to the art room, to send Courte’s body to the stage down the banner wire.

All they’ve done is help Blackquill build a more convincing case against Juniper, so convincing that Apollo can’t find within him a single point to dispute. They missed something; he knows it, he has to know it, he has to believe it to the end. But where? Can he object on the grounds that they need to know why Hugh lied about seeing the body? Would Blackquill let that stand?

Hugh starts to laugh. Hugh starts to laugh in the broken, hysterical way of a killer cornered, except he’s about to get away free with Juniper’s verdict. “Behold my brilliance!” he cries, his words breathless and interrupted by his own frantic, frenzied laughter. “Listen well as the rare genius of Hugh O’Conner reveals to the world the secrets of his perfect crime!”

Apollo looks at Athena. Athena glances back at Apollo. “Er,” she says. “What? Why’s this - why again?”

Because this, the wild confessions, happened yesterday too. To hell with this trial. Hugh appears feverish, his hair matting to his forehead and neck with sweat, his eyes darting all around the courtroom, jumping from Apollo and Athena to Blackquill to Juniper and never settling on any of them. “The murder, moving the body, the cover-up, all my works of genius! My great and perfect crime, bow in awe and stand to arrest me! I am confessing, am I not? You have your killer here!”

“Is he serious?” Apollo asks. He’s afraid he is. He’s seen too many other people unravel in this same manner, but the game was up for all of them. Hugh’s game - what the hell is his game?

“I think he’s serious,” Athena says. “Serious, and seriously suddenly cracked.”

“Enough!” Blackquill snarls. Taka shrieks in an angry echo. “You have a perfect alibi, not a perfect crime! And you dare to stand here and further act the mad fool to delay this trial from its inevitable outcome!” He fixes Hugh with his dark eyes, but this time, Hugh doesn’t shrink away. That is definitely stupidity, not bravery, on his part. “I will have no mercy for you should you not this instant stand down.”

“I will never!” Hugh shouts back. “I have testimony that will prove to you, the utter perfection with which I always act! You’ll doubt me, but in truth I used a body double at the mock trial! It wasn’t me at all, not about to lose and not with the alibi! I, the real me, slipped out and had the run of the campus! I moved the body, I’m the killer, and Juniper’s innocent!”

“You have got to be kidding me,” Athena says. 

“I must ask of both the defense and prosecution,” the judge says. “Does this testimony make any sense at all, in the slightest?”

“No,” Apollo answers. 

“Oh, good,” the judge says. “I thought I had just become suddenly, extremely confused.”

“The witness is the one suddenly, extremely confused,” Blackquill says. “And it would be charitable, to call him confused, instead of saying, for instance, that he is a bloody lunatic.”

“You’re a witch, aren’t you?” Hugh demands. As though to make the point for him, Blackquill’s eyes flash silver. “Don’t you know anything about doppelgangers? You know, changelings getting switched for people? You think creatures like that are not okay with being an accessory to crime?” A sour taste gathers in Apollo’s mouth. He thinks of Vera, of Kristoph, of Klavier in the gallery, that life-shaping trauma turned into Hugh’s latest desperate lie in the service of - what? To what end? “I had a—”

“Enough!” Blackquill roars, and it is, indeed, so much more of a bellow than his usual low snarling interruptions. Athena lets out a small scream and stumbles back into the wall behind them. Even Hugh shrinks toward the witness stand, seeming to recognize that he’s taken this impossible declaration a step too far. “That you know such words to use them does not mean you have the damndest understanding of what they truly entail!” He slams both fists in tandem on the bench, and Athena clasps both of her hands over Widget to muffle its surprised swearing.

“You claim familiarity with the concepts as part of your mad gambit, make a mockery of the gravity of such matters, and call me to my face a witch as though that would convince me of the veracity of your statements - yet you never pause to think that perhaps whatever I am, I also bear the ability to see through your pernicious bullshit.” Hugh’s mouth flaps open, and he shuts it without a word. “Spare this court your lies,” Blackquill continues. He has stopped yelling now, his voice merely as low and deadly as it ever is. “There is only one of you, as there ever has been - as is most fortuitous for us, as you the sole dunce as you are have made more than your share of trouble, and another of you would be far more than unbearable.”

Hugh’s mouth opens again like a fish deprived of water, but it seems to Apollo that Blackquill’s outburst has drawn to its close. “Shit,” Athena whispers, her and not Widget this time. “I’ve never heard him that angry.”

Have they? He has been furious at Fulbright, over stupid witnesses, over cases. Professional anger. This is different; this seems a personal chord, and a very disharmonious one, struck, and painfully enough to drop the game he’d made of it prior, denying right to Apollo’s face that monsters, yokai, and magic could ever exist. And is it painful to him the way it infuriates Apollo, on behalf of someone else, or is this another clue in the puzzle, the question, of what is Prosecutor Simon Blackquill?

“Now,” Blackquill says, his calm and his smirk returned, “Your Baldness, where we left off. The verdict.”

“But it’s - hey! Defense!” Hugh, gripping the witness stand, turns on them next. “You have that weird device, don’t you? For crazy testimonies like mine?”

“Widget isn’t weird!” Athena protests. Apollo could object to that. “And I’m not going to waste him on something this plainly ridiculous—”

“We don’t have any objections otherwise,” Apollo reminds her. “The only thing left otherwise is the verdict. There’s nothing worse that can happen from giving this a shot.”

“Oh,” Athena says, blanching as she realizes that she was about to let the trial reach its verdict and damn Juniper to prison. She clears her throat. “Well,” she says loudly, “against some of my better judgment, I would like to conduct a short psychoanalytic session with the witness.”

“As a judge, I feel this to be beyond my better sense as well, yet I also do not feel as though I should deny you.” The judge glances around the courtroom, pondering what must be yet another in the Wright Anything Agency’s long, long line of unprecedented incidents. “Well, then. Prosecutor Blackquill, I will ask your opinion. I trust you have no object… ah.” 

The courtroom doors slam, seeming to rattle the whole room, and rattling Apollo even more is the empty prosecution’s bench. “Ah, Your Honor,” says one of the bailiffs by the doors, eyes still blankly fixated on where they closed. “The prosecution said, and I quote, ‘Rubbish! We will be out on a stroll’ and left, Detective Fulbright with him.”

At least he isn’t loose unsupervised, but holy hell, is there nothing that Blackquill can’t get away with? (Nothing short of murder, anyway.)

“I must suppose he would have lodged an objection in his parting words if he took issue with Ms Cykes’ plan.” The judge nods once, and decisively. “Very well. Ms Cykes, you may proceed with your therapy session-slash-cross-examination.”

“You’re up, Widget.” Athena draws up the emotional analysis screen and over her shoulder, Apollo watches it load. He can’t help but find the whole process fascinating, no matter that he’s seen it before, and he wonders how many times he’ll have to see it until he gets used to it. Knowing that Athena has the little gadget taking pictures almost constantly doesn’t change his amazement with the way she can compile it all into new mock-ups of scenes discussed in the testimony, or how seamlessly she does it. A large part of him still isn’t sure that there’s not magic involved, somehow woven into the technology. “Now, Mr O’Conner, please repeat your testimony!”

Hugh inhales deeply, his eyes still darting about, like he’s suddenly trying to remember the spur-of-the-moment co-called “testimony” he blurted. “All right,” he says. “I’ll say this simple enough that even mouth-breathers like you can understand. I used a body double! That wasn’t really me at the mock trial! And it wasn’t really me who was about to lose, of course. I slipped out while my doppelganger handled the mock trial, and I had full run of the campus. So it’s me who’s the killer, not Juniper. She’s innocent!”

“Well, he sure wasn’t kidding when he said it was crazy testimony,” Athena mutters, swiping through the pages on which she lists each sentence of Hugh’s testimony and the associated emotions. All of Widget’s projected screens flash bright green, as it blares out the alarm that warns it is overloaded by the emotional input. How Athena, with her sensitive hearing, tolerates that sound, Apollo will never know. “Right now, we’re getting an overflow reading on happiness, which is weird, considering he’s confessing to murder.”

“Maybe he’s just delighted by how the rest of us can’t understand his brilliance,” Apollo says. “But I’m guessing you think there’s something more going on.”

“Mhm.” He can’t tell if Athena was listening or is just mumbling to herself. She flips back and forth between two parts of the testimony, too fast to actually be reading over the sentences again; her eyes follow the images that she has placed with the words. Then she finally looks up. “So, Mr O’Conner, yesterday you told us that you didn’t care at all about Ms Woods anymore.”

Apollo glances to the defendant’s chair, where poor Juniper looks distraught, red-faced from crying and now wide-eyed with shock, staring at Hugh. “That’s right,” Hugh says, about as smoothly as he’s managing to say anything now. A silent sob shudders across Juniper’s thin shoulders. “She told Professor Courte my secret, and I know she wants nothing to do with me now.” 

Juniper shakes her head, her mouth moving, whispering something Apollo can’t make out across the courtroom, but Athena probably could, were her attentions not rightly fixed on the witness. If he had to guess, had to bet on it, from the rest of her body language, she’s probably saying, that’s not true. 

“So now I don’t care about her either.” Hugh laughs dismissively, but his eyes still move uneasily, and his hand clutches his neck. He’s still lying. “What, you think my confession has something to do with her? It doesn’t! It’s about one thing, and that’s the truth, the truth that everyone in this courtroom was too inferior to figure out!”

“No, objection!” Athena slaps her hand to the bench, through Widget’s hologram screen. “This whole testimony, you’ve felt great joy - so much that I can barely hear anything else! You’re happy that you could play a part in setting Juniper free.” She draws her hand back and props her hands on her hips. “People usually don’t feel like you do when they’re broken down enough to confess to murder.”

“So then, this is another confession trying to protect Juniper?” Apollo asks. Meaning it’s a false confession, meaning Hugh isn’t the killer after all. Like Phoenix thought, against all the evidence, on a hunch.

“It is,” Athena says. “He does care about her, without question.”

But if not Hugh, they still don’t have any evidence of anyone else, and they’ve looped back around to—

The courtroom doors slam again. “Figured it out, have you?” Blackquill asks. He whistles sharply and Taka returns to his shoulder from wherever it was hiding. Taka was still in the courtroom, then? Apollo glances around, wondering where it went, wondering if Blackquill’s dramatic timing is perfect because he was following the whole conversation via the hawk left behind. He makes his way back to the bench, without any great haste, and scratches Taka beneath the chin as he continues, “That testimony was naught but a great tangle of lies. May we agree now that the killer is the one person permitted to move freely out of sight in the lecture hall - that is, the accused herself. We need not waste more time deliberating this nonsense.”

“But you haven’t figured it out!” Hugh protests. Blackquill’s face darkens. “The trick behind my body-double stunt!”

“Would one even presume it to be true,” Blackquill says dryly, but lacking even an ounce of amusement in the hard line of his mouth and his shadowed eyes, “you did tell us in the beginning how it was that you claimed to have a doppelganger.”

“I think I’m gonna agree with Prosecutor Blackquill on this one,” Apollo says. A small kernel of doubt has dug its way through his prior certainty, and he wishes that Phoenix had been the one to watch the mock trial, instead. He could have noticed - if he’d thought to look, and he would have, right? He’s that cautious or paranoid, right? - whether or not Hugh was the same person, and human, the whole way through. Apollo just knows that the Hugh in the mock trial didn’t stray from the bench, didn’t seem to disappear or slough eyes off of him for even a brief moment - and still, still he doesn’t trust himself to be sure. Not when the fae could be involved. “But if we quit here, then Juniper is found guilty.”

“So the best of the bad options is to play along,” Athena says. She quickly taps out a few commands with her gloved hand on the screen. “Okay, let’s see here. What else can we find out?”

Hugh’s continues testimony is just as rambling and confused as before, tripping over itself and tangling itself up in knots that will only snare Juniper deeper. It’s pathetic to watch him falling apart as he is: certain that Juniper is innocent but too afraid of the corruption in the legal system to believe that the plain truth can ever win out, and desperate for some affirmation that despite his grades being bought (without his knowledge, which Apollo notes is definitely interesting) his friends could still possibly love him. This is not Apollo’s field of expertise, but he has Athena, Athena with her ears and Widget, and she manages beautifully. He’d tell her that he’s impressed, but Blackquill has been waiting to pounce, and with Hugh recanting his confession, pounce he does. 

“This roundabout trial has returned us once again to the point I have been making: that the only person who lacks an alibi is the accused.” Blackquill folds his arms and taps a finger against his head. The chains rattle. “Consider that, Cykes-dono, and finally realize that your friend’s guilt is the truth you have so valiantly sought.”

“Did we really spend all that time getting nowhere?” Apollo asks. He casts his mind back over Hugh’s testimony. Doppelganger nonsense and more doppelganger nonsense; such useful information, all around. “This is exhausting.”

Athena isn’t listening. She frowns down at Widget’s Mood Matrix screen, which has updated to show that all of the emotions in Hugh’s voice have been cataloged and cleared, and it winks out of existence, only for Athena to immediately bring back up some of her case notes. “Hold on a minute, Your Honor, Prosecutor Blackquill.” She swipes the screen to display a floor plan of the lecture call, with the balcony seats for Courte and Means clearly marked. (Does the head of the prosecutions’ course not have enough seniority to join either of them in the balcony seating? Didn’t Phoenix say they all got fired a few years back?) “If we have someone else who doesn’t have an alibi, then we need to continue the trial, correct?”

“Of course,” the judge says. “But after so much thorough investigation and debate, can such a person even exist?”

“Where are we going with this?” Apollo asks Athena. He feels like someone scrambled his brains. 

She rests her finger above the marked defense’s bench in the lecture hall diagram. “Remember how Hugh has been insistent on seeing this balcony seat empty?” She moves her finger diagonally to point to the seat noted to be Means’. “He thought that was because it was Courte’s, and she was dead at the time. But it isn’t.”

“So if Professor Means wasn’t where he was supposed to be—”

“Your Honor!” Athena calls. “However roundabout this testimony has been, we have arrived at one statement of truth. That balcony seat was empty, meaning that Professor Means wasn’t where he was supposed to be during the mock trial!”

“Oh please,” Blackquill sneers. “The whole of the lecture hall heard him give his speech!”

“It bored me half to death,” Apollo adds. He doesn’t remember what was actually said, just that it became a buzzing in his ears within about forty seconds, as some leftover instincts from college assured him that there would be nothing worth remembering.

“It could have been pre-recorded, right?” Athena says. “Then the professor could have given his speech, while he was wherever else on campus!”

“Wait!” Hugh interrupts. “You don’t - are you seriously accusing Professor Means? He’s been trying to help this whole time!” Apollo doesn’t believe that, but he can’t tell if Hugh believes it, or if his nervous habits are now simple shock at where Athena has taken this case. “It’s crazy to say that he - I mean, he was the one who gave me the tape recorder to take to the police!”

“The tape?” 

Apollo asks at the same time Athena does, and they stare at each other; understanding and alarm start to dawn behind Athena’s eyes. “Athena,” Apollo says. “We have to get Professor Means on the witness stand.”

She purses her lips and nods decisively. “Mr O’Conner, did you just say that Professor Means gave you that phony tape?”

“Phony?” Hugh echoes. “No, I - he gave it to me and told me to go to the police and say I found it in the art room, but it’s not - what do you mean, phony—”

“And it didn’t seem suspicious for him to tell you to lie?” Apollo demands. This goddamn school, he swears - Hugh probably wouldn’t even have an issue with the lying, would have been sure that it meant instead that Professor Means had some kind of shady-but-ultimately-justified plan for Juniper’s defense, and who was he to question?

“Apollo, this isn’t the time,” Athena warns, her eyebrows drawing together. He follows her narrow-eyed gaze to watch Blackquill, his hand on his chin, smirking to himself, pondering something. Maybe whether he can add that to Hugh’s perjury charges. 

“Defense, please refrain from hurling unsubstantiated accusations as you are by calling the evidence ‘phony’,” the judge says. “Unless you can—”

“We can prove it!” Athena interrupts, smacking her palms on the bench like she’s about to try and vault it. “This tape we discussed yesterday, the voice of our client shouting ‘You’re a goner!’, was faked by reusing audio from the mock trial video! We have evidence about the, um, about the evidence!”

Taka lands on the bench, its head twitching back and forth, expectantly waiting. “Hang on, which one of these is which - here!” Athena offers one of Klavier’s evidence packets to the hawk, which blinks at her in almost acknowledgement before it returns across the courtroom to Blackquill. He intently studies each page in turn, the seconds passing in excruciating slowness as they wait for his response. On reaching the end, he tosses back his head, hair falling in front of his eyes, and lets out a loud, sharp laugh.

“Is there an issue, Prosecutor Blackquill?” the judge asks.

“There is not,” Blackquill says. Could’ve fooled me, Apollo thinks. The prosecutor makes a dismissive flick of his fingers and Taka, still with the papers clutched in its beak, heads off to the judge. “I concede that, as asserted and evidenced by the” - he forces out a cough and then loudly clears his throat - “defense, that the evidence on the tape was falsified.” Apollo has to stop himself from turning his head to glance up toward the gallery, wondering where Klavier sits. “However, are not the odds greatest that our lying dullard of a witness merely overlooked the professor in the balcony?”

“We can’t know for sure until we ask him!” Athena fires back. “We can’t overlook any possibilities!”

The judge strikes his gavel twice. “My opinion on the matter,” he says, when they have both fallen to silence, Athena glaring furiously at Blackquill, and Blackquill unbothered, watching Taka preen its wing feathers, “is that it would be premature to pass a verdict without having properly examined a possible witness oversight. And to answer that question, I believe it would be best to ask Professor Means himself, and therefore to call him as a witness.”

Apollo lets out his breath, but the tightness in his chest remains. This is the one guiding piece of advice that Phoenix gave: if you see the opportunity to get him on the stand, take it. 

Now they’re on their own. 

-

“Good afternoon. I would like to thank you all for being here today. This mock trial, the crown event of…”

Means’ speech was ten minutes long. 

Apollo forgot about that, honestly. 

They’re searching for some sort of hint that the speech was pre-recorded, some kind of discrepancy between his words and what they know to be true of the day. Athena assured Means that they weren’t accusing him of anything now, just wanted to be sure of the truth of the matter of the speech and the balcony seating - and she said it with her face drawn solemnly across, her shoulders held stiff and her hands squeezing into fists at her sides. She lied. She suspects him. They’ll be accusing him later. And Means at the witness stand loses his trademark smile to glower at Athena whenever she looks away. 

Blackquill pays no attention to anyone, his back to the court, his elbows propped up on the bench behind him, his head slumped forward. He had said - not really directed at anyone in particular - to wake him up when this was concluded. Apollo no longer thinks he’s joking, watching his shoulders rise and fall with the slow, steady breathing pattern of someone asleep. Taka, in imitation of its master, ducks its head beneath its wing.

Are neither of them actually going to listen? Blackquill not even try to assess the details for himself?

Apollo tears his eyes away from the opposite bench. The speech, focus on the speech. Athena’s hand flits over a blank Widget screen that she intended to use for notes, doodling flowers and swirls all across the edges. There’s a shape that Apollo presumes to be a bowling pin until she adds the beak to the penguin. She isn’t keyed in to the speech, either. It’s testimony, the worst kind of testimony, where they have to make it through an untold number of minutes of Means reminiscing about his own long-ago days as a Themis student, and how what he learned there became critical in his days as a real lawyer, before he returned again to Themis to instruct a new generation.

Was it in school that he learned that forging evidence worked, or was he like Phoenix, in a real trial back to the wall, nothing but that or losing? Are monsters born or made, and how are they made? What does it take to break an honest lawyer, if ever he began that way?

The video was to record the mock trial, not the speech before it; the camera in the lecture hall is fixed on the floor, the benches where Robin and Hugh stand, and the witness stand that Juniper travels back and forth from. They obviously can’t see the balconies - otherwise there would be an easy answer to this matter - but the audience is visible, students restless whispering to each other or leaning their heads in their hands or on their desks. Apollo wonders where he was sitting, if he can see himself. 

The judge’s head droops and snaps back up, guiltily glancing around to assess whether anyone else noticed.

Professor Means, on the recording of the speech that may have been pre-recorded, interrupts himself to snap at the audience to wake up. The judge’s eyes pop open, and something clatters like he knocked his gavel to the floor; Athena’s arm jerks across her notes page, scribbling across her penguin drawing. “I’m awake, I’m awake!” she yelps, turning panicked to Apollo. 

Blackquill doesn’t twitch.

This still isn’t even evidence that the speech wasn’t pre-recorded. If this is how Means always sounds, he would have known at this point, about eight minutes in, students would be nodding off. He easily could have scripted that for authenticity.

Athena adds angry eyebrows to her drawn penguin and adds what looks like a ball of lint next to it. Is that supposed to be a fluffy baby penguin? 

The audio ends with a click. Apollo registers that the words that ended the speech were words that heralded the end of a speech, and already he doesn’t remember what. He shakes his head to clear out the static. He was supposed to find something useful in there. Something that meant it was pre-recorded. He glances at Athena. Her eyes are huge. So she didn’t hear anything, either.

“Listen well, Cykes-dono - if you subject us to this torturous tedium without due reason, I shall have your head.” Blackquill still hasn’t moved. He slowly tips his head back and turns to cast a cold stare onto Athena.

“Didn’t he nap the whole time?” Apollo mutters, but Athena doesn’t seem to be in the mood for humor. And Apollo shouldn’t be, either. They’re this close to a turnabout, and this close to a loss. Trucy calls it his “tightrope defense act”, and he hates the descriptor even if it isn’t wrong.

“Hey! Apollo!” someone hisses. He expects it to be Trucy, just thinking of her, but when he turns, and Athena with him, there’s Phoenix, hanging over the edge of the gallery. “Catch!”

“Wh—” Apollo fumbles with the object Phoenix just tossed at him, finding the magatama in his hands. “Why—”

“Mr Wright!” the judge scolds, whackling his gavel several times in swift succession. “I’m sure you must want to be behind the bench, but please, this court does not want any liability should you fall and crack your head!”

Yeah, liability for the ankle injury he’d probably incur from that. “Sorry, Your Honor!” Phoenix calls back with a sharp grin, but he only leans further down. “Listen to the end again, Apollo. The last minute or so.”

“But why—” The magatama is for glamours, and glamours are on people, and they’re listening to a recording of Means’ speech, not him speaking directly to them.

“Exactly why you think - I’ll explain the details later, when—” Phoenix jerks backwards as Taka dives, talons outstretched, for his face. Several gasps and shrieks arise from the gallery around him. “When this bird isn’t around! Good luck!” He scrambles away, Taka in pursuit.

“So,” Athena says. “What—”

“Listen to the ending again,” Apollo says. He squeezes his fingers tightly around the magatama. Please, please, he thinks, without any idea who he is appealing to, give me something—

The words hit his ears with a sharper clarity than before. He can think now, his brain no longer buzzing. Even in this little bit, Apollo understands that most of Means’ speech was all fluff and no substance, all inane and nothing meaningful. And then the sign-off: “Once again, our pure white Lady Justice will watch over all of you today. Pay attention now and one day, with the wisdom of our grand academy and your own experience, you may make a difference. Now, let the mock trial begin!"

What’s this Lady Justice that he’s referring to? That was the statue Athena put back together on-stage, with Klavier, but there’s a very similar statue standing very apparent in the center of the lecture hall floor, right in front of the mock-up judge’s bench. A statue that is, however, very much not white.

“Athena,” he says, and her head snaps around in a startled way that says he just knocked her out of another boring speech-induced reverie. “I’ve got something.”

-

Not enough on its own, but together with Klavier’s evidence, and that only breaks Means down into a new set of lies, and worse ones than ever.

“Fine, yes. I had pre-recorded my speech, but I assure you, the reason was not that which you think.” Athena’s eyebrows disappear beneath her hairline and she casts a doubtful side-eye Apollo’s way. Means peers over his glasses at them and continues, “Ms Woods came to me asking that I should do so - record my speech - and come speak with her in the audio room during the opening of the mock trial. There, she told me that she had committed murder and wished that I would defend her. She told me as well that this would happen - the suspicion you cast upon me - as I lose my alibi with the pre-recorded speech, and thus become an accomplice or suspect.” His stony features relax. “But when I said that I would defend Juniper as her attorney, I meant it, because it was the humane thing to do.”

“He can’t be serious,” Apollo says. “There’s no way. This is all too contrived. But he’s good at coming up with bullshit on the fly.” Unless he thought ahead far enough, to this eventuality, and pre-planned the best lies to cover his ass.

“Juniper would never!” Athena shouts. “There’s no way! This is all a bunch of shit.”

“Allow me to be perfectly frank.” Means lightly taps the end of his staff on the floor. “Juniper has taken my teachings to heart. That I would prove her and her two friends innocent was the result she sought, and two that end, she threatened and coerced me, her professor, to do her bidding.”

“And I may only imagine that you found such ruthless tactics to be impressive and admirable,” Blackquill says dryly. Shouldn’t those underhanded strategies be right up his alley; shouldn’t he himself be impressed? As far as Apollo knows, he’s drawn the line at falsifying evidence, but there’s a litany of shady shit that he’s toed the line of. And the murder, of course. The murder that he did and was convicted of.

“Oh, yes,” Means agrees. “What she did was most clever of her, which is why I agreed to defend her. Her capacity for deviousness surprised me, at first, though the more I think on it the more I understand that I should have seen this coming.”

Athena folds her arms, glaring daggers at Means, but she’s gone strangely quiet taking in the lies rather than yelling back. What’s she thinking? What’s she waiting for? Apollo isn’t sure what he’s waiting for - Means to keep digging his own grave talking about his corrupt methodologies, maybe. Get him brought up on additional corruption charges after they prove him a murderer.

“It’s really the hallmark of her kind, is it not?” Means continues, and Athena’s mouth presses even tighter together. Blackquill tilts his head just ever-so-slightly to the side, barely more than a twitch, studying Means, and waiting. “This sort of cunning self-serving cruelty, so typical of the actions of - well. We shall say that anyone may be cruel, but there is a particular and exemplary manner of it displayed here that you will also find to be quite… fae. And rather more than in half as one could first assume of this defendant.”

“Pardon?” The judge blinks in shock. “I am not sure I understand the relevance that this remark holds.”

Does he not realize? Does he know, or somehow have these things passed him by every trial? Juniper shrinks into herself, her hands covering her face. “It has none, Your Baldness,” Blackquill says, his disparaging gaze turning from Means to Juniper. “And before your protest I had been about to lodge my own objection, that the witness had best stick to discussing what it is that the defendant has done, and leave aside that which she is.”

Juniper lowers her hands, her eyes wide, but Blackquill isn’t looking at her anymore. Was it her honor that he was defending, or that of the fae in general? His responses to fae-related remarks have seemed - like he’s taking them personally.

“Objection sustained, then,” the judge says. “Defense, I believe it is time for your cross-examination.”

“You’ve been rather quiet now, haven’t you, Cykes-dono.” Blackquill can’t resist one last taunt. “Something the matter?”

Athena inhales deeply. She places her hands back down on the bench, her shoulders squared and her eyes flinty. “I’m not going to argue on principles,” she says. “Some long-winded idealistic speech. I’m going to let my evidence, and my victory, do the talking.” She lifts her hands and this time slams them down. “You claim that you were lying to cover for Junie, but that’s a load of hot shit!”

“That language, in our fair court of law!” Means interrupts indignantly. “Your Honor, it is an outrage!” Apollo personally finds Means’ guiding philosophies about the uselessness of the truth, and his forged evidence, a lot more of an outrage, but what does he know.

“Ms Cykes. Having adjudicated your mentor’s first case back, I understand where this unfortunate habit of yours was picked up, but please, do try to not make this such a frequent occurrence that I must penalize you for it.”

“Of course, Your Honor.” She takes that better than Apollo expected, though Widget still glows red. “Now, if the court would please recall the audio recording, presented as evidence yesterday, that today we have established to have been faked. It was Professor Means who gave that to Hugh and whispered to go take it to the police. If you had Junie’s best interests at heart, Professor, why would you fabricate evidence that uses her voice? That is, it’s an incredibly damaging piece of evidence that shouldn’t exist if you had wanted to defend Juniper - as it is, it seems like you’re trying to pin the crime on her instead!”

Means lowers his eyes. Apollo isn’t naive enough to think that means he’s chastened, or is going to do anything but dig in further. “You’ve done nothing but lie, and you’ve taught nothing but lies!” Athena shouts. “Your road to hell has no good intentions!”

“How dare you!” There it goes. Means’ head snaps back up. He grits his teeth in a snarl. “Themis Academy is an honorable institution with a proud name and how dare you slander it!” He grinds his staff against the ground. The sound sets Apollo’s teeth on edge, and Athena claps her hands over her ears.

“I’m not slandering the whole academy!” she protests. “Just your terrible teachings! You—” Means reaches into his pocket, producing a piece of chalk, which he flings at Athena. “Ow! What the helllleck, heck, was that!”

“Pay attention, Athena!” Means speaks like this is a lecture hall, like he’s the professor in charge of a classroom and not a witness on the stand, and she some wayward student of his and not a defense attorney on a cross-examination. “You’re disappointing me! The murder occurred on the twenty-third sometime between six and eight pm. I was already home at that time! How could I have killed her?”

“Can you prove you had gone home by then?” Athena asks.

Apollo knows what the answer will be before Means says it - the shifting burden of proof, always to the defense. “Can you prove that I was still at the school then?” he asks, a furious pointer finger waved in her direction.

Apollo casts about for any option, and he watches Athena slowly lose hope, her confident posture falling away, her hands sliding off of her hips and her shoulders slumping forward until she lets her elbows hit the bench and prop her head back up. “No,” she admits.

“Very good! I appreciate your honesty, even as it fails your case.” Means is still in teacher-mode, and now Apollo wonders if it’s some sort of mocking of them that he’s attempting to do. “But given that—”

“Hey! Hold on a second, man!” 

Robin’s shriek could be an impressive rival to the Chords of Steel. She stands up in the front row of the gallery, leaning forward and peering down the drop to the floor, weighing whether she should just vault down, and deciding against it. She raises one hand and then rushes aside, leaving silence for several moments until she properly reaches the floor of the courtroom, where she places herself beside the defendant’s chair. Throwing her arm out in an imperious, pointed objection, directed at Means, she shouts, “I can’t believe I’ve let you lie to me all this time!” The Professor sputters indignantly, and Robin drowns him out with a roar. “I’ve got a confession to make! I can prove it!”

-

Of the statues on the stage, Klavier and Phoenix, Robin only had time to actually make the Klavier statue, the one that they put back together yesterday. Then the late bell rang, and Robin, without permission to stay on campus, asked Means if he could make the other statue for her. This puts him still at the school at the time of the murder, though he claims with the intensive work it would have taken to finish the artwork in an hour and a half, there’s no way he could have taken an instant to go to the art room and commit the crime. (Couldn’t there have been time after? Couldn’t the autopsy report’s window be off, have that wiggle room?)

Or there’s Athena’s objection, offered up without a thought, and then a few seconds after, she has invented a possibility. “What if we were all wrong about where the crime was committed?”

That’s one of Phoenix’s classic turnabout tactics. Apollo sees where she’s going; Means scoffs that she’s lost her mind, but Blackquill, glowering around the court at everyone in equal measure, very slowly says, “Continue.” When Means sounds about to protest, Taka alights from Blackquill’s shoulder and brings its fly-by so close that its talons rake through Means’ hair. 

The murder took place on the stage, the blood spilling onto the banners lying there. The Gavineers banner soaked up most of the blood, was wiped on the art room floor to create the other crime scene, and then burned to hide the evidence. The white Lady Justice statue they repaired during yesterday’s investigation came from the art room, sent down the banner wire to make some noise and lead someone to the body. The body, therefore, was hidden on the stage somewhere. 

How? At least a hundred people passed the stage on their way to the mock trial. What did it look like? Was there a crawl space under it that could be counted on no one to notice? What about behind it? Did they see it from other angles? Athena only has partial photographs, from up on the stage, nothing with the right angle, the wide shot. All of the pieces, these strange inconsistencies and bits of evidence collected, fit perfectly together with this theory.

There’s just no place for the body. 

And that’s going to sink them.

They’re sinking, and Means just laughs. “Don’t you understand yet? There’s no killer other than Juniper Woods! There never was any other possibility, and there never will be!”

“But…” Athena falters. Apollo needs to help her, if he can just come up with somewhere, anywhere, that the body could have been. There were bruises on the victim’s wrists from being tied. Was she tied in some contorted position to allow her body to fit somewhere strange? Every second that he doesn’t say something, he’s failing their client, and he’s failing his friend.

“Poor Juniper must seriously regret asking for your help now - choosing you over me! And not just for herself, but for the way you nearly had Hugh wrongly convicted for murder! Surely you haven’t forgotten that big mistake of yours, too?”

“Don’t listen to him,” Apollo says. Though really, he’s not sure if Athena is listening to anyone, her face gone slack and her eyes glazed over, lost somewhere that isn’t here. “Athena?”

“You’ve not only failed to defend your client, but you brought false charges against her friend!” Means is positively gleeful tearing into her, a shark that’s scented blood and gone into a frenzy, and Apollo remembers what Phoenix said last night, about Athena, about accusing Hugh, wonders what he’s thinking now watching his best-laid plans to shelter her fall apart. “You don’t deserve to call yourself a lawyer!”

“No.” Athena hugs herself tightly, clutching her arms across her stomach like she’s sick, or trying to staunch the flow of blood from a wound, and doubling over herself. Her hair falls across her face, but not enough that Apollo can’t see her eyes, wide and hollow, and Widget’s screen, gone straight black. “No, I - wouldn’t let an innocent person be - I wouldn’t let him be convicted for - something he didn’t—”

“Athena! Hey, Athena, look at me.” Her shoulders start to shake. She doesn’t lift her head. Apollo reaches for her shoulder and stops; she flipped a mann larger than Apollo over her head the last time someone unexpectedly touched her, and if she’s already breaking, the last thing she’ll need is to hate herself more if she lashes out and injures Apollo. Means grins in satisfaction; Apollo glares at him and wishes, horribly, cruelly, for an instant, that he was fae, that he could kill with a look, literally, and then the wish turns his stomach over. Even if this man is a monster, even if he’s getting a laugh out of hurting Athena—

It’s not - it’s probably not a curse, is it? Some kind of spell Means put on her? It’s probably just - a regular mundane breakdown, right? Phoenix is up in the gallery watching, and if something had happened, he’d already be on his way down to let Apollo know. For Athena’s sake, surely, he’d break his habit of staying frustratingly silent on these matters.

“Breathe, breathe,” Athena hisses to herself. “Breathe in, breathe out—”

Blackquill crosses his arms over his chest. After watching him for three trials, Apollo still wouldn’t say he’s got a read on him at all, wouldn’t say he understands if the man has any tics - but maybe Apollo just hasn’t seen them yet. Because Blackquill’s mouth twists, his nose twitches; it might be disgust, and it might be barely disguised fury, and maybe it doesn’t have to be exclusive, one or the other, because those are related emotions. He doesn’t turn his glare from Means but closes his eyes instead, face slackening, like he’s trying to calm himself.

“Hey, shut the hell up, man!” Robin yells. She starts forward for the witness stand, her hands in fists, and Hugh grabs her by the upper arm. “Athena’s a great lawyer! She saved the friendship between Hugh and Juniper and me! And she figured out the secret I couldn’t tell, so I can live my life as a girl again! She is G-R-E-A-T and I don’t wanna hear another word against her, you lying meanie!”

“But I did,” Athena says. Her voice rings out clear and steady despite the way that her body trembles. “I did raise false charges against Hugh. And that - I could have - I could’ve done something unforgivable - I would have—”

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Hugh says with a shrug. He still hasn’t let go of Robin, and that’s probably the better choice. “It happens. There wouldn’t be defense attorneys if it didn’t. It’s not like I’m mad - it’s really more like you’ve given me a chance to reevaluate. You’re an honest lawyer and I didn’t think it was possible, for an honest lawyer to do all you’ve done.”

Athena blinks. Apollo hopes that’s a good sign, considering she hasn’t for the minute prior. “But I still haven’t done - what does it matter if I can’t save Juniper?”

“I believe in you, Thena!” Juniper stands from her chair, her hands clenched at her sides. “I haven’t given up! You can’t either! And I know you won’t! I know you can do this, Thena.”

A strangled sound emerges from Athena’s mouth, like a wheeze interrupting a hiccup or sob. “Athena, breathe,” Apollo says. 

She tips forward and braces herself against the bench with one hand, the other arm still pressed tight against her stomach. “I c-can’t.” Her valiant attempt at inhaling breaks down into uneven, shuddering gasps. “I c-can’t. I—”

“Perhaps it would help you breathe if you were to cease this pathetic bleating of yours.”

Apollo is ready to yell at him, because someone has to and Robin has already laid into Means, but Athena finally slowly raises her head. “Prosecutor Blackquill?” she asks in a faint, broken whisper.

Blackquill shakes his head. “No more of such foolish words as you have just now spouted.” Is this - is this Blackquill’s attempt at reassurance? Has the world and the court finally gone mad? “You became a lawyer for a reason, did you not? What would come of it should you give up on all of the work that you have done thus far?” He slams his forearm on the bench and leans forward, his eyes sharp and his mouth pressed in a tight frown. “It would hardly do for you to quit now and disappoint a certain someone who has been waiting for you all this time!”

“I—” Athena stares at him, her mouth hanging open, but her breathing has begun to steady from moments ago, and she slowly straightens up, drawing her shoulders back from the way she curved in on herself. 

“Ha!” Means’ laugh isn’t a very convincing one. “Isn’t this a precious little waste-of-time effort you’ve undertaken! But it is, I assure you, meaningless. You have nothing on me, and no plan to create anyone else’s guilt! Your case ends here.”

“Oh shut up,” Apollo says irritably, deciding that if Phoenix and Athena are going to be swearing in court on the regular now, he can definitely get away with that. Ignoring Means’ indignant sputtering, he turns back to Athena. “You okay?” She nods. “You’re doing fine, I promise. We’re still going to prove that the truth can win against people like him, all right?”

“But how?” Athena asks. “What am I supposed to do now, Apollo? He’s right, we don’t have any evidence against him!”

No evidence. That’s the problem that Phoenix kept running up against. What does it take to break an honest lawyer? For Phoenix, it was no evidence. But god damn it, Athena has only been a lawyer for six months and when Apollo had been a lawyer for six months, Phoenix gave him the Jurist System to solve that one particular issue. They don’t have the Jurist System now. They might never have it again. Evidence is everything now, and all Athena has is Apollo, and Apollo doesn’t even have a theory. If they can pull together a plausible theory, they can look for evidence in the places their theory maps out. But they need the theory. 

“Take a deep breath,” he says - she’s started to look frantic again. Not on the cusp of breakdown, thankfully, but frantic, and that won’t help her think clearly. “And we’ll look back over the whole case. There’s still truth to be found, and I believe in you that you can find it.” The sickly expression remains on her face. Is there something he can do about that, too? “Hey, Athena. Remember what Mr Wright says?” That saying that she in particular so enthusiastically took to. “ ‘The worst of times—’”

“—‘force their biggest smiles’,” Athena finishes. Okay, so maybe they skipped a bit in the middle there. “Right. I’ve got it.” She shakes her head back, her ponytail swinging behind her shoulder, and props her hands on her hips. She doesn’t actually smile, which Apollo can’t blame her for, but even with Widget glowing bright fierce angry red, she appears more at ease than she has for a while. “Think it over.” She squeezes her eyes shut and her whole face scrunches in concentration.

The body was moved in the midst of the mock trial, but didn’t have to be moved far, because the murder took place on the stage and the body had to have been hidden on the stage. What was moved via the banner wire was the other statue, so that Means could draw attention to the body and have it discovered when he wanted it to be discovered. It had to have been on the stage, and it can’t have been suspicious. It’s possible that there could have been some other objects involved in stage-setup that would have been capable of storing a body, but if they weren’t on the stage when Phoenix and Athena got there, then Means had to move it away, and that would have increased the time he spent there and increased his chances of being caught. Seems unlikely that there was anything more. So then, what was on the stage when they got there? Apollo didn’t get much of a glimpse of the initial scene. The mockup benches on stage - what were those made of? Could they have hollowed-out insides, possible to be lifted and have a body dragged beneath? What did the rope bruises on Courte’s wrists mean?

Athena’s eyes snap open. “I’ve got it!” she says. “Apollo, you remember how when we were repairing the statues” - more like when she and Klavier were and Apollo was just kind of there, but sure - “and we couldn’t find any chunks of the boss’ statue large enough to put it back together?” He nods, with no idea where she’s going with this. “And the court will recall how remarkable a feat it seemed that Professor Means could finish the statue of Mr Wright so quickly, when it took Robin so much longer on the other statue. And I can tell you why that is!” 

Yep, Apollo has no idea where this is going. “He never built the statue!” Athena continues triumphantly. “It was all an illusion - he hid the body by making it look like the statue of Mr Wright! And with the statues covered by cloth, no one would know what was actually beneath!”

“Wait, what?” Apollo asks. 

“Now this will be interesting,” Blackquill says.

-

What Apollo has come to realize is that he could not be a prosecutor. Not for any reason of principles - arrests have to be made, people are guilty of crimes, and an honest prosecutor is as important to the pursuit of justice as an honest defense attorney, even if both seem in unfortunately short supply these days - but because the prosecution don’t seem to be able to operate with a co-counsel. The closest they get is working as a team with the same detective, and that wouldn’t suit Apollo. What he needs is someone at the bench with him who can come up with utterly batshit theories that escaped his brain because they were, as stated, utterly batshit. 

This is going in his journal as the weirdest thing he’s done in a trial. Because certainly weirder things have happened in trials - Kristoph’s shimmering, flickering glamour as it broke, or Blackquill starting to transform to a nine-tailed fox - but Apollo did not hold an active part in those incidents. Apollo is taking a very active role in helping to turn Athena into a sheet-covered statue mockup of the corpse at the crime scene. 

Apollo is actively facilitating Athena’s outlandish theory - and less outlandish every second judging from Means’ face, furious instead of laughing it off. The trial takes a ten minute recess to hunt down the props that Athena will need to display her theory: a large sheet, a chair, some rope, and just in case, some duct tape. It feels like preparation for one of Trucy's tricks but if she were here it would be easy, and the Magic Panties would provide, but instead Apollo breathlessly rushes back into the courtroom at the end of ten minutes with a large pink sheet that’s going to have to work one way or another. 

What is a co-counsel for but to help you fill in the gaps of your mad ventures? Athena figures out why the professor’s hands were tied and how they were positioned behind her head; Apollo reminds her that Courte had an arrow sticking out of her body and duct-tapes it to her side; they test those two facts together and find that the arrow isn’t long enough to make a convincing statue arm, but Athena notices that Means’ staff certainly could have. Reluctantly, Means hands it over; Athena holds it in place and Apollo shakes out the sheet to toss over her head again. Somehow even that is an ordeal. She got stuck in it last time she removed it, to swap the arrow for the staff, and now Apollo can barely get it tossed up over her head. Fabric doesn’t throw very well. He shakes it out and tries again and this time a cold gust of wind catches beneath it, billowing it upward spread like a parachute to drape neatly over Athena’s head.

Apollo glances at Blackquill. He has stood silent watching - it seems promising that he hadn’t been heckling them - and his arms are crossed, but he slowly lowers the hand he had just slightly raised up off from where it rested on his upper arm, like he made a little wave to direct the wind. Seeing Apollo watching him, he raises an eyebrow.

The courthouse has time and again seen manic laughter within its walls. Athena’s at least is different, triumphant, from underneath the pink sheet where her hands behind her head make the form of a large spiky head of hair, and the staff an extended pointing objection arm. All they’ll need to do now is test the staff for traces of blood, and Means’ guilt will be ascertained.

The proud, proud professor falls apart the way criminals all do, begging and pleading and wheedling for a way out, any loophole or last desperate reason that it isn’t them; cursing the names of everyone involved in their downfalls, everyone but themselves. And Means falls apart, literally, his words becoming more incoherent in his desperation, until they don’t sound like any words of any language Apollo has ever heard. They’re just noises from a man who has finally lost at every game he has played for years, and his voice grows softer and the clack of his teeth together, a horrid sound that makes Apollo acutely aware of all of the nerves in his own teeth that would be giving him pain if he were the one doing that.

He should just steel himself for what Clay calls “Fair Folk fuckery” at the end of every trial. He should expect it by now. And maybe he does, but with the myriad possibilities of their curses and consequences playing out, how does he brace himself when he doesn’t know what’s coming?

He assumes this is fae. What else could it be? Maybe an accident, the first time that Means’ mouth snaps shut and then he opens it and there is blood on his teeth and a chipped white piece of one falling into his hand. Maybe he just spent most of his life putting too much stress on those bones and one of them was already breaking apart before today. But without catalyst a second tooth cracks apart and drops from his open mouth, and another, and Apollo glances away from the spectacle, can’t close out of his mind the blood streaming down Means’ teeth. 

“Ugh,” Widget groans, and Athena presses a hand over her mouth. Juniper, sickly green, covers her eyes with her hands. Only Blackquill has the stomach to not turn away, his narrowed eyes fixed on the witness stand and gleaming silver, equally cold and piercing as the yellow glare of the hawk on his shoulder.

[zetalial]

Ling + Lan Fan’s escape from Wrath doesn’t make sense to me

Hey guys, I couldn’t resist a bit of critique of this memorable scene from FMAB. Sorry! Purely from a logistical standpoint - any character issues would be a separate issue. So, episode 24-25 of Brotherhood has Ed and Al decide to attack Scar in order to lure the homunculi out and Ling volunteers to help them with capturing a homunculus. It’s a fun sequence but it’s also one I have a few issues with. This is only based on the anime adaptation so if the Manga fills in these plot holes, feel free to tell me! I’m going to be more detailed than I probably really need to be. 

Their plan works in that they attract the attention of Wrath and Gluttony (Not Envy for some unknown reason.) So while Ed and Al are busy with Scar, Ling and Lan Fan fight Wrath and Gluttony. 

Their first exchange goes interestingly, as we briefly see more of Lan Fan’s impressive fighting tactics where she’s willing to take an injury in order to deal damage, as she breaks one of Wrath’s swords with her kunai but he strikes her and she falls down and can’t fight anymore - her left arm is badly injured. 

Ling grabs her and picks her up over the shoulder, unwilling to leave her behind and... here’s where my issues start to arise. Alright, Ling has two powerful bodyguards who generally fight for him but it turns out he’s also a really impressive fighter in his own right - not too surprising but his skills in this encounter suggest he’s just as good or better than them as he fends off Wrath while holding Lan Fan over one shoulder. 

This annoys me as Lan Fan is the trained professional where Ling is a prince. Granted Wrath has only one and a half swords now - (though sidenote I can’t believe one broke at all given how unbreakable they’ve been until now) and Gluttony doesn’t actually contribute too much, with Ling easily slashing him up. Ling isn’t winning but it’s still pretty ridiculous to me - especially when juxtaposed with how easily Lan Fan was taken out.

Either way, Ling gets punched into a nearby house and gets followed by Wrath and he looks to be cornered - Wrath taunts him a bit suggesting he could get away if he dropped Lan Fan whom he is still carrying over one shoulder. Lan Fan intervenes though by letting off a flash bomb to blind Wrath and Ling take sthis chance to try and escape the room. 

...But then Wrath reveals he can still see fine as he unveils his other eye beneath his eye patch and Ling’s hopes are dashed. How will he get out of this one???

...There’s another explosion and he jumps out the window. Ling has escaped the building and is running away, still carrying Lan Fan over one shoulder. We only get an outsider perspective so we don’t see the details.

Wrath just watches before giving chase. So I have to imagine what happened a bit - obviously Lan Fan let off another bomb and they really got past Wrath while cornered that easily? Oh well. And just another reminder that Wrath is extremely fast and Ling is carrying Lan Fan so he must be slowed down. And he’s literally just jumped out of a building. There are people about but Wrath was fighting them right outside a few minutes before so why would he suddenly care about appearances now? If jumping out of a building is unnatural then I’ll remind you that Ling just jumped out of the building with little problem.

He even runs into a dead end before forced to turn around with Wrath still tracking him. (and he deliberately went to a deserted part of town for some reason) Wrath isn’t exactly hurrying now though, I suppose. Anyway, so Lan Fan’s asking him to leave her so he can get away and Ling’s refusing, still running away and so Lan Fan grabs another kunai...

We get another cut away here. Next time we’re in Wrath’s perspective and he follows the blood and... it’s a decoy! Lan Fan has cut off her arm and used it as false bait allowing them both to escape. 

That super cool but- you’re seriously telling me that Ling got far enough away that they had time to tie up a bloody arm to a random dog and then run away before Wrath caught them? And it all happened off-screen? (Gosh that would have been such a cool and emotional scene to see too. Far better than the reveal without the how.)

...

I cannot imagine this. 

...

I’ll try though: Lan Fan cuts her arm off, and presumably Ling freezes in horror briefly and I’d imagine they might have made some noise as she slices her own arm off. And then Lan Fan is bleeding like crazy and I don’t know - would Ling rip off his shirt to use to bandage the wound first or would he pick up the freshly severed arm first and start attempting to tie it to a dog that just happens to be there? A very cooperative dog. So, he ties the arm on and convinces the dog to start running before picking up Lan Fan and heading directly into the sewer to hide. 

Frankly, I bet they could have hid in the sewer without Lan fan needing to cut off her arm - Wrath was following their blood trail which will still be visible and lead straight to their sewer entrance if he backtracks just a little. (And she just cut off her arm and Ling tied it in a hurry - I think she’d still be dripping blood - see how much blood she dripped when it was a more minor injury... actually why didn’t they just tie that injury better in the first place if all they really need to do to hide is stop dripping blood. The false trail wastes way more time -and blood- than just hiding better!) 

All the while Wrath is giving chase but was apparently far enough away that they had time to do this. It’s just I can’t imagine this would be that fast - they shouldn’t be more than a minute ahead of Wrath and even that’s a stretch - it’s a stretch that they escaped from his immediate vicinity in the first place. At the start of this sequence Ling was literally in viewing range of him and was burdened by carrying Lan Fan. 

After this, Ling leaves Lan Fan in the sewers and jumps out to help Ed and Al capture Gluttony. At this point, Ling’s feats seem OP to me but anyway we get to see him obliterate Gluttony while shirtless. (And, wow, he can jump high.)

Wrath chuckles about how he’s been outsmarted by this clever girl, having taken great enjoyment in this fight. And it’s thankfully over so I don’t have to think about it any more. 

If I’ve missed anything or got it wrong, please tell me! This is a very important sequence both for plot and character and if there’s something I’m missing, I’d love to know. I love Lan Fan in this part and think she’s great but basically everything else annoys me.

[complicatedandstained]

358 Nights: Stasis

It occurs to more than one of them that this is the most people that have ever sat around the Organization’s kitchen table at one time since the day the Dusks dragged it in from wherever it is the Dusks get anything.

Only four of them at a table meant to seat six, but the Organization members tend to give each other a wide berth—at least three yards of personal space a piece. This in order to avoid petty arguments, any one of which could spiral into maiming and dismemberment as easily as it could deescalate into a fit of giggles or a quick shag.

No emotions meant anything could happen at any given time.

So: three yards minimum. Unless you were fuck buddies. And sometimes even then.

Everyone’s waiting for Xigbar to break the silence and he doesn’t disappoint. Setting his palms on the table, he leans across it toward Saïx with singular, menacing intent. “It’s quarter to three. This had better be really fucking interesting. I, for one, had other plans.”

Saïx nods, unperturbed, like getting the objections over with is one of the bullet points in his meeting agenda.

“Yes, why are we meeting in the middle of the fucking night, in the middle of the fucking kitchen, Saïx?” Axel’s light, mocking tone eases some of the tension in the air as Xigbar chuckles. “Was the Round Room on reserve? You just have a craving for good food and good company?”

“He’s not likely to find either here,” Vexen quips, smirking, though, as usual, there’s no one around to laugh with him.

“Good company, eh?” Xigbar raises his brows, then elbows and grins at Axel. “This is getting kinkier than expected.”

Axel’s face remains impassive, but Vexen chokes.

Saïx stands up, thumbs pressing into the table, “Enough. We are here to discuss number XIII. Once we have done so, you may return to your precious regularly scheduled nocturnal activities, whatever, or whoever, they may be.”

“We couldn’t discuss number XIII, oh, say, in the daytime?” Axel continues blearily, rubbing the back of his hand across his eyes. “With number XIII?”

Saïx does not deem this worthy of a response. “You three are the only ones aware of number XIII’s entire, unique history.” 

“Cute little Ventus and his cute little murder weapon,” Xigbar offers, watching his companions for any signs of surprise and almost disappointed to find none. “Well, what of it? He back in a coma or some shit?”

Saïx and Vexen nod.

Xigbar smiles. “No shit. Again?”

“Fuck,” Axel blurts, and at the raised brows Saïx directs at him, amends, more neutrally. “Doubles our work load, doesn’t it?” He crosses his ankles and leans back in his chair, arms folding behind his head. “The slacker.”

“Double workload.” Xigbar rolls his eyes. “Must be Tuesday. So, I repeat, what of it?”

“What of it?” Vexen scoffs in exasperation. “Haven’t you fools noticed?”

Xigbar and Axel blink back at him with blank expressions.

Vexen sighs, tapping the pen in his hand against the clipboard he’s set on the table. He circles a bar graph and the pair lean in to get a better look at the finely printed labels.

“As you know, Ventus was presumed dead for approximately ten years. Since Roxas’ appearance, we have theorized that Ventus’ body entered into a kind of stasis, hidden somewhere in Castle Oblivion, while his mind—heart—what have you—found refuge in Sora’s. Thus, in Sora’s death, Ventus, managed to manifest again in the Nobody, Roxas.”

They have discussed as much before in more private meetings between pairs of them. So now they nod as though they get it, though even Vexen doesn’t fully comprehend the logistics of it all.

Magic, they figure, the easiest, if not the only, explanation.

“Roxas’ recent lab results show highly irregular activity,” Vexen continues, “which we hypothesize is the result of this stasis.

“Unlike other Nobodies, Roxas’ body is growing and changing. We are seeing seemingly impossible, dramatic spikes in hormonal activity as his body attempts to fast-forward through the growth he should have experienced, making up for lost time, as it were. As his body struggles to adapt he goes into long periods of hibernation, which thus far, seem relatively harmless, perhaps even beneficial.”

Vexen pauses here, though his fellow Nobodies keep their poker faces intact with a skill that would make Luxord tear up a little. 

The silence carries on for a little too long. Axel coughs.

“So… what?” Xigbar tugs at the strap of his eye patch and leans to level his glare toward Vexen, voice dropping into a disgruntled growl, “We’re having a meeting so you can tell us Roxas is about to get really tall and really horny?”

Vexen glares back, a colder, more calculated thing, and straightens the edges of his stack of papers.

“We can expect to see accelerated growth and physical maturation, yes, in addition to the rapid strides in intelligence and abstract reasoning we have already noted in mission reports. He should then reach the level of maturity of a typical twenty-year-old male within a matter of months. And, to answer Xigbar’s question, at the time of stasis, he had likely already passed through much of the growth process known as puberty, so, it is likely the height difference will be marginal at best.”

Axel offers an exaggerated stretch and yawn. “Well, thank the Lord we met to discuss this.”

“As if it weren’t keeping you up at night,” Xigbar snickers back. “I can’t tell, are you disappointed or relieved?”

Twists of flame rise up from Axel’s knuckles, and Xigbar’s grin widens.

Saïx rolls his eyes and grabs Axel’s wrist, the blaze dying out. “Gentlemen, please.”  

Saïx nods to Vexen to continue and with a disapproving scowl, he does.

“Roxas may also exhibit traits often characteristic of the quote-unquote teenager or young adolescent. While he will be spared the typical crushing emotional turmoil, he could still exhibit impulsiveness, poor decision making, identity crises, questioning of authority, and perhaps outright rebellion.

“And, of course, as Xigbar so crudely put it, perhaps an increase in sexual impulses, to boot.”

Xigbar reaches out a glove to prod at his neighbor’s cheek. “Close your mouth, Axel.”

Axel’s jaw snaps shut and his eyes narrow at Xigbar in warning, hand lighting up again.

“Axel has taken it upon himself to supervise number XIII,” Saïx directs at Xigbar, “nothing more.” 

“Supervise, huh?” Xigbar shrugs, withdrawing his hand, settling back in his seat.  “My mistake. No one in their right mind would hook up with their supervisor.” This remark is blatantly directed at Saïx, who spends suspicious amounts of time with Xemnas, and who blatantly ignores it.   

The flames fan up Axel’s wrist, but, at a disapproving glance from Saïx, die down.

“It’s… just a lot to take in,” Axel mumbles for Vexen’s benefit. 

Now Xigbar’s eyes roll. “As if. We’ve been noticing these changes for months now. I don’t need a lab coat to tell you the kid’s getting taller, smarter, and mouthier. I been watching it happen. I know you like to have show-and-tell for all your little experiments, Vex, but next time, send us, like, a bullet pointed memo, and give us all some extra shut eye, would ya?”

Ice crystals spread across the table top where Vexen’s hand rests, though he looks otherwise disengaged. “As usual, you seem to be failing to grasp the gravity of the situation. Chances are, he’ll be near Axel and Saïx’s age when the process is complete and his body reaches equilibrium. Roxas’ behavior will be highly erratic and the changes will be rapid and painful. Regardless of his age, with the keyblade, he is a force to be reckoned with. This will affect us all.”

Xigbar groans. “As usual, you seem to be failing to grasp that I couldn’t give fewer fucks.”

“I agree.” Saïx nods, and three mouths dip open. “All the more reason Roxas should continue to carry his weight. This will in no way serve as a pathetic excuse to shirk his duties when he can be bothered to stay awake. Roxas has a job to do, as have we all. I expect the three of you to see to it that he keeps his toes in line—impulses or no.”

Xigbar sits back, wondering if all this talk is really necessary, wondering why Saïx feels the relentless need to be so harsh toward Roxas, of all people, his single model employee. Roxas who completes every mission and then some. Roxas who never says no. Sure, the kid has a curious streak. Yeah, he’s a little more kind-hearted than the rest. But questioning authority? Rebellion? As if. 

But then, he knows why Saïx is really getting pissy with XIII, and it has more to do with Axel’s hormones than Roxas’. 

“Have I made myself clear?” Saïx demands, arms crossing.

“Yes, sir,” Vexen and Xigbar chorus solemnly.

Axel salutes, two fingers to his temple, voice saucy, taunting, “Yes, sir.”

“It goes without saying that this conversation is to be kept between the four of us. You are dismissed.” Saïx waves them off with a flick of his hand. 

“They grow up so fast,” Xigbar croons, head shaking, as he and the scientist rise to head out and leave the children to their scheming. “Seems like just yesterday Lea and Isa were tykes, eh, Vexen?”

Axel and Saïx freeze entirely, and Vexen’s laughter drags cold air down each of their backs like fingernail scratches.

“How quickly they forget. It’s harder for us, I think. Different playground: same boys—bossing around adults, fighting over their toys, knocking each other down into the dirt.”

A flaming chakram slams into the wall between the pair of them, and they both veer to the sides.

“One more word,” Axel growls when they turn his way, “and I’ll set you on fire.”

Saïx says nothing, of course, merely glares, but the lack of a reprimand to Axel is support in its own way. 

“Apologies, Saïx, Axel.” Vexen nods at each but smirks as he walks out. “I meant no offense.”

Xigbar stays, attention fixed solely on the red-head. “Careful who you threaten, hot shot.” Xigbar pries the weapon out of the wall and tosses it carelessly back as if it doesn’t singe his fingertips. “I can take a little heat. And if you’re not careful, I might bust your favorite toy.”

It’s Saïx who stands and catches the chakram, sets it down on the table, with a loud clink, unscathed. “I think you’ll find that like all of Axel’s toys, Roxas is well-kept and not so easily shattered.” 

Xigbar’s mouth opens for a second before settling into a challenging smirk.

Axel whirls on Saïx, hand resting lightly on his forearm, as the man pulls out his chair and steps away. “C’mon, Saïx… it’s not like that…”

Saïx yanks his sleeve through Axel’s fingers and steps away, glaring at him with those unfamiliar gold eyes. “Isn’t it?”

Saïx walks out, and Xigbar and Axel can only watch him go.

 “Well, that coulda gone better,” Xigbar mutters, still bemused.

Axel takes a step forward, the way Saïx departed, but this time, gloved, callused hands clutch his shoulders.  

Xigbar’s voice settles into something quieter, “C’mon, Ax, let it go.”

Axel nods and turns to the other kitchen exit. Xigbar’s arm sweeps around Axel’s back and leads him out into the hall in the direction of their rooms.

Xigbar gestures down the dark, yawning path before them. “You heading to Roxas, then?”

Axel sighs, shrugs. “Might as well.”

A flame flickers in Axel’s palm, illuminating their path where the silvery glow of Kingdom Hearts can’t quite stretch from the window panes.

“So,” Xigbar begins conversationally. “You gonna tell the kid when he wakes up?”

Axel’s laugh is short and empty. “They’d murder me.”

“Eh, yeah,” Xigbar nods thoughtfully, “probably so.”

“He’s smart.” Axel’s arms cross, he glances down the hall for prying eyes. “He’ll figure it out on his own.”

“You better hope not.” They swing around a bend, automatically weaving left and right, avoiding one of the large divots Larxene put in the ground in a spat with Demyx. “Then they’ll murder him.”

“I won’t let it come to that.” Axel’s words sound light enough, but the genuine intent behind them makes Xigbar pause in his steps. Thoughtlessly, Axel lights the candles in their sconces on the walls around them and they watch each other, warily, their skin ghostly white in the flickering.

“You won’t be able to stop it,” Xigbar challenges and then pauses to glance around. “Ah, here’s where I ran into our little miscreant the other night on his way to see you of all people.”

“Why haven’t you turned us in?” Axel challenges in a low voice. “What do you want?”

“I’ll think of something.” Xigbar’s smile, his mocking tone, are inscrutable as ever. He sets his glove over the light in Axel’s hand and smoke passes between the pieces of leather as it goes out. “A ‘thank you’ might be a nice start.” Xigbar flicks his wrist and the torches extinguish, plunging them into solid darkness.

“…Thank you,” Axel murmurs. He can feel leather against his cheek, heat as Xigbar’s hand draws his face down, level with his, moisture and the rough scrape of stubble as unfamiliar lips press his cheek.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

Axel feels a playful tug at the silver chain around his neck, and then nothing. Without another word, the pair of them split off.

Axel finds Roxas snoring in his bed. No sheets cover him; Roxas hates to be confined. He’s still wearing his coat and boots, but somebody would notice any efforts to make him more comfortable, and people are talking enough as it is. 

Axel musses Roxas’ hair, and watches him breathe. He waits for his own breaths to slow to the same pace as Roxas’, and then, giving his hand a final squeeze, Axel slinks back out into the night, leaving no trace that he’s been around in the first place.  

[nayutai]

5 | Bulletproof

⤖ Pairing: OT7 x OC

⤖ Genre: light angst

⤖ Summary: Laila fights back against the powers that be

⤖ Warnings: implied and descriptive violence (it’s just a sparring match), foul language, mentions of death and deception, light sexual content

⤖ Word Count: 2.405

⤖ A/N: Things are starting to happen!

Laila’s hands curl into tight fists in her lap when Yoongi brings up several pictures of their new target. She has to force herself not to focus on the rage threatening to overcome her senses so she can focus on the words coming out of Yoongi’s mouth. In his research, Yoongi was able to discover that Cobra had blown the underground scene quite suddenly. It had been hard to track down people with any useful information about the events surrounding her disappearance but a former general that had refused to work under Minseok had only been too happy to talk. It was really all he could do considering that Minseok had tried unsuccessfully to get rid of the Cobra loyalist. He’d been confined to a wheelchair for the past two decades after a bullet had left him a quadriplegic.

His name is Jisoo and he had quite a lot to say. According to his intel, Cobra had simply told Minseok not to run her empire into the ground, wishing him luck before walking out the door for the last time. Jisoo had been floored. Her resignation had come seemingly out of nowhere. It was when she’d lovingly touched her belly after he’d followed her out into the hallway that he realized why she was getting out. Cobra had considered him one of her most trusted confidants and had told him long ago that were she to ever become a mother she’d leave and never come back. She didn’t want to raise a kid in this life.

Tears rise in Laila’s eyes for the second time as a single picture of her mother appears across several of Yoongi’s monitors. It’s grainy but a daughter knows. She looks like she’s on a job. Gun in hand. It’s the only known picture of Cobra in action.

Namjoon wordlessly slides a box of tissues in Laila’s direction. She doesn’t protest when Jungkook softly rubs her knee a few times before retracting his hand. Yoongi senses that she’s the type who doesn’t like to dwell on sad emotions so he keeps talking to give her something else to focus on.

“According to Jisoo, your mom and uncle had been estranged for quite some time before she left. He remembered that Minseok had tried several times to find your uncle but the 90s was a rough time for people like us and he had bigger fish to fry.” Yoongi produces several news articles detailing the violence and chaos that had plagued the city back then. A few of them feature pictures of burning warehouses and even the aftermath of what looks like a deadly shootout at the docks.

“So what you’re saying is that my uncle sold my mom out to this Minseok guy? Is that what I’m hearing” If she knew what hole her uncle ended up at the bottom of, Laila would gladly spit on his makeshift grave. Her mother had extended an olive branch to him and he’d set it on fire.  

“Essentially.” Yoongi answers casually.

“I’m glad he’s dead but I hate that I’m not the reason.” Laila’s fists clench and unclench as she tries to stay focused.

Her mind drifts back to all the Friday afternoons her mom had spent at the small café near their house. The memory almost feels foreign like she’s watching a movie about someone else’s life. She’d always asked why she chose to sit in some hippie dippy café every week but her mother had always been tight lipped about her reasons just like she was on why she insisted on having a daughter trained in three different martial arts and advanced weaponry. Laila had known that wasn’t normal but saying no to her was a surefire way to get cursed out in one of the three languages her mother had been fluent in.

Laila feels a twinge of pain at how happy her mom had been the day she died. She’d said that that day was special. That whatever she’d been waiting on at that café was finally going to come to fruition. If it hadn't been for the fact that she'd had an important exam that day, Laila's parents would've pulled her out of school early to go with them.

“Well, I think that’s enough debriefing for today. Yoongi will get you copies of everything for you to obsess over later. I need a nap.” Seokjin sighs at the satisfying crack of his bones when he stretches over the back of the chair he’s perched on.

“Unfortunately for you though, Hobi here  is our logistics man so-” He doesn’t even get to finish his sentence as Hoseok and Laila immediately start voicing their distaste at the implication of what Seokjin was about to say. The leader shuts them both down with a bellowed command. Hoseok falls silent but Laila is having none of it.  

“Oh, stuff it, you bastard. Your little groupies here might be scared of you but I’m not and I’m not working with him.” The room goes eerily silent as Seokjin and Laila stare each other down. No one present has ever seen anyone directly challenge their boss this way and live to tell about it.

“Watch your tone, Song.” Seokjin practically growls through his teeth, rising to his full height to stare down at the insolent woman across from him. If there’s one thing he can’t stand, it’s being disrespected in front of his people.

“Watch your back, Kim.” Not one to let a man try to intimidate her, Laila stands toe to toe with Seokjin. Jimin shifts subtly at the blatant threat she’s just spat at his older brother. His movement doesn’t go unnoticed in the slightest. “Move again and that’s your ass, Park.” Her eyes don’t stray from Seokjin’s face once and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a bit impressed.

“How about we all call it a day and try this again tomorrow when we’re calmer?” Namjoon, ever the level headed negotiator, steps between Laila and Seokjin. His eyes flit quickly between the two of them looking for any signs of rationality and understanding.

“Fine but I’m still not working that closely with someone who tried to have me killed. I’ll go after Minseok myself before I do that.”

“Go ahead. You’ll only get yourself killed and then I’ll finally get what I paid for.” Laila catches everyone off guard when she pivots on her heel to slam her fist into Hoseok’s face faster than anyone can make a move to stop her. The force of the hit sends him flying off of the stool he’d been perched on.

The room erupts as Jungkook pushes Laila into a corner, using his body to shield her from Hoseok who has rebounded from the punch to continue what she started. Jimin, Taehyung, And Namjoon are just barely holding him back while Laila adds fuel to the fire by flipping him off and sticking her tongue out at him teasingly. Yoongi grabs a beer from the mini fridge under his work table and watches the whole scene unfold in amazement. He hasn’t been this entertained in a while.  

“You might want to get some ice for that eye, Hoseokie. It looks like it’s swelling.” Laila coos as Hoseok is finally wrestled out of the room. Jungkook’s shoulders tense up a little more when she pats her hands against a rib cage. “Alright big guy I appreciate what you were trying to do, but you can move now.”

“Oh, yeah sorry.” Jungkook shuffles to the right to let her out of the corner.

“I don’t appreciate you fucking Hoseok’s eye up like that.” Jin doesn’t give Laila even half a chance to interrupt him which she has her mouth open to do. “Working with Hoseok is unavoidable because he’s the best strategist we have. I don’t think it’s a good idea for you two to be around each other right now though so we’ll start with battle training instead. I’m not about to send you into a war zone without knowing what you’re capable of.”

“Yes, sir.” Laila gives Jin a mock salute and a cocky smile. “Can I go now or do you want to scold me some more, headmaster?”

“Please get out of my sight.” Jin maintains his exasperated façade but hearing Laila speak to him so formally - even in such an obviously mocking manner - makes his blood rapidly flow south. “Jimin will contact you about your training.”

***

Two days of radio silence go by before Laila hears anything from Jimin. She meets him at the location of his choosing per the singular text message she’d received. It’s a rundown looking building in the warehouse district that looks like it should’ve been condemned a long time ago but Laila has long since learned that looks can be deceiving.

She’s not surprised to find a renovated interior. The air is tinged with the scent of sweat. Her eyes wander around the room taking in the various types of workout apparatus arranged around the spacious area. The room would appear to be empty but Laila can feel a set of eyes on her. She’s almost certain that it’s Jimin, but whoever it is has decided to stay hidden for a reason so she drops her bag on the floor next to the regulation-sized boxing ring that takes up a large portion of the room.

Jimin watches from the shadows of the second floor balcony as Laila hops into the ring. His breath hitches despite his best efforts to remain neutral when she sheds her tank top, revealing the crimson sports bra underneath. Even from so high up, the swell of her breasts is as clear as day. He can’t deny that he’s attracted to her on a physical level but business and pleasure never mix well. That doesn’t stop him from appreciating the view as he watches the shapely woman below him prime her muscles for the ringer he’s about to run her through.

“Jimin, come play with me.” Laila taunts from the boxing ring as she moves into the downward dog position. Jimin's boyishly good looks had always stood out to her the most when she was going through all of the surveillance pictures her uncle had of the various members plastered around his apartment. The oldest Busan member looked like a walking meal with his sleek but muscular physique and Laila always did love to play with her food.

The sound of light footsteps coming towards her shortly after her little stunt aren’t surprising in the slightest. Men are predictable creatures after all. He’s dressed simply in a white shirt, black jeans, and a pair of sneakers. Not exactly what she’d expect someone doing combat training to wear but he looks delectable.

Jimin makes a slow appraising circle around her, whistling appreciatively at the sight of her ass in her leggings. Laila rolls her eyes at his horn dog antics and that’s when he strikes. She’s admittedly caught off guard by him suddenly knocking her feet from beneath her but she recovers quickly.

“What the fuck!” She yells in a fit of rage. She wants to tie him to the rafters by the ends of his hair for that little trick.

“Minseok’s guys aren’t going to ask for permission to try to kill you so why should I? Always be ready.” Laila snorts sarcastically but readies herself nevertheless. Play time is over. Jimin may have gotten the drop on her this time but she won't let him do it again.

She twists, bringing her foot up towards Jimin’s pretty face. He neatly dodges and moves to counter while she’s off balance but instead he finds himself ducking the fist coming full speed at his face as she completes her turn. He notes the quickness with which she follows one move up with another. They dance around each other in an almost graceful fashion. Both of them doing their best to gain the upper hand. Laila smiles internally at the obvious frustration leaking through into Jimin's movements. It's clear to her that he didn't expect for her to be such a fierce opponent and she plans to make him pay dearly for that mistake. A jarring hit to her shoulder cements the idea in her brain as she does her best to shake away the pain of the blow. No more games.

Sweat drips down the back of Jimin's neck as he grunts in exertion. He's very comfortable in his own masculinity and his identity as a man but there's still a tiny part of him that doesn't relish the idea of being bested by a woman with a quarter of his muscle mass. What had started as a simple sparring match to gauge Laila's skill has become an all out war to come out on top. She leaves herself open for the kill and Jimin lunges; his tunnel vision not allowing him to see it for the trap that it is.

Laila uses his own momentum to take him down, straddling his waist and pinning his shoulders to the mat as she leans down until her mouth is level with his ear. "I've never taken a life, Jimin." She whispers. The tip of her tongue slowly drags along the shell of his ear. She takes a second to delight in the shiver that rolls through him before she continues. "Don't make me change that so soon."

Despite the threatening nature of her words, Laila can feel an unmistakable hardness beginning to press against her core. Her eyes drift over Jimin's face while his own are firmly trained on the swell of her breasts. She's never met a man that found death threats sexually enticing but she reckons that there's a first time for everything. Her hips grind against his crotch teasingly, resulting in drawn out groan that ignites sparks in Laila's blood. Time to get up. She makes to do just that but Jimin lives up to his reputation of being quick on his feet, his hands shooting up to grab at her waist as he moves as if to flip her over.

"No!" She pushes his shoulders back down and completely removes herself from him. "I don’t fuck losers." Jimin is stunned for all of three seconds before a devilish smile splits his face in two.

"I'll make you eat those words right before I eat you out."

[winterisakillerwrites]

Of Anxieties and Coffee Dates

One Shot: Last Minutes & Lost Evenings 4/16

Character/Relationship: Tom Hiddleston/ Rosemary Mathews (OFC)

Genre: Romance

Summary: It was just coffee. Only coffee. There was no reason what so ever for his nervousness but yet here he was.

Rating: PG                                                                                                  

Warnings/Authors Notes: This is the fourth part of Last Minutes & Lost Evenings, this series is currently on-going and will flit back and forth between past, present and future.

Previous

He was nervous; sweaty palm, can’t sit still, ‘Dear God what I have done?’ nervous. And it was utterly ridiculous. He was just taking her out for coffee; it wasn’t exactly a marriage proposal or even the start of something remotely serious, there was absolutely no reason for him to feel this way. But he did. And it was driving him nearly to distraction.

Luke had been the first to pick up on Tom’s less than stoic demeanor and in his usual roundabout way worked to needle the reason out of his client. With the chaos that the previous summer and its fallout had brought, Luke had taken a much keener interest in Tom’s comings and goings. It was both a blessing and a curse.

“I’m fine, seriously,” Tom reassured, doing his best to ignore the incredulous look his publicist shot him.

“And I’m the bloody Queen.” Tom could not fight the smirk that spread across his features which earned him a knowing glare from Luke. “Not a word, Hiddleston. Not one word.”

Tom threw his hands up, laughing. “I didn’t say a thing.”

“And you better not. But in all seriousness, what is going on with you? You’re not you today. You’re making me anxious just looking at you.”

Tom ran a shaky hand through his already mused hair and offered a loose smile, “I’m seeing someone. Or well not seeing them, seeing them. We’re meeting for coffee. It’s nothing. I’m just being ridiculous…” his voice trailed off, the smile on his face turning sheepish as he realized how badly he’d been rambling.

“So if my Tom-speak is up to scratch,” Luke inferred, chuckling as Tom rolled his eyes, “what I’m understanding is you’ve met someone you’re interested in and now your nerves are getting the better of you,” He laughed, patting Tom heartily on the shoulder. “And how did you meet?”

Tom sighed and rubbed his hands on his thighs. “She dropped her glove on the tube. I returned it. We talked, I got a call, she left. I bumped into her again in a bookshop. We talked again. I asked her for coffee. She’s just…It’s nothing really.” He shrugged, unsure who he was trying to convince. And knowing his continued rambling did little to help.

Luke’s eyes narrowed a fraction. Such a small change that Tom wasn’t completely sure he hadn’t imagined it. “And she knows about you?”

Tom chuckled despite himself as the memory of her blurted words and subsequent embarrassment flitted through his mind. “She does.”

Luke frowned slightly, “You’re sure meeting up with this woman, someone you don’t really know, is the best idea?”

Tom stiffened at Luke’s quiet censure. “It’s just coffee, Luke.”

“Just be careful.”

Tom did not let himself focus on what had been implied in that statement. There were times Luke grated his last nerve with his concern, warranted or not. He knew better than most the need for caution. Especially after the disaster his last relationship had turned out to be.

But this wasn’t anything. Not really. Yes, she intrigued him. She was attractive, smart, funny. But it was just coffee. As much as he was growing to like Rosemary, he honestly wasn’t sure he was ready for anything concrete. It’s just fucking coffee. Get a grip.

The rest of the morning drug on with the same painful slowness. He had always hated these planning meetings. All of the sitting around and playing nice on conference call after conference call tended to drive him round the bend. He knew how important they were to his career, but that knowledge did little to make them easier to bare. Adding to that his distraction and worry about Rosemary and their probably not a date date and it took all he had not to weep with joy when Luke told him they were calling it a day.

He was a bundle of nerves on the journey back home, knee bouncing impatiently as he counted the stops until his own. Tom would periodically glance at his watch, mentally counting down the time until he had to be at the small café a block and a half from Stories Untold. In all honesty he couldn’t remember the walk from the station to his front door. One minute he was exiting the ticketing barrier and the next he was sliding his key into the lock on his front door.

Once inside he found himself pacing aimlessly around his living room, tugging at his shirt and running his fingers through his hair. He toyed briefly with the idea of going for a run to clear his head but knew that with the way his thoughts had been jumbled he would probably take far too long and risk being late or worse having to skip a shower not be so. And while he knew his personality could work miracles, he doubted it would do much to overpower the fresh hell that was him post run.

With a sigh, he dropped himself onto the couch, pulling his phone from his pocket. He forced himself to muck about, catching up on his email and with the comings and goings of the world. Anything that would work as a distraction. Unconsciously he found himself opening his messaging program and staring at the conversation he’d had with Rosemary.

They had exchanged a handful of messages throughout the past week. Mostly logistical, trying to mesh their schedules had been a far greater task than either had envisioned. Between meetings, inventories, and sick employees nothing they had planned seemed to come to pass.

He stared at the phone, messaging program open, cursor blinking accusingly. He started several messages canceling their ‘date’ only to delete each one in turn. What kind of asshole cancels last minute?

Apparently this asshole.

He clicked out of the messaging program and tossed the phone onto the couch beside him, putting his head in his now free hands and groaned. It was by sheer dumb luck that they both had this particular afternoon free. And now here he was contemplating backing out. Like a complete and utter wanker.

The phone chimed causing him to very nearly jump out of his skin. A text. It’s just a bloody text. He sighed and laughed at his own skittishness. God, what is wrong with me? He blindly grabbed for the phone and hit the side button which brought the screen to life. His eyes caught Rosemary’s name and he felt his heart stutter. Swiping the alert open, he quickly read the message she’d sent.

‘So sorry but I have to cancel. We’ve had a bit of a cock up with the latest delivery and I need to spend the rest of the afternoon with the dispatchers letting my annoyance be known. Again so sorry. Maybe tomorrow?’

Tom couldn’t fight the frown that crossed his face. True, he had been debating on cancelling their get together, but the fact that she had been the one to back out hurt. It was ridiculously selfish and self-centered of him and he bloody well knew it, but he couldn’t help wondering if she had come up with her excuse as a way of letting him down gently. Which was ludicrous. Her excuse was a valid one. He did not know much about Rosemary, admittedly, but he knew that she lived and breathed that shop. It was clear in the way she had talked about it, the way her eyes lit up and she rambled on. It was a trait he himself knew he possessed when talking about something he was genuinely passionate about.  

He took a few moments to compose himself before responding. ‘I understand. Hope you give them what-for. I’ll have to check my schedule. We’ll figure something out.’ He hit send and immediately regretted his word choice. We’ll figure something out? He rubbed his eyes in exasperation, I sound like a fucking prat.

But there was little he could do about it now. If he tried to explain himself he feared he’d only dig himself in further.

His phone chimed again. ‘Okay.’

Well fuck.

——

What am I doing? The thought echoed in his mind as he made his way into Rosemary’s bookshop, two coffees in hand. He had nearly turned around a dozen times since leaving his house on a stupid whim after receiving her stark response.

It had seemed so glaringly obvious as he’d made his way out the door. They couldn’t meet but he could always go to her. It was comical, the complete turnabout he’d taken. From convincing himself that meeting with her was a terrible idea to knowing with absolute certainty that he needed to see her.

But as he made his way into the shop he found himself once again questioning just what the hell he was playing at.

“Well hello.”

Tom’s attention snapped to the counter. Behind it stood a tall redhead with a bright smile and a gleam in her eye that made him more than a little uneasy. “Hello, I’m looking for Rosemary…”

The redhead continued to smile at him, her smile growing by the moment. “Of course you are.” She laughed, shaking her head. “She’s in the back.” She pointed towards the back of the store. “Go on.”

He nodded in thanks and made his way towards the doorway that would lead, he assumed, to the storeroom and office. He could her the murmur of Rosemary’s voice as he drew closer to the office. Annoyance and exasperation were clear in her tone.

“Well that’s not good enough.” She groaned. “No, I really don’t care, nor frankly do I believe, that the order got lost in the post….No, that is not good enough. I need those packages here by the end of the week at the absolute latest…That’s not my problem.” She paused, “Fine. If they aren’t you will most certainly be hearing from me.” He heard the phone slam against its receiver followed by a deep sigh.

He stepped boldly into the office, coffees at the ready. “I come in peace.”

Rosemary started, hand clapping against her chest. “Tom?!”

Tom smiled sheepishly. Scaring her hadn’t been his intent. “I figured since you couldn’t come for coffee I could bring the coffee to you.” He placed her cup on the corner of the desk. He then fished several sachets of sugar and small containers of creamer from his pockets and set them beside the cup with a shrug. “I didn’t know how you take it so…”

Rosemary’s smile was blinding. “Thank you.” She grabbed the to go cup and removed its lid. She then grabbed two sachets of sugar and a container of cream, emptying them into her cup with practiced ease. He stored that knowledge away. For next time.

She gestured Tom to take the open chair on the opposite side of the desk. He pulled the chair closer to Rosemary’s and settled himself. “I take it things aren’t running as smoothly as you’d like.” He gestures briefly at the phone and the stack of papers on the desk before her.

“Not really.” She took a sip of her coffee. “I’ve honestly had better days.”

Tom nodded, “That I can certainly understand. I hope all will be as it should soon.”

He watched as she fiddled with the empty creamer container. The fact that she appeared just as nervous as he had been was heartening. She quickly seemed to catch herself, tossing the container in the nearby wastebasket and settling her hands firmly in her lap. “Thank you. For the coffee, I mean. I felt awful canceling on you like that. Especially at the last minute.”

He smiled, “Trust me, I understand last minute emergencies. I’ve had to cancel many a date when shooting or rehearsal ran longer than expected.”

She frowned slightly and he could have kicked himself. Way to sound like a prat, Tom, nicely done.

“I mean…”

She waved off his explanation. “No, I know what you mean. But still, thank you all the same.”

“I’m glad. I really did want to see you again.” He didn’t know where the words were coming from but he couldn’t deny the truth in them. Despite everything, he truly had wanted to see her again. To get the chance to know her better. To talk with her.

She blushed, ducking her head slightly behind the coffee cup in her hand.  “I really wanted to see you again too,” she admitted.

They sat and talked until their coffees had long since gone cold. They talked about their mutual love of books. About living in the city. Places they’d been and places they wanted to go. About plays and movies. About just about everything that seemed to pass through their minds.

It was effortless between them in a way Tom hadn’t experienced in too long a time. He felt as though he could have sat with her in that tiny office for the rest of time and been completely content.

As he walked back towards the underground and home, Tom found himself feeling truly excited once more. He had no idea where this would lead but he knew with absolute certainty that Rosemary was someone he didn’t want to be without.

Next

[winterisakiller]

Of Anxieties and Coffee Dates

One Shot: Last Minutes and Lost Evenings 4/16

Character/Relationship: Tom Hiddleston/ Rosemary Mathews (OFC)

Genre: Romance

Summary: It was just coffee. Only coffee. There was no reason what so ever for his nervousness but yet here he was.

Rating: PG                                                                                                  

Warnings/Authors Notes: This is the fourth part of Last Minutes and Lost Evenings, this series is currently on-going and will flit back and forth between past, present and future.

Previous

He was nervous; sweaty palm, can’t sit still, ‘Dear God what I have done?’ nervous. And it was utterly ridiculous. He was just taking her out for coffee; it wasn’t exactly a marriage proposal or even the start of something remotely serious, there was absolutely no reason for him to feel this way. But he did. And it was driving him nearly to distraction.

 Luke had been the first to pick up on Tom’s less than stoic demeanor and in his usual roundabout way worked to needle the reason out of his client. With the chaos that the previous summer and its fallout had brought, Luke had taken a much keener interest in Tom’s comings and goings. It was both a blessing and a curse.

 “I’m fine, seriously,” Tom reassured, doing his best to ignore the incredulous look his publicist shot him.

 “And I’m the bloody Queen.” Tom could not fight the smirk that spread across his features which earned him a knowing glare from Luke. “Not a word, Hiddleston. Not one word.”

 Tom threw his hands up, laughing. “I didn’t say a thing.”

 “And you better not. But in all seriousness, what is going on with you? You’re not you today. You’re making me anxious just looking at you.”

 Tom ran a shaky hand through his already mused hair and offered a loose smile, “I’m seeing someone. Or well not seeing them, seeing them. We’re meeting for coffee. It’s nothing. I’m just being ridiculous…” his voice trailed off, the smile on his face turning sheepish as he realized how badly he’d been rambling.

 “So if my Tom-speak is up to scratch,” Luke inferred, chuckling as Tom rolled his eyes, “what I’m understanding is you’ve met someone you’re interested in and now your nerves are getting the better of you,” He laughed, patting Tom heartily on the shoulder. “And how did you meet?”

 Tom sighed and rubbed his hands on his thighs. “She dropped her glove on the tube. I returned it. We talked, I got a call, she left. I bumped into her again in a bookshop. We talked again. I asked her for coffee. She’s just…It’s nothing really.” He shrugged, unsure who he was trying to convince. And knowing his continued rambling did little to help.

 Luke’s eyes narrowed a fraction. Such a small change that Tom wasn’t completely sure he hadn’t imagined it. “And she knows about you?”

 Tom chuckled despite himself as the memory of her blurted words and subsequent embarrassment flitted through his mind. “She does.”

 Luke frowned slightly, “You’re sure meeting up with this woman, someone you don’t really know, is the best idea?”

 Tom stiffened at Luke’s quiet censure. “It’s just coffee, Luke.”

 “Just be careful.”

 Tom did not let himself focus on what had been implied in that statement. There were times Luke grated his last nerve with his concern, warranted or not. He knew better than most the need for caution. Especially after the disaster his last relationship had turned out to be.

 But this wasn’t anything. Not really. Yes, she intrigued him. She was attractive, smart, funny. But it was just coffee. As much as he was growing to like Rosemary, he honestly wasn’t sure he was ready for anything concrete. It’s just fucking coffee. Get a grip.

 The rest of the morning drug on with the same painful slowness. He had always hated these planning meetings. All of the sitting around and playing nice on conference call after conference call tended to drive him round the bend. He knew how important they were to his career, but that knowledge did little to make them easier to bare. Adding to that his distraction and worry about Rosemary and their probably not a date date and it took all he had not to weep with joy when Luke told him they were calling it a day.

 He was a bundle of nerves on the journey back home, knee bouncing impatiently as he counted the stops until his own. Tom would periodically glance at his watch, mentally counting down the time until he had to be at the small café a block and a half from Stories Untold. In all honesty he couldn’t remember the walk from the station to his front door. One minute he was exiting the ticketing barrier and the next he was sliding his key into the lock on his front door.

 Once inside he found himself pacing aimlessly around his living room, tugging at his shirt and running his fingers through his hair. He toyed briefly with the idea of going for a run to clear his head but knew that with the way his thoughts had been jumbled he would probably take far too long and risk being late or worse having to skip a shower not be so. And while he knew his personality could work miracles, he doubted it would do much to overpower the fresh hell that was him post run.

 With a sigh, he dropped himself onto the couch, pulling his phone from his pocket. He forced himself to muck about, catching up on his email and with the comings and goings of the world. Anything that would work as a distraction. Unconsciously he found himself opening his messaging program and staring at the conversation he’d had with Rosemary.

 They had exchanged a handful of messages throughout the past week. Mostly logistical, trying to mesh their schedules had been a far greater task than either had envisioned. Between meetings, inventories, and sick employees nothing they had planned seemed to come to pass.

 He stared at the phone, messaging program open, cursor blinking accusingly. He started several messages canceling their ‘date’ only to delete each one in turn. What kind of asshole cancels last minute?

 Apparently this asshole.

 He clicked out of the messaging program and tossed the phone onto the couch beside him, putting his head in his now free hands and groaned. It was by sheer dumb luck that they both had this particular afternoon free. And now here he was contemplating backing out. Like a complete and utter wanker.

 The phone chimed causing him to very nearly jump out of his skin. A text. It’s just a bloody text. He sighed and laughed at his own skittishness. God, what is wrong with me? He blindly grabbed for the phone and hit the side button which brought the screen to life. His eyes caught Rosemary’s name and he felt his heart stutter. Swiping the alert open, he quickly read the message she’d sent.

 ‘So sorry but I have to cancel. We’ve had a bit of a cock up with the latest delivery and I need to spend the rest of the afternoon with the dispatchers letting my annoyance be known. Again so sorry. Maybe tomorrow?’

 Tom couldn’t fight the frown that crossed his face. True, he had been debating on cancelling their get together, but the fact that she had been the one to back out hurt. It was ridiculously selfish and self-centered of him and he bloody well knew it, but he couldn’t help wondering if she had come up with her excuse as a way of letting him down gently. Which was ludicrous. Her excuse was a valid one. He did not know much about Rosemary, admittedly, but he knew that she lived and breathed that shop. It was clear in the way she had talked about it, the way her eyes lit up and she rambled on. It was a trait he himself knew he possessed when talking about something he was genuinely passionate about.  

 He took a few moments to compose himself before responding. ‘I understand. Hope you give them what-for. I’ll have to check my schedule. We’ll figure something out.’ He hit send and immediately regretted his word choice. We’ll figure something out? He rubbed his eyes in exasperation, I sound like a fucking prat.

 But there was little he could do about it now. If he tried to explain himself he feared he’d only dig himself in further.

 His phone chimed again. ‘Okay.’

 Well fuck.

 ——

 What am I doing? The thought echoed in his mind as he made his way into Rosemary’s bookshop, two coffees in hand. He had nearly turned around a dozen times since leaving his house on a stupid whim after receiving her stark response.

 It had seemed so glaringly obvious as he’d made his way out the door. They couldn’t meet but he could always go to her. It was comical, the complete turnabout he’d taken. From convincing himself that meeting with her was a terrible idea to knowing with absolute certainty that he needed to see her.

 But as he made his way into the shop he found himself once again questioning just what the hell he was playing at.

 “Well hello.”

 Tom’s attention snapped to the counter. Behind it stood a tall redhead with a bright smile and a gleam in her eye that made him more than a little uneasy. “Hello, I’m looking for Rosemary…”

 The redhead continued to smile at him, her smile growing by the moment. “Of course you are.” She laughed, shaking her head. “She’s in the back.” She pointed towards the back of the store. “Go on.”

 He nodded in thanks and made his way towards the doorway that would lead, he assumed, to the storeroom and office. He could her the murmur of Rosemary’s voice as he drew closer to the office. Annoyance and exasperation were clear in her tone.

 “Well that’s not good enough.” She groaned. “No, I really don’t care, nor frankly do I believe, that the order got lost in the post….No, that is not good enough. I need those packages here by the end of the week at the absolute latest…That’s not my problem.” She paused, “Fine. If they aren’t you will most certainly be hearing from me.” He heard the phone slam against its receiver followed by a deep sigh.

 He stepped boldly into the office, coffees at the ready. “I come in peace.”

 Rosemary started, hand clapping against her chest. “Tom?!”

 Tom smiled sheepishly. Scaring her hadn’t been his intent. “I figured since you couldn’t come for coffee I could bring the coffee to you.” He placed her cup on the corner of the desk. He then fished several sachets of sugar and small containers of creamer from his pockets and set them beside the cup with a shrug. “I didn’t know how you take it so…”

 Rosemary’s smile was blinding. “Thank you.” She grabbed the to go cup and removed its lid. She then grabbed two sachets of sugar and a container of cream, emptying them into her cup with practiced ease. He stored that knowledge away. For next time.

 She gestured Tom to take the open chair on the opposite side of the desk. He pulled the chair closer to Rosemary’s and settled himself. “I take it things aren’t running as smoothly as you’d like.” He gestures briefly at the phone and the stack of papers on the desk before her.

 “Not really.” She took a sip of her coffee. “I’ve honestly had better days.”

 Tom nodded, “That I can certainly understand. I hope all will be as it should soon.”

 He watched as she fiddled with the empty creamer container. The fact that she appeared just as nervous as he had been was heartening. She quickly seemed to catch herself, tossing the container in the nearby wastebasket and settling her hands firmly in her lap. “Thank you. For the coffee, I mean. I felt awful canceling on you like that. Especially at the last minute.”

 He smiled, “Trust me, I understand last minute emergencies. I’ve had to cancel many a date when shooting or rehearsal ran longer than expected.”

 She frowned slightly and he could have kicked himself. Way to sound like a prat, Tom, nicely done.

“I mean…”

 She waved off his explanation. “No, I know what you mean. But still, thank you all the same.”

 “I’m glad. I really did want to see you again.” He didn’t know where the words were coming from but he couldn’t deny the truth in them. Despite everything, he truly had wanted to see her again. To get the chance to know her better. To talk with her.

 She blushed, ducking her head slightly behind the coffee cup in her hand.  “I really wanted to see you again too,” she admitted.

 They sat and talked until their coffees had long since gone cold. They talked about their mutual love of books. About living in the city. Places they’d been and places they wanted to go. About plays and movies. About just about everything that seemed to pass through their minds.

 It was effortless between them in a way Tom hadn’t experienced in too long a time. He felt as though he could have sat with her in that tiny office for the rest of time and been completely content.

 As he walked back towards the underground and home, Tom found himself feeling truly excited once more. He had no idea where this would lead but he knew with absolute certainty that Rosemary was someone he didn’t want to be without.

Next