#with the actual connecting tails coming last; the coat still needs some final details too

[autistic-shaiapouf]

Hunched over my sewing machine like a caveman and I think I need to take a break

[bloodfromthethorn]

The past is never dead. It’s not even past

Bozer and Riley knew, logically, that Mac and Jack would share some bad memories. They weren't expecting to stumble across one while they were busy planning some R&R over the Pacific Ocean.

Also on AO3 ->

..

Bozer was still getting used to the idea of going on actual, honest-to-god missions for a US government covert agency, but even he had to admit, this one sounded pretty simple. Mac and Jack apparently had some sort of aversion to the word - the instant Riley had said it earlier, the pair of them had looked a heartbeat away from running for the hills - but all of them had had to agree that being tasked to fly to the other side of the world and sit around surveilling a suspected dead drop was about as plain sailing as it was ever going to get. They didn’t even have to confront anyone who approached said dead drop, just record and report it. 

The result was, unsurprisingly, Riley and Bozer planning what they were going to do with the ample free time they were sure to have. Jack had initially made some attempt at reining them in, reminding them that as easy as it may seem, they were going there to do some actual work, but he’d given up some time ago and now seemed content to listen to them plotting in peace. Amused, Mac had just watched the whole conversation play out without a word. 

It wasn’t until Bozer and Riley had spent a solid ten minutes arguing about the possible pros and cons of a natural mud spa that the blonde figured it was time to intervene. “You two know that at most Matty’s going to give us a few hours of R&R before she calls us home. All of this planning is going to go to waste.”

“If that,” Jack put in with only a touch of sullenness. “Remember that time in Trinidad? We didn’t even get a full ten minutes before we had to be back on the plane.”

Mac wrinkled his nose at the memory. His recollection was foggy given that they had more or less crawled back to the landing strip and then passed out the instant they were off the ground, but then, that was really the point Jack was making. “Right? Just saying you shouldn’t get your hopes too high.”

Bozer scowled at them both. “You two have absolutely no faith. I have no idea why Matty thinks all four of us should be on this mission but I for one fully intend to make the most of it. If you want to sit back and be negative, that’s on you.” He let that indictment hang in the air for a minute, then bumped his shoulder against Mac’s. “'Sides, you’re supposed to be helping! You must know all the best sights, right?”

Unexpectedly, that earned him a confused frown. “Should I? Why? I’ve never even been to Fiji.”

Across from them, sprawled out carelessly against his seat, Jack suddenly went rigid. The change was sharp enough that all three of them picked up on it even though the man hadn’t actually moved, staying exactly where he was like a bug under a microscope. Bozer cast a quick glance at Riley but she looked every bit as lost as he did.

Fortunately, Mac was apparently more clued in. “When was I in Fiji, Jack?” He asked quietly, his voice very gentle. 

For a very long moment there was no response. Bozer considered answering the question - he’d asked Mac about tourist attractions in the first place because he remembered Mac had holidayed in the South Pacific with Nikki three summers ago - but he’d gotten the sense that maybe this wasn’t a conversation he should involve himself with. Jack still hadn’t so much as twitched and he could feel Mac tensing up beside him. 

Eventually, Jack answered with a heavy sigh. “July 2015.”

A short pause. “Ah,” Mac said quietly, his eyes darting to an unremarkable spot on the floor for a second before jumping back to Jack. 

The pair of them fell silent, Jack glaring sharply at the ceiling of the plane cabin while Mac watched him steadily. Evidently something significant had just happened, and Bozer had a sneaking suspicion he was at fault for whatever it was, but he didn’t think he could just leave it there. Apparently, neither could Riley. “What happened in July 2015?”

Predictably there was no response, so Bozer offered her the little that he knew. “Mac went on a ��work trip’,” he said with quotation marks. “I thought he was in Cleveland. Then just when he was due to come home, Nikki called me. Said they were taking a last minute vacation to Fiji and I shouldn’t expect them back for another two weeks. Ended up being gone most of a month.”

At the time, it hadn’t been that weird. Logically he understood that it might sound strange to most people, but Mac had always been a somewhat inconsistent presence in Bozer’s life, even when they were kids. It was just the way he worked: Mac would go where his brain took him and he wouldn’t stop until he’d achieved whatever it was he was hoping to do. In hindsight, that long standing pattern of behaviour must have been a godsend when Mac had joined DXS and Bozer had become part of his cover.

But that was then. Now, he knew the truth of those strangely frequent, unpredictable work trips - except in all the ways that he didn’t. “I take it you weren’t in Fiji,” he asked slowly. 

Mac didn’t look away from where Jack was still frozen. “No.”

“Where were you?”

He hummed. “Not entirely sure, to be honest. I think I wound up somewhere in the Ural mountains.”

Bozer tried to work out the most delicate way of asking further and found none. The deadened tone of Mac’s voice would have made it very clear it wasn’t a happy memory even if the fact that he apparently hadn’t known where he was hadn’t given it away, and his eyes hadn’t drifted from where Jack was looking more and more strained. 

As Bozer floundered, Riley pressed on. “A mission gone bad?”

“In the worst way,” Mac agreed, then seemed to come awake from some reverie. He blinked, and finally looked away from his partner to take the two of them in. Whatever it was he saw on their faces, he visibly made an effort to make himself smile and relax, shaking off the grim set of his shoulders like an unwanted coat. “We were in Minsk, tasked with surveillance on a human trafficker. Turned out that he was more well-connected than we thought, and some of his friends ended up grabbing me out of our hotel room.” His voice faltered ever so slightly and he bit off whatever he was about to say next. 

Bozer did some quick maths and came up feeling ill. “You were gone for a month.”

“I wasn’t with them the whole time,” Mac hurried to reassure, immediately seeing what Boze was getting at. “Jack caught up with me after about ten days.”

“It was too fucking long,” Jack murmured, the first thing he’d said in over a minute. He still hadn’t moved, but he was wearing one of the darkest expressions Bozer had ever seen on his face. “Should have got there sooner. Should never have let them take you in the first place.”

“It wasn’t your fault Jack,” Mac said with the air of someone who had already said it a thousand times, but was willing to repeat it for as long as necessary. “You were on the other side of the city when they found us. We didn’t even know that they knew we were there.” He glanced back at Bozer to explain, “Someone at the CIA leaked information. The target wasn’t supposed to have any idea there were agents in the city, but somehow his guys knew exactly what hotel room to hit. We didn’t get any warning.”

“I knew something was bogus,” Jack said, more to himself than anything. “I said it felt off, and then I fucked off and left you in that hotel on your own.”

“Instinct isn’t everything. We had no reason to suspect the hotel wasn’t safe.”

Jack shook his head sharply and said nothing more. Mac sighed, but didn’t press. 

Thoroughly thrown for a loop and feeling more than a little bit guilty for inadvertently touching on what was so obviously a sore point, Bozer cast a wild-eyed look at Riley. She looked little better than he felt, pale in the harsh white of the plane’s overhead lighting. They’d both known that, in theory, Mac and Jack both had years of service behind them and that those years were likely to be host to any number of bad memories, but to have the knowledge of that so suddenly and specifically confirmed was a lot to take in.

“If you were- there for ten days,” Boze started slowly, half-knowing the answer and needing to hear it anyway, “Why were you gone for so long?”

Mac glanced back down at the floor, looking distinctly uncomfortable before he settled himself. “I was in medical for a bit. Once I could shake the oxygen mask, I moved into Jack’s apartment for a few weeks. I would have been good to come home but there was- bruising.” He fumbled over the last word, waving a distracted hand at his face as though that explained anything. 

For the first time since they’d broached the topic, Jack moved. He jerked to his feet with a strange lurching step, as though he hadn’t expected to do it himself, then marched towards the back of the plane, shaking his head as he went. Bozer caught the tail end of some dark mutters, but he couldn’t make anything out past the stormcloud of Jack’s expression. Startled, Riley shifted forwards to go after him, but Mac just waved her down, watching Jack’s retreating back with a careful eye before turning back to the two of them. 

“He’s okay,” he said, as though that was in any way believable. “It’s not a great memory, for either of us. Despite what it sounds like, he got the worse end of the deal.”

Riley’s eyebrows rose. “You were in captivity for ten days and he had the hard time?”

“I knew he would come after me. He didn’t know what he would find when he got there,” Mac said with a shrug. He’d said it flippantly, like it was some great truth of the universe that was just the Way Things Were. Maybe to him, it was. “Sure, physically I was a mess, but that stuff heals. If I had the choice again, I wouldn’t have switched places with him for anything.”

Bozer was shaking his head slowly, trying to remember details he had brushed off as unimportant years ago. “I remember you coming home. There were bandages on your arm.” A pause, then, accusingly, “You said you got got by a jellyfish.”

Looking down, Mac tugged self-consciously at the cuff of his rolled-up left sleeve, only managing to draw attention to what he was trying to keep hidden. They were faint - so faint as to be almost invisible against his already pale skin - but for the first time Bozer was able to make out a fine tracery of scars marring the skin of his forearm like a spider’s web, twisting all the way from his wrist to beneath the fabric of his shirt. “Jesus, Mac,” Riley breathed. 

“Electrical burns,” he offered as the explanation they wouldn’t have asked for. Catching their thunderstruck looks, he shifted his expression to what he probably imagined was reassuring. “It looks worse than it was, mostly; being shocked hurts like hell but there’s no real permanent damage to worry about. Honestly, most of it was superficial stuff, scarcely a mark left on me. The only reason I was in medical for as long as I was was because they had to drain my lungs and get me on antibiotics in case of infection. Could have been home within a day otherwise.”

Bozer wasn’t entirely sure what it was about Mac that made him think that explanation would do anything at all to allay their concerns, but he didn’t care for it at all. Worse than any of that though was the dawning realisation in the back of his mind that had been growing steadily ever since Mac mentioned moving into Jack’s place. “Except you couldn’t have come home,” he said quietly, needing to hear it for himself. “Because I was there.”

Mac shuffled in his seat, but held his gaze. “A couple of bruises could probably have been explained away, but I was… kind of a mess. Even if you could have believed I got hit by a car or something, all it would have taken was a few screaming nightmares to give me away. No way it wouldn’t have blown my cover.”

He sounded apologetic even as he said it, bracing himself as though he was expecting Bozer to lash out at him for something that had already been long forgiven. Sure, lying to him for years had been a shitty thing to do, but Boze understood why he had done it now, and he knew that Mac had only ever been trying to keep him safe. It might have been the wrong choice, but it was done for all the right reasons. 

“Mac,” he started, uncertain and wounded and so, so guilty, “Mac, you should have been at home. After whatever it was you went though, you should have been able to recover in your own house.”

Mac blinked at him in clear surprise. Did he really not understand? Boze tried again. “I’m guessing that Jack wasn’t the only one dealing with some shit when you got back to LA and I’m not even going to pretend I can imagine what that was like. You should have been able to come home, come back to the place where you felt safe and cared for and-” He sucked in a hard breath. “And you couldn’t, because of me. I chased you out of your own house when you’d been tortured.”

The blonde was already shaking his head, looking stricken. “That wasn’t on you. Boze, that was never on you.” He finally stopped worrying at his sleeve to grip Bozer’s shoulder, tight and grounding. “I was the one who kept the truth from you. I lied to you, for years, and that’s all on me. I know that if you’d known what had happened you would have been there for me and you only weren’t because I didn’t let you.”

He wasn’t wrong and Bozer knew it, but he wasn’t exactly right either. “I get that. But you do know that you shouldn’t have had to make that choice, right? You should have been able to come home Mac.”

Riley was glancing between the two of them looking utterly lost, and Mac was starting to look not much better, so Boze took a slow breath and tried his best to let it go. He had spent years of his life trying to convince Mac that he should rank his own well-being at least somewhere on his list of priorities, and this was really just another piece of that endless puzzle. There would be time to fight that battle later. “I’m just glad you’re okay man. No lasting damage?”

Thankful for the lifeline being offered, Mac dropped his hand away from Bozer’s shoulder and shrugged lightly. “A few scars, but nothing else. Like I said, I had a surprisingly easy time of it in comparison to Jack.” His eyes darted over to where his partner had hunkered down as far from them as he could get. “And speaking of, give me a minute.”

He was on his feet and gone before either of them could even think about trying to stop him, not that they would have done. Bozer had the sense that this was a conversation they had had before, and he knew that Mac would have it handled. If there was anyone who could convince Jack that he hadn’t somehow apocalyptically failed the man he had dedicated his own life to protecting, it would be the man himself. 

“How many stories do you think they have?” Riley asked quietly, soft enough that the others wouldn’t hear her. “All the years they’ve been doing this… How much is there that we don’t know about?”

Bozer thought about the scars on Mac’s arm that he’d never really seen before, about the number of unannounced work trips he had gone on after he came back from Afghanistan. Thought about the number of times he had heard him moving around the house late at night after a nightmare, or worse, the times he’d woken up crying out in panic. He’d known for years that Jack had a protective streak a mile wide and he’d centered it firmly on Mac; before he’d known about the Phoenix, Bozer had always wondered if the man was going overboard. Now, he knew with certainty that he wasn’t. 

When he met her gaze, there were tears in Riley’s eyes. “Too much.”

[darkeninganon]

(I told you all I was going to write more Dream torment. Again the design of Dream is based off @winifreyd and their White Enderman Dream design! Warnings for: general angst, violence, blood, gore, torture, bodily fluids, descriptions of injuries, death mentioned, cursing, and dismemberment (a tail). You have been warned.)

Dream jolted awake as the redstone clicked. To anyone from the outside, it would be impossible to hear, but he had been here so long... The popping of the lava was more like static or wind than an actual noise. He was pressed against the back of his cell, muscles sore and stiff; knees swollen and in more pain than they were yesterday, at least Dream thought they were much worse. They were still broken, rendering him immobile. The left side of his face burned even worse too, and each slight movement brought with it the weirdly loud crackling of dried blood. It pulled at his fur and made him feel gross. Then he looked to his hand.

Bones exposed, fingers cut of and a massive amount of blood clotting the wound as best as it could, but it wasn't enough to keep it from bleeding, small rivulets of much brighter blood popping up and he flexed his wrist. He was concerned, but surely Quackity would get bored and stop sooner rather than later. Hopefully before Dream got an infection and succumbed to it.

Dream glared at Quackity as he entered the cell, removing a pair of shears from his picket and swinging them casually. "So, Dream, are you we going to behave today and share what we know with the class?"

Dream growled, showing his undamaged hand just enough to flip off Quackity. The man just chuckled, shaking his head.

"Come on Dream, you'll have to give in some time." He smiled, tapping the shears against his hand as he approached the prisoner. "Don't make me do this, I was nice last time."

"Nice....?" Dream's voice had grown coarse, a growl bubbling up from his chest. "Nice would have been not breaking my knees." Dream wanted to stand, his good hand digging into the wall as he was forced to stay on the ground. "Nice would have been letting me keep my fingers.... You could never be nice, Quackity."

Dream screeched in agony as Quackity's foot connected with his broken knee, causing the prisoner to practically throw himself back and try to crawl away. Quackity planted his foot on Dream's knee again, putting as much pressure on it as he could. "Really Dream? I'm not nice? You aren't nice. You tortured Tommy. You fucking killed him and then brought him back. I know full well Tommy only wants you alive so you can bring back Wilbur." Quackity sighed, ignoring Dream's screaming and attempts to claw his way out from under Quackity. Letting out a disgruntled groan, Quackity sat down on Dream's back, tangling his fist in the literal mane of hair and fur Dream had, retching his head back as far as it would go, waving the shears in front of Dream's face. "Come on Dream~. I'm getting impatient here, and considering that you're never getting out of here, your nails are looking just a little too sharp."

Dream hissed, curling his good hand into a fist. He had to save one hand, after all, he would very much have to repay Quackity after he got out.

Quackity just hummed, taking the shears out of Dream's face as he ran his hand through the mane of white fur. No one but George and maybe Sapnap had ever gotten close enough to actually touch Dream without it breaking into a fight. Now that Quackity was able to though, he realized how soft it was. It felt so nice, even after at least a month of not having been washed or brushed or taken care of... Quackity lost himself a little, just sitting there feeling the soft fur.

Dream lay there, eyes wide as Quackity kept petting him. As nice as it could have been, Dream knew there wasn't any way this could end other than Dream suffering. There was a definitive reason he only let a couple of trusted people touch his fur.

"Damn... This would be a nice coat." Quackity mused, twirling a clump between his fingers before looking back towards Dream's legs. Quackity stopped his petting, reaching out and playing with his tail, which had been thrashing about just moments before. It had the same, soft fur all over it, just much shorter, until it got to the tip where it exploded into a huge, fluffy cloud of hair-like fur. "Hmm... You aren't ever going to walk again... Why do you have this?" Dream tried to look at the man sitting on his back, forgetting that he was missing one eye; "What?! Quackity, don't you dare-" Quackity planted his feet on both of Dream's thighs, pulling his tail taut as he aligned the scissors with the base of Dream's tail. "Quackity, no! Stop!" Dream screamed, his voice ringing off the obsidian walls as he once again tried to crawl out from under the other man. "You can't do this to me! I'll kill you! You WILL regret this you washed-up has-been!" Quackity ignored Dream's rambling. It didn't sound like English or any human language at this point, but that was fine. Maybe this and taking those claws would make Dream want to talk about the book. Quackity couldn't help the smile that spread across his face as he finally cut through the tough muscles and skin that protected the bones. Now that he was to them though, he knew the shears wouldn't be strong enough to cut through them, he'd have to cut between them. Quackity let out a disappointed hum, pulling harder on Dream's tail in an effort to see where the vertebrae separated and he could get at the softer cartilage. The blood only made things much more complicated, and Quackity growled as he was forced to continually wipe away the red liquid.

Tears were once again burning Dream's cheeks, the nails on his good hand shattering and breaking uselessly against the obsidian; while the irritated scars on his other hand opened once again, leaving smears of blood across the floor. It was only made worse by Quackity repeatedly rubbing his fingers against the bones, swiping away the blood and literally adding salt to the wound.

Quackity smiled once more as he finally found what he was looking for, driving the tip of the shears in between the bones. Dream's scream took a turn, sounding more monster than human; and outside the cell, Sam curled in on himself, crying behind his mask. Quackity ignored the continued crying of a monster in pain, ignored the stain that was once again growing down the legs of the prison garb; Quackity's sole focus was on separating this tail from its owner. He continued to cut and tear at the spot, prying the bones apart to get and the bundle of nerves at the very center, once that was cut, taking the tail would be so much easier. He finally caught sight of the little bundle, oblivious to the silence that now weighed heavy in the cell; until he nicked the nerves with the shears.

To say Dream screamed would be an understatement. His whole body convulsed in such a way that he nearly threw Quackity off, a slew of strange, non-words flying from his mouth as he continued to convulse, attempting to spin around in pseudo-death-roll. Quackity hung on, still hacking at the spot with the shears until he heard more cracking than cutting, and the tail finally tore free, blood spattering all over as the new wound became fully exposed.

Dream finally stopped rolling around, gasping as he tried to stand. Where? Run. get out. need to leave need to leave need to leave cannot leave?? Saliva filled Dream's mouth, spilling out as he gasped and tried to speak. He watched in horror as he suddenly vomited, spouting nonsense to calm himself down. A hand tangled in his mane, yanking him away from the puddle of vomit and throwing him on his back, eliciting more cries from the prisoner.

Quackity slammed his foot down on Dream's chest, grabbing his good hand as he brought the shears back up. Dream was forced to watch as Quackity pried his nails from their bedding, taking the time to pry them off each finger with the utmost care so as to not cut them or damage Dream's fingers in any other way.

Sam began rocking back and forth, breathing heavily. He needed to calm down before he let Quackity out, he couldn't let Dream see that his yelling was getting to the warden. His mask hung in his hands, torn from his face in an effort to make sure the lenses did not become clouded by tears. "Hey Sam! We're done here!" Sam jumped, realizing it was silent now. He fainted again, thanks to you. He ignored that part of his mind, pulling his mask on and lowering the lava. Sure enough, Dream was on the floor, convulsing; Quackity held a long white thing in his hands, and there were a number of more puddles all over the cell now. Sam suppressed a shiver, letting Quackity out. That's Dream's tail he's holding. Sam couldn't remove his eyes from it. Aside from the blood at the cut point, the tails was still a pristine white fur. Sam knew Dream cared about his fur, to a point that it could be considered narcissistic. Only Sapnap and George had ever felt if though, at least in detail, and now, seeing his tail removed from his body, a war broke out in Sam's brain. You let this happen, he needs that. He's never leaving, and it looks so nice. You are just as bad as Quackity, you should be in a cell right now. Even after all that you did, his fur still looks beautiful; touch it, touch it now! You are going to get Dream killed, and Tommy will hate you more. You never went this far, it's not your fault Quackity is doing this. Sam let Quackity out without a word, leaving the prison after him. Sam could only wonder what Quackity planned to do with the souvenirs he took.

[3pirouette]

Fic: The Honey Trap (8/?)

Title: The Honey Trap

By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette

Disclaimer: They're not mine.

Distribution: AO3 Anyone else please ask first :) 

Story Summary: Peggy’d lost count. She wasn’t sure if she was a double or triple agent at this point, and in the end, it didn’t matter. What mattered was getting out of this alive.

A/N: Still chugging away at this. It looks like I won't be able to stick to a rigid posting schedule due to RL commitments, so updates will come when I can. I promise, there is an end, and it's not abandoned. Please hang in there with me.

Chapter 8: Love Letters

February, 1945

It was ludicrously simple to feed Wallace information. As far as he was concerned, Peggy and Steve were having face to face meetings and she was bringing him back tiny tidbits of verbal information. At least, that had been what she told him.

What she hadn’t told Wallace about were the letters.

They’d settled on letters, because Steve could get her those even when he wasn’t in London, and it was brilliant. He slipped them in her purse and down her cleavage when they were together and in full view of their Hydra tails, and sent them by courier to “avoid” the censoring of the government when he was away.

Peggy swore up and down Steve was giving her very little, and fed the man only the tiniest bits of information that he pretended was very helpful. Wallace, knowing very well from her Hydra tail that she was getting letters, was only too happy to go through her desk and start reading them. She kept the stack in her desk drawer, and always gave Wallace time to read them while she wasn’t in the room- finding excuses to pop to the loo or hide in her bedroom for a moment. He was good, but he wasn’t good enough to notice she’d set a piece of chalk on the bottom edge of the back of the drawer where she kept her letters, so she knew each time he opened it and read them.

He thought he was getting highly detailed information about the Allied troops and feeding it to Hydra.

Instead, he was being fed exactly what Phillips wanted him to know, and after a couple of planned “successes” for Hydra, it led to three ambushes of Hydra teams and the capturing of two very high-profile Hydra operatives.

Steve’s letters made him sound like a lovelorn simpleton, detailing troop movements so she’d supposedly know where he was and what he was doing, fully of sappy language and grand declarations of love.

For Peggy, the letters contained highly coded messages. First, she had to decode them with the cipher in her compact, and then decode that with the numerical Commando cipher she already knew. Peggy knew the real operations, the real troop movements, Steve’s real assignments, and whatever information they needed her to feed Wallace.

It was working like a charm.

For her part, Peggy had been able to supply Steve a steady stream of intel from Wallace using Howard’s pen camera and the cigarette case telegraph. It wasn’t that he was sloppy, but now that she was lying to him, he seemed to trust her more.

It was something she’d seen over and over- when the target thought they were getting just want they wanted, they turned a blind eye to the things that should have been giant, waving red flags. He left paperwork out. He took phone calls where she could hear him. He took her to dinner parties where Hydra operatives talked in German about missions and inventions, assuming she didn’t know the language while she pretended to be engrossed in small talk with the wives.

What she didn’t have yet, what she needed, was access to the new research. She needed to get closer to Schmidt, closer to what made Hydra tick, so she could figure out how to take them down, not just stop troop movements here and there.

February trudged on, long and cold with the Commandos stuck in the Rhineland and icy, pelting rain and slushy snow making London miserable. Peggy made her way through each day, typing away at transmissions and letters in the typing pool, decoding orders and “slipping” information to Wallace with a smile. Steve’s letters were the only connection she had to him as the weeks wore on and their last rendezvous seemed farther and farther away.

Late at night, Peggy re-read his letters when she was alone, trying to force sleep to come. They were sappy, and silly, and meant for other people to read, but every few sentences there would be a line, a few words, that she knew were his own. He’d told her, the last time he saw her, that he tried to put at least two true things into every letter, and it was always right after he’d written her name so she’d know it was true.

Peggy, I love you.

Peggy, I miss you so much sometimes it feels like I can’t breathe.

Peggy, I’m going to make good on all those promises to take you on real dates.

Peggy, the sunset over the mountains last night reminded me of you, and I wish you’d have been there with me to see it.

Peggy, I’m glad you’re not here, no one should be out here.

Peggy, when this is all over, I’m going to ask you to marry me.

She always saved that one for last, because it filled her with the most hope. One day, this war would be over and she’d never have to pretend to love another man. One day, they’d never have to pretend again.

~*~ March 1945

She found it odd, trying to play the double agent at this point, and an inexperienced one, at that. Peggy slipped her coat tighter around herself, sliding around the edge of the inn. She was supposed to be seen, but she was trying not to be, at the same time.

Sometimes keeping it all in order set her mind whirling and she had to go back to the basics, back to the cover story to keep it all straight. Playing everything so earnestly was hard, and she was starting to lose herself.

It had been so long since she’d said goodbye to the Allied camp that this reality seemed the only one.

She liked the women in the typing pool where she worked in London. Once they’d stopped speculating about her and actually spoke to her, she found most of them quite lovely.

Sometimes she lost herself and genuinely enjoyed the company of the people Richard brought her around, they all seemed so normal talking about lunches and rationing and longing for days before the war, until she watched them stand and perform the single and double armed salutes with purpose and she grew nauseous at the idea that she forgot they were the enemy.

Sometimes, when she started to see the humans and not the Nazi party, when she started to sympathize with the young mothers who passionately just wanted a better future for their children and didn’t understand the lengths the men at the front lines were going to, she didn’t know who she was.

Deep cover did that to people. It was doing it to her.

It had been too long since she’d seen Steve, and even though his letters came like clockwork, she was starting to feel unmoored, starting to feel adrift in the lies. Keeping track of what she had told Wallace, what she was supposed to think he knew, what he knew and what she really knew he knew was getting exhausting and confusing. She was tracking real and fake troop movements, letting slip false information and protecting real information while getting every bit of intel from him that she could.

It wasn’t much, but she was working on it. The dinner parties weren’t fun, but they were chock full of information and were increasing in frequency. And she’d finally, finally gotten a break that might just bring this all to an end if she could just hang on a little longer.  

Peggy kept to the shadows of the building, forcing herself to remember how this was going to work. Wallace had said they’d be able to hear, not see.

Crikey O’Rilley, she hated that, but she had to go along with it. Peggy’d lost count. She wasn’t sure if she was a double or triple agent at this point, and in the end, it didn’t matter. What mattered was getting out of this alive.

She stopped and knocked on the door, slipping one hand into her pocketbook. By the time Steve opened the door, she was rimming her lips with a fresh coat of red, the tiny light on the outside of the lipstick container blinking bright green at him, alerting him to the fact that she was wired.

He nodded, but the smile didn’t fade from his face, and his voice didn’t waiver when he said her name and stepped aside to let her enter. She slipped the lipstick away as she moved past him into the small rented room, Steve shutting and locking the door. She could feel her heart pounding.

“It’s been so long,” she whispered, looking up at him, tears in her eyes.

He didn’t let another second go by before sweeping her up into his arms. “I know. I’m sorry.”

She clutched at him, tears coming hard and fast, and they didn’t need to say anything for long minutes as they just held one another until she caught her breath. They both knew someone was listening, both knew they had a part to play that wasn’t planned, but for just a few moments, in silence, they could be themselves.

Peggy pulled away far enough to put a foot of space between then, dropped her bag on the floor and shrugged off her coat.

Steve watched as she started to unbutton her blouse, swallowing hard. “Peg…”

She shushed him with a silent finger to her lips, and stopped only halfway down her chest, opening her blouse to reveal the wires taped to her chest. “I’m afraid I can’t stay, Steve.”

His reaction was real. They’d been expecting for some time Wallace would bug them, or find a way to surveil them closer, but she knew Steve wasn’t prepared for this. Wide eyed and surprised, he looked her up and down. “What? Why?”

“I’ve come to stop this.” She shook her head and pointed at the wire, pleading with him to understand. “Things have changed quite suddenly and…”

“And what?” He asked, stepping closer, hands fidgeting, energy building up in him as he tried to figure out what to do with the situation.

“And I’m leaving with Richard.” She nodded, telling him this was true. “He’s offered me more than you can. Offered to take me away from this damned war.” Tears pooled in her eyes, but she pointed to her purse. Steve dropped down, rummaging through it quietly as she kept on. “What can you give me but eternal war? You know they’ll never let you stop, never let ‘Captain America’ retire, and I deserve more than that.”

Steve sat back on the floor, holding up a blank envelope. She nodded, but it didn’t change the devastation on his face. “I don’t understand, Peg.” He took a slow breath and added the next part for the wire’s benefit,  “I thought you loved me.”

She pressed her lips together and looked away, fighting the tears. “I do. I don’t think anything will ever change that.”

Steve scrambled to his feet, taking her into his arm. “Please don’t do this, Peg.”

She pulled back and kissed him, desperately at first then taking on a feeling of softness as the seconds ticked by before she pulled away. “You know why I’m doing this,” she whispered, eyes finding his.

He could only nod.

It’s all in there, Peggy mouthed, nodding her head towards the letter in his hand, Find me. She took a deep breath and stepped away, buttoning up her shirt. She bent, throwing her trench coat on quickly and shoving her bag over her shoulder. When she stood, she looked over her shoulder at him.

Without thinking, Steve dropped the letter and picked her up, pressing her against the door and kissing her with all the desperation and passion he felt. She wrapped her legs and arms around him, giving in and letting herself indulge. He pulled away far too quickly, but kept his eyes on her as he snaked a hand down her shirt and crushed the bug between his fingers.

Peggy shook her head, tears coming fast. “Now that you’ve done that I really must go,” she whispered.

“Tell me. Fast,” he begged, holding her tight and running a gentle hand over her cheek.  

“He’s gotten us an audience in Berlin, but we must leave tonight.” She searched his eyes, begging him to believe her as she nuzzled into his touch. “I think…” She took a deep breath, her face as serious as she could make it. “I think I can get to Schmidt.”

“Damn it.” He whispered, setting her down. “You have to go.”

She kissed him quickly. “I have to go.” She pulled away and set her skirt to rights. “Everything’s in the letter. Same ciphers.” She put her hand on the doorknob, reluctant even though she knew what she had to do. She clutched her shirt tight. “Come find me, Steve, and we can end this.”

Peggy pulled the door open and huffed out. “And you’ve broken a button, you brute!” she yelled behind her, stomping her foot and wiping at her tears. “I never want to see you again!” Peggy stooped down, picking up a rock and throwing it at Steve as he stood in the doorway. He closed the door just quick enough to avoid getting pelted, but Peggy didn’t miss that the curtain to his room moved as she moved quickly away, not even pretending to sneak as she set herself in the car in the back of the lot.

She sat heavily in the back seat. Wallace and his Hydra contact stared at her. Wallace’s eyes were dark but calmed somewhat, confused to see her crying, make-up irrevocably smudged. “What… what happened?” Wallace asked almost gently.

“Your wire stopped,” the agent accused sharply.

“He got fresh is what happened,” Peggy spat out, carefully pulling the crushed wire from under her shirt and presenting it to them. “I was able to hide it from him but it got crushed in the process.” She sniffed and tossed the wires into the front seat, looking away. “Thought he could give it a good go of getting me in bed to change my mind.” She huffed, leaning back. “Can we leave?”

Wallace seemed mollified, and waved his hand, letting the agent know to set the car in motion. “Don’t worry, Maggie. We’ll be in Berlin before you know it, then the Alps after that.”

~*~ The Next Day

“Jesus, she’s good,” Howard sat at his desk, scribbling down the decoded message as he went through the letter for the second time. He looked up at Phillips. “We’ve been searching for Hydra on the wrong side of the Alps.”

“What?” Phillips barked, setting his elbows on the table. “Sit down Rogers, you’re making me seasick.”

Steve stopped his pacing and set himself in the seat across from Phillips, but still fiddled with his hands on the edge of his shirt. “You didn’t see her, sir, she was—”

“You think I can’t tell that from how you’re walking around here?” Phillips shook his head at Steve, then turned back to Howard. “As soon as you have—”

“It’s done.” Howard slid the paper he’d been writing on across the table. “We’re about six-hundred miles off,” he shrugged. “She gave us exact coordinates and dates.” He smiled.

[paradisobound]

World’s Greatest First Love: Chapter 10

Summary: Dan Howell wanted a clean break from his father’s publishing company. It was why he applied for a different company in London: to stop the ridicule of his coworkers for riding on his ‘daddy’s coat tails’. But he wasn’t expecting to suddenly be going from a literature editor, to a graphic novel editor. And he certainly wasn’t expecting to come face first with his first love who broke his heart from when he was a teenager: who just happens to be his new editor-in-chief.

Based on the Anime and Manga “The World’s Greatest First Love: The Case of Ritsu Onodera” aka Sekai-Ichi Hatsukoi

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2.9k (this chapter)

Warnings: None

Beta Read by: @phanandpenguins

Updates Every Tuesday 12pm EST and Saturday at 1pm EST

READ ON AO3

Returning back from the Isle of Man almost felt as if the entire trip never happened. Dan didn’t figure that it would warrant such a dramatic change in his life but he really felt like sleeping with Phil might have been a turning point. Except, it definitely wasn’t.

He goes back to Onyx for his shift the following day and naturally, he’s not shocked to see a mound of paperwork at his desk that was either faxed to him or given to him from the printers or sales department.

Dan finds two new manuscripts, both for different authors, a form for the second printing of his book, and a few other miscellaneous forms and papers that he has no idea what they are from first glance. He lets out a sigh and plops down in his seat, rubbing his hands in his hair.

They always say going back to work after a vacation was difficult, and Dan is definitely not in disagreement with that at all.

He fishes his laptop out of his bag and opens it up to begin working on unread emails and other various things now that he has a ton of work to do. He buckles down and focuses in, trying to get as much done as possible.

It’s only an hour into his shift when his cell phone begins to ring out of his coat that’s draped over his chair. He reaches behind him and goes to grab it to see who it is. Maybe it’s an author of his? That’s got to be it.

But when he pulls his phone out of his pocket, the name “Annie” appears on his screen with a picture of her and he feels a bit sick.

Should he answer it or should he leave it? He looks around the room quickly as if he’s looking for an out for the situation. But the sound of his ringtone is annoying him and surely everyone else so he quickly hits answer and puts the phone up to his ear.

“Hello?”

“You didn’t answer my call the other day.”

The airiness of her voice still catches Dan off guard.

He quickly stands up from his chair and rushes out of the office towards the breakroom. He steps inside and is glad to see no one else is in there. He takes a seat on one of the couches.

“I wasn’t expecting you to ever call again,” Dan says truthfully.

“I’m back from Italy,” Annie says. “I want to see you again.”

There is a pause because Dan doesn’t know what to tell her anymore. Back when they were together, he could have any conversation with her without an issue. But she left for Italy when they were on bad terms and Dan considered the relationship ended at that point, he figured she did too.

But something is nagging in the back of his head that she was still thinking otherwise.

“I stopped by your dad’s company but they said that you left and were working somewhere else,” Annie says, her voice cutting through his thoughts.

“Oh, yeah. I switched companies a few months ago,” Dan says, his words a bit clipped, a bit short.

“Where do you work now?” Annie says, a bit out of breath and that’s when Dan can hear the sound of the busy London streets in the background.

“Are...are you walking?” Dan asks.

“Yeah, I’m going to come and see you, is that an issue?”

“Yes!” Dan cries out. “You can’t come and visit me at my job, Annie.”

He can almost hear her stop in her tracks as she processes what he just said. She huffs and then lets out a sigh.

“Do you still live in the same flat at least?” She asks, sounding exasperated.

“No.”

“So you’ve literally like...left everything behind then.”

Dan leans back on the couch and rubs his hand over his face.

“So you’re not even going to give me your new address then?” Annie asks. “Dan, you’re my fiance, I need to know where you are.”

“Annie…”

“Look, okay. I know the details got a bit stretched as time passed between us but we can meet up later and talk about this all.”

Dan sighs because he knows that she is right. He agrees eventually and then ends the call just as the door to the breakroom opens and Phil walks inside, a couple pound coins in his hand. He walks over to the vending machine and without making eye-contact with Dan, says, “There is a strict company policy that we use our cell phones for work related conversations when we’re on the clock. So no more private calls during your shift or else we’re both going to get into trouble.”

“How did you know it wasn’t work related?” Dan asks, because he doesn’t particularly like the idea of Phil eavesdropping on his conversation. No matter how many lines or boundaries they may have crossed.

“If it was work related, you wouldn’t have rushed out of the office so no one else could hear you,” Phil says, grabbing whatever he got out of the machine and walking back out of the room.

Dan has no idea what any of that was, but it leaves a bittersweet taste in his mouth.

***

Phil gets on the tube right after Dan has a seat on one of the empty benches. He rushes on and Dan sees the sigh of relief that comes out of Phil’s chest when the doors close narrowly behind him and the train starts and barrels forward. He walks forward and takes the empty seat next to Dan.

“Didn’t think I was going to make the last train,” Phil says, completely out of breath.

“They normally hold the final train for a bit longer.”

Phil stares at him and laughs and shakes his head. Dan’s not sure why.

Then he sees the bag Phil is holding in his hands and notices there is something in it. Phil picks it up and holds it up to Dan, “Come over to mine for a few drinks to unwind after the long day.”

“I can’t tonight,” Dan says, because he knows Annie is waiting for him at his flat. Even though he told her not to wait for him, he knows that she is.

“Why not?” Phil asks.

“I...I’m tired.”

“Exactly why we should unwind,” Phil presses, scooting closer to Dan.

The train suddenly slows to a hard stop and the passengers get thrown around as the lights flicker off and murmurs begin to be whispered between everyone. Dan feels his heartbeat pick up speed and he turns to Phil.

Phil looks at him and just as Dan opens his mouth to ask what Phil thinks happened, but Phil leans forward and presses their lips together. Dan has half a mind to protest and push back because they’re on a public train but Phil pulls away not long after initiating it.

Dan just stares at him and then the lights flicker back on and Dan feels a sense of comfort in his chest. He finds himself leaning over and resting his head on Phil’s shoulder, taking a deep breath and letting it go through his nose.

It’s just a few more stops until their own and when they get off, they walk together down the street. It’s so late that most of the area is void of people except for a few stragglers. Their shoulders are bumping against each other and Dan doesn’t think Phil’s ever walked this close to him before. There is something cozy about it.

Just as he thinks that, Phil’s hand comes into contact with his own and they connect, palm to palm. Dan can feel how warm Phil’s hand is against his own and he blushes as he looks down and sees their hands swinging, intertwined.

He knows that they shouldn’t be holding hands in public, but it’s night and no one is around so he figures that it really can’t hurt them.

They walk all the way to their apartment building like that, and just as soon as they reach the door, Dan sees her, standing outside with a cigarette in between her fingers, the smoke coiling through the night air.

He drops Phil’s hand like it just hurt him and he stops in his tracks, “Annie?”

He knows that she was supposed to be meeting up with him here but the shock still sets in seeing her. It’s been nearly a year since they last saw each other. He hates to admit it, but he actually had forgotten mostly what she looked like.

So to see her standing there, her shoulder length hair sitting behind her ears and her button down shirt tucked into her black jeans with a long peacoat covering her arms, Dan feels like he’s seeing a stranger in his view.

“Where have you been? Thought you said you got out of work around 9?” She says.

Dan is well aware that it’s past nine, but he couldn’t help that. Some days he has to stay later to get his work done and today is definitely one of those days since it was the day back from holiday.

“I do but I had to stay later,” He says, walking up to her, leaving Phil standing behind him.

Phil follows him and is suddenly standing behind him. Annie motions to Phil and Dan turns and quickly introduces him, “Oh, Annie, this is Phil. Phil, this is Annie.”

Phil reaches his hand out to shake it and says a quick nice to meet you before he turns to Dan and says that he’s heading inside.

Dan doesn’t say anything else, he just smiles and nods and watches as Phil walks away. He turns back to Annie and she’s staring at him, tapping off the ash from the end of her cigarette.

“Who is that?” She asks.

“I already introduced you,” Dan says, rolling his eyes.

She lifts the cigarette to her mouth and Dan notices that she’s wearing the thin band that he gave her. His heart sinks a bit further down into his stomach.

She rolls her eyes, “Don’t get cheeky with me, Howell. That’s not what I asked. Why were you holding hands with him?”

Dan doesn’t know what to say to her because he doesn’t fully have an answer. He and Phil haven’t spoken to each other about what their relationship actually was.

Annie shakes her head, “Nevermind. I brought you a gift.”

“A gift?”

Annie nods and then throws her cigarette on the ground and stomps it out with her foot. She digs into the bag on her shoulder and pulls out a small box and hands it to him.

“New Year's gift,” She says with a smile.

Dan thanks her and then it goes silent between them again. He’s not sure what else he can say. He honestly thought he was never going to see her again.

“You know,” Dan says, deciding to rip the plaster off. “We’re not engaged anymore.”

Annie looks at him and gives him a sad smile, “I know, Howell. But a girl can dream that she didn’t fuck everything up, right?” She lets out a cough and straightens herself up a bit. “I know you’re in love with someone else,” She says. “It’s okay, mate. Didn’t expect you to take me back after all of this...just...kind of hoped maybe you would.”

“It’s not...I’m sorry, Annie.”

She nods her head and flashes him another smile before she says, “I need to go. I’ve called a cab and they’re probably wondering where I am.”

She barreled past him and he watched as she walked away. He felt a weight lift from his chest, but then another one settled. He looked up towards the top of the building and saw the light of Phil’s flat glow through the curtains. He takes a deep breath and steps into the building, making his way up.

He knocks on Phil’s door, waiting for Phil to open it up. But no one comes. Dan stands puzzled on the other side, waiting longer for someone to come but it’s clear no one is. Did Phil fall asleep?

He knocks again and this time, he hears footsteps coming and the door opens. Phil stands on the other side, staring at him.

“Hi,” Dan says. “Still open for some drinking?”

Phil lets out a small breath and then says, “I don’t know, Dan…”

Dan swallows down the lump in his throat and bites his lip, “Then let me at least explain who she is.”

“She’s your girlfriend,” Phil says with no hesitation. “I get why you were so hesitant about doing anything with me now.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Dan says. “Please, let me explain.”

Phil steps aside and opens the door wider and Dan walks in, leaving his shoes behind next to Phil’s on the rug beside the door. They make their way into Phil’s living room and they sit down.

“She was my fiance,” Dan says, needing to just get everything all out into the open now. “We met when we were in America. She was in the same class as me and we hit it off. When I moved back to the UK, she moved here too to go to university in Scotland. We decided to date because I thought why not. I was still getting over you and everyone told me that I needed to get myself out there again, so I went for it.”

Dan looks up from his hands to see Phil staring at him, stone faced. Dan can’t read how he’s feeling but he can see that he’s listening and that’s enough for him to continue.

“We were never the most compatible couple. She was way more outgoing than me and so we found the balance to be really hard and we separated for a long time,” He pauses to gather his thoughts. “We reconnected a few years later and got back together and for some reason, my mind told me that she was going to be the only person I could potentially love again...after you. So I proposed and she accepted.”

“Why did you propose to someone if you didn’t want to be with them?” Phil asks and Dan looks at him.

“I don’t know,” Dan says. “Truthfully, I really do not know.”

“That’s a bit daft, don’t you think?”

Dan shakes his head and ignores Phil to get the rest of his story out.

“One day, we got into an argument and I called off the engagement. But she didn’t think I was actually calling it off but I was. We argued more and then I woke up one morning and she was gone. All I had was a text telling me she was leaving to go and find herself. I found out two weeks later she was in Capri...in Italy.”

Phil crosses his arms over his chest and sits quiet for a moment and so Dan adds, “This was the first time I’ve seen her since she’s left.”

Phil lets out a scoff and Dan feels his cheeks heat up in anger.

“Wha--”

“You’re so dense you don’t even see the irony in this entire situation,” Phil says. “Who does she sound like, Dan?”

Dan sits in silence, collecting his thoughts as he realizes...Annie was exactly like him. He did the exact same thing...but to Phil. He looks up and opens and closes his mouth a few times.

Phil just shakes his head and stands up, walking away from the couch. Dan finds himself going after him, he pushes off, and bounds forward, grabbing Phil’s arm, “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to see Damien.”

The color drains from Dan’s face as he lets go of Phil’s arm, “Why?”

“Because Damien asked me to come over for drinks and I am.”

Phil walks further towards the door and Dan chases after him again. When Phil begins to slip his foot into his shoe, Dan reaches for his arm again, “Don’t…” Phil spins around and comes face to face with Dan and Dan finds himself pleading, “Don’t go to Damien. Please, Phil…”

“Dan...you had a fiance and I never even knew about it.”

“I didn’t love her,” Dan says, and he knows the words hurt. He shouldn’t be saying them but they slip out. “I didn’t love her because I’ve only loved one person in my life.”

Their eyes meet and Dan feels his eyesight blur as tears come to the waterline and he struggles to hold them back. Phil reaches up and puts his hand on Dan’s cheek, stroking the skin with his thumb.

Phil leans in and connects their lips and Dan reaches up, putting his arms around Phil’s neck for stability. He melts into the kiss, letting himself cling to Phil as he struggles to hold back his emotions.

Phil pulls back and looks Dan in the eyes as Dan sinks into seas of blue, “I want to know everything about you from the last ten years,” He says, his voice soft. “Don’t leave anything out. I want to know everything.”

Dan nods and connects their lips again as he whispers, “okay.”

As they make their way into the bedroom, and fall onto Phil’s bed, Dan lays beneath him. He keeps his hands as steady as they can be on Phil’s jaw, holding them both grounded. Their kisses are fevered and Dan can feel Phil undoing the button of his pants, opening them up to the cool air of the room.

Phil breaks the kiss, leaning down to kiss and suck at Dan’s neck. Dan closes his eyes and lets out a moan. No one will ever have this effect on him, only Phil.

And one day, he might even admit that to Phil.

[set-phasers-to-whump]

whumptober day 24

prompt: secret injury

whumpee: neal caffrey

Neal was thrilled to be going undercover for the second time in two weeks. Just a few days ago, he’d helped take down an embezzling ring, and today, he and Peter were hoping to start gathering inside information on a group of forgers. 

The plan started off great-Neal and Peter were introduced as David Buchanan and Alexander Murphy, small-time forgers who were looking to make a little extra cash. They were accepted into the group after a round of fairly vicious questioning, and that was that-they were in. 

Following this, Neal and Peter adhered to work schedules set for them by the boss of this little group, who they had yet to actually meet. They worked alternate days, late at night. It was all going quite well-Neal was slowly worming his way into the inner circle, being the expert forger that he was, and Peter was managing to hang on as a treasurer of sorts, keeping track of cash alongside a more seasoned member of the group.

It didn’t take long for Neal to be invited to dinner with the more elite forgers, who were all eager to learn his methods. So he was set up with a wire and tracker and sent into the belly of the beast-a nice Italian place called Tony’s.

It was here that Neal finally got to meet the big boss, coincidentally also known as Tony. 

If you didn’t know who the man was, Neal thought, you would’ve assumed he was an accountant, or a tax attorney-something dull and boring and incredibly average, warranting the cheap-but-respectable suit and receding hairline.

But Neal knew him-knew of him. Tony was ruthless when he needed to be, but polite to the last, the type to kill you and apologise for the inconvenience, then send flowers to the bereaved with a note attached telling them not to get involved with his plans again.

The FBI had been trying to bring him in for ages, but had only recently been given this opportunity. Neal hadn’t known that until tonight, when Peter had told him exactly how important this was-Tony wasn’t just another small-time forger-he had connections all over, and there was no telling just how many other criminals they could bring down if they could crack him.

Neal would’ve preferred to know this beforehand, but Peter hadn’t wanted to give him time to freak out.

So he wasn’t freaking out. He was chatting with Tony and a few other members of his little forgery operation, and trying not to think of the amount of guns that were surely present at the table, all ready to shoot anyone at a moment’s notice.

“So, David,” Tony began, pausing to nod politely at a waiter who passed by, “I think we’re all dying to know, where’d you learn your tricks? I’ve been around the block myself, but your work-it’s something else.”

Neal grinned and launched into an explanation that was just detailed enough to be believable while also being completely false. Everyone at the table was watching him talk animatedly, really getting into his part. Tony asked him another question, about his previous jobs, and he eagerly began telling his story again.

In the van, Peter was panicking. Well, not panicking, FBI agents didn’t panic. He was getting nervous-Neal’s signal had cut out and they could no longer hear what was going on inside the building, or track him. 

But there was no gunfire. No terrified patrons came rushing out the front door. And dinner would have only just been served. He’d give it five minutes and send Jones in, just to check.

Neal was having fun. The conversation had moved from him to Tony, who was entertaining the group with stories from his childhood that they all seemed to have heard a million times, but still enjoyed (or at least pretended to enjoy). Neal was enjoying them, anyway. He felt, if not exactly at home, comfortable. This was the kind of thing he was meant to do.

Dinner arrived, and the conversation slowed. Neal thought he saw Jones out of the corner of his eye, but he looked again and there was no one there. Must’ve seen it wrong, he figured. 

“He’s all good,” Jones told Peter, closing the doors to the van and sitting down. He’d gone in, waited in line for the hostess stand while looking for Neal, seen Neal doing just fine, and asked if he could use the restaurant’s bathroom. The hostess had told him no, and he’d returned to the van.

“Good,” said Peter. “Hope they’re not saying anything too incriminating.” The main point of sending Neal to this dinner, luckily, hadn’t been gathering information-it was simply to solidify his place in the group, get Tony to trust him. Then, they could break him. So Peter was content to let this night run its course.

Tony stood up from his place at the table and said to Neal, “when I get back, I want to speak with you alone, go over some things.” He then walked off to the restroom. 

One of the other members of the group, a woman called Kira, smiled over at Neal. “That means he likes you,” she told him, and gestured to the others at the table. “All of us got ‘spoken to alone’ at our first dinner with him, too.”

Neal nodded. This was good, he thought. The sooner Tony trusted him, the sooner they could bring him down. 

Kira nudged Neal in the arm. “David,” she said, and gestured to the corner by the restrooms, where Tony was beckoning Neal over. “You’ll do great,” she called after him as he stood up.

Tony led Neal outside through a back exit. “Gotta find someplace where nobody’ll overhear us,” he explained. Neal nodded. He was nervous. Something about this didn’t feel right. He took a breath and reminded himself that Peter was listening, and would know if anything went wrong.

Suddenly, he was slammed into a dumpster. The metal clanged as it impacted with his head. He would’ve dropped to the ground, but he was pinned firmly up by Tony’s arm.

“What?-” he said.

Tony pushed him harder into the dumpster and stood inches from his face. “I know you’re FBI,” he growled. “I know what you’re trying to do. Don’t think it’ll work, boy, don’t think that for a second.”

He abruptly let go of Neal, holding him up solely by his left arm now.

“I-I’m not FBI, what are you talking about?” Neal asked halfheartedly. It was blown, he thought. Peter and the team were going to have to rush in before they had gathered enough evidence, and it wouldn’t be enough to put Tony away, and-

“You really think that’s gonna work?” Tony snarled. “I know who you are. I know what you want. And you won’t get it. You can try, oh, you will try, but you won’t have enough. You never have enough.”

Where was everyone? Neal thought. Surely they had realised by now that the operation was blown.

“Wondering where your little friends are?” Tony asked. “They aren’t coming. I blocked your signal, idiot!”

At this, Neal tried to wriggle away-if nobody knew what was happening, he was in real danger. But Tony had a surprisingly strong grip for such an unassuming man. 

“You’re not going anywhere, except back to that van of yours.”  

He was being let go? What was happening?

Tony saw the confusion on his face. “You won’t tell them what happened tonight. You had a lovely dinner, earned my trust, and you’re coming back to see me tomorrow.”

“And what if I tell the truth?” Neal countered.

“Then I have you and your friend-Alexander, is it?-discreetly killed, and nobody will ever know who did it. And don’t be thinking you can somehow warn them. I know, boy, I always know.”

Neal believed him. He swallowed and looked Tony in the eyes. “Okay,” he agreed. “Okay, I’ll lie to them about tonight and come meet you tomorrow.”

“Of course you will,” said Tony. “But I’m going to give you a little incentive.”

“What’s that-” Neal’s question was cut off by a scream that was quickly stopped by Tony’s arm across his mouth. His arm throbbed, he’d heard the bone snap, it hurt, it hurt so much...hot tears spilled down his face and he whimpered into Tony’s arm.

“Shut up,” Tony snapped. “Shut up and run back to your little FBI friends, and let them know everything’s okay.”

Neal took a deep, shuddering breath and stopped himself from making any noise.

“Good,” Tony said. “Don’t let them know about your arm,” he warned, smiling like a shark. “You’ve got 205 other bones I can break before I kill you.”

And then he was gone, disappeared back into the restaurant.

Neal sank to the cold ground, back pressed into the uncomfortable metal of the dumpster. Searing hot pain radiated throughout his left arm, and his whole body was shaking from the pain. He forced himself to stop crying, rubbing his still-good arm down his face in an effort to get rid of the tears. 

He shakily stood up and made his way to the front of the restaurant, and then back to the van.

By the time he opened the doors, he was breathing completely normally, his face was free of tears and any traces of pain, and he was holding his left arm very still, thankful for his bulky jacket that was hiding the break. They can’t know, he reminded himself.

And they didn’t know. The next day passed, with Neal having assured his team that everything was going smoothly. He met with Tony, who twisted his arm (both literally and metaphorically) and made him promise to get the FBI off his tail.

Neal arrived at work bright and early on the second day after his...encounter with Tony. He hadn’t slept in those two days, finding it far too uncomfortable to lie down. He had taken the maximum amount of painkillers he could, plus a few more. He felt like he didn’t even quite exist, simply walking along in a haze of pain that the drugs could only stop so much. 

Nobody noticed. Of course they didn’t-Neal was a master conman. He was fine, or so they believed. Just a little tired from all the legwork. No, he hadn’t been holding his arm funny, it must’ve been his coat sticking out at a weird angle. Yes, he was taking an ibuprofen, his head was killing him-yes, he was a little hungover (don’t tell Peter).

Two more days passed in this manner, with Neal steadily growing worse. He had managed to get a little sleep, but he always woke up feeling worse, like the pain had built up while he slept. He wondered when it would dull to a throb, wondered if Tony would really know if he went to a doctor, like he had promised to. 

On the fifth day, Neal wondered how important this arrest really was. He casually asked Peter about it. 

“I thought I told you how important it was,” Peter said. “Do you know how many criminals we might be able to take down through him?”

Neal groaned, mostly inwardly. “Y’know,” he said. “I don’t think we’d be able to get him to talk. He’s tough-really tough.” He hoped he didn’t sound too desperate.

“I’m sure we’ll manage,” Peter replied, looking sidelong at Neal. “You doing okay? You’ve been a little off these past few days.”

“Me? Off?” Neal asked, hoping he sounded surprised. “I’m great, Peter.” He smiled. It hurt. Everything hurt. He stood to leave Peter’s office. 

The world went black for a second, and then Peter was holding him up under the arms, lifting his left arm in a way that made it (and him) scream with pain.

Peter quickly let go of him, depositing him into the chair he’d just vacated, dropping to a knee in front of him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked urgently. 

Neal bit his lip against the pain, not wanting to cry out again and draw more attention to himself. A tear rolled down his face before he could stop it, and suddenly he was sobbing and begging Peter, anyone, to make it stop, please make it stop!

Peter gently put his hands on Neal’s shoulders. Neal flinched back the second Peter’s hand made contact with his injured arm, wrapping his other arm around it protectively. “Don’t,” he whispered. 

“What happened to your arm?” Peter asked gently, cupping Neal’s cheek and turning his face towards himself.

Neal tore his gaze away. “Nothing,” he said quickly. “I’m fine.” He had stopped crying rather abruptly and was now looking determinedly at the floor.

“Neal, please just talk to me,” Peter said.

“Can’t,” Neal told him.

“Why can’t you?”

Neal didn’t say anything. Peter sighed and stood up, turning his back to Neal. He gazed out the window, thinking.

“What did Tony do to you?” he asked after a moment.

“What?” Neal asked. “No-nothing.” He held onto his arm tighter, as though that would stop the pain.

“What else would it be?” Peter asked. “Why else would you hide it? What did he threaten you with?”

“He-he said he would kill you, and me, and that I have more-more bones for him to break before he kills me,” Neal confessed at last. He sniffed. “I couldn’t tell you anyway, because we d-don’t have enough on him. He-he told me. He said we’d never get him.” 

“Neal…” Peter whispered. “Oh, Neal, we’ve been running another operation alongside this one. By tomorrow morning he’ll be in custody.”

“He-he doesn’t know about it?”

“I’m absolutely positive he doesn’t,” Peter assured him.

“So I don’t-don’t have to pretend it doesn’t hurt anymore?” Neal asked quietly, looking up at Peter with tears in his eyes. 

“No, you don’t,” Peter told him. 

At this, the sobs which had ended suddenly before returned full force. “It hurts, Peter,” Neal whimpered. “It hurts so much.”

Peter gently wrapped him in a hug, being careful to avoid his injured arm. “I know,” he said. “I know. As soon as we have Tony put away, we’ll get you to a hospital.”

Neal understood why they couldn’t go to the hospital right away. He didn’t like it. “I wanna go home,” he said at last. “Can I please go home? Until it’s over?”

Peter hated the idea of sending Neal to his house alone-even if June was there, or Mozzie. “I’m taking you to my house,” he decided. “You can stay with me and El until the morning. I’ll clock out early, I’ve done plenty this week-and so have you.”

“You don’t have to,” Neal whispered. “Don’t have to bother.”

“You’re coming, and that’s final,” Peter said. “I’ll carry you if I have to. You’re staying with us.”

Neal smiled lightly at him, tears still rolling down his face. “Okay,” he finally agreed.

So they went home.

thanks for reading!! hope you enjoyed!!!

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

Witches, Chapter 3: the difference between yokai and the fae is like the difference between Pokemon and Ultra Beasts which is “fuck if I know but now I’m afraid that I’m spending too long hung up on the ‘what’s a yokai’ point because unlike Ultra Beasts, yokai are not going to be relevant to the plot moving forward beyond this case”

We’ll call it worldbuilding, and setting the atmosphere of “there is even more than what we know beyond the scope of our main characters,” we’ll go with that.

[Seelie of Kurain Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

[Witches Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

Ms Athena Cykes, Attorney-at-Law, throws a policeman into Apollo like she’s an Olympic athlete throwing a hammer, and once she’s helped Apollo back off the ground and he’s introduced himself as her coworker – making her zero for two on decent introductions – she grabs him by the arm and makes him sprint along with her away from the scene of her crime. “Maybe he’ll just, y’know, have forgotten that happened,” she says, releasing Apollo halfway up the hill to the manor and letting him gasp for breath. “Just a little bit of head trauma to smooth things over?” She frowns, hanging her head slightly, her eyes turning toward the ground. “I didn’t mean to do that. It’s a reflex I have if someone grabs me suddenly.”

“I’ll remember to not do that,” Apollo says, his hands on his knees, trying and failing to recall the last time he ever sprinted uphill, “but I think that’s still a… problem.” Of felony level, or maybe misdemeanor if she’s lucky and the prosecution is charitable to the reflex argument.

“Maybe we can say a yokai did it,” Athena says. “Since there’s so many around anyway and all the locals are talking about that.”

“Yeah, our client’s daughter has already mistaken me for a red-horned demon,” Apollo says. “You might be next to get the yokai treatment.”

Athena tilts her head to the side and stares at him. Her eyes are blue, blue enough that Apollo would have to concentrate to see if they change color. “I mean, your horns aren’t red,” she says, “but I can see where it’s coming from.”

Sometimes Apollo wonders why he bothers. “But we’ve got our client’s problem to sort out first,” Athena says brightly, and Apollo pushes himself back upright. “Did you meet him? Gimme the details, rápido!”

He fills her in on his conversation with Mayor Tenma and all of the village folklore that he’s heard; she shows him a one-sheet special edition of the village newspaper, just printed, displaying a photograph of something resembling Tenma Taro flying through the air. “You don’t think it’s actually a supernatural murder case, do you?” she asks.

“I…” Apollo finds it easier to stare at the manor than to meet Athena’s eyes. “I – of course not!”

Athena raises an eyebrow.

In the manor foyer, they meet the caretaker, a petty pickpocket who tries to steal Apollo’s bracelet and is watching wrestling, or would be if the match hadn’t been postponed after the Amazing Nine-Tails’ failed to show up. They don’t get a chance to ask the caretaker what he saw; Athena chases him off by yelling when he makes a very suspicious remark about their wallets. And she complained about his Chords of Steel.

At the crime scene, he expects to see Ema, powdering the scene with Snackoos and her search for fingerprints, at home amidst the weirdness of the scene – but the familiar lab coat is nowhere in sight. No one is, when they cast their first look around the room, Athena yelping in horror at the feathers and bloody footprints, but before they have any time to investigate, they are ambushed by a man in a blinding white suit. After about a minute of circular arguing and a threat to arrest them, he finally introduces himself as “Detective Bobby Fulbright, champion of our good citizens and defender of justice!”

Yep, he wishes it was Ema here. Ema would just let them into the crime scene, but Athena has to talk circles around Fulbright to get him to concede. And it isn’t that Fulbright is particularly difficult to tie up in knots, either – it’s just another hassle that Apollo isn’t used to and didn’t expect. (He shouldn’t have expected to find Ema on every ridiculous case he takes, but there had seemed a precedent.)

The door in the back of the Fox Chamber is the entrance to the so-called Forbidden Chamber, where Tenma Taro is said to be sealed away. There’s a heavy lock with no keyhole sealing the doors tight, and though he remembers Jinxie mentioning a warding charm on the door, Apollo sees nothing of the sort in the room. Besides one overturned chair, there doesn’t seem to have been a struggle. Beneath the chair lies a piece of bloodied cloth, which they can only investigate when Athena has lied to Fulbright to get him out of the room. “Hey, detective, did you hear?” she calls across the room, and she had barely let Apollo in on her plan before launching into it, but that question coupled with that grin of hers says everything Apollo needs to know. “Down on Yokai Lane, there was a red-horned demon threatening a teenage girl!”

There’s no way he’s going to believe—

“Why didn’t you say something sooner? In justice we trust!”

He rushes from the room, and Athena turns her sharp smug grin on Apollo. “That was… kinda easy, actually.” She isn’t frightening – that isn’t the right word – but she’s clever and clearly has no reservations about picking at a weakness she sees, and she sees Fulbright’s. No wonder Phoenix hired her. “Now we can really investigate!”

“Unless he comes back and arrests me for being a demon,” Apollo says. “Thanks a lot for that, by the way, tossing me under the bus there.”

“¡De nada!”

While they move the chair and scramble to otherwise search the scene, tugging again on the Forbidden Chamber doors, opening the window, and Athena kneeling and nearly sticking her head beneath the coffee table, she explains Widget, the strange little electronic she wears around her neck. Apollo had spotted its screen changing colors and making faces and hadn’t thought much more of it. Apparently it’s a high-tech mood ring that sometimes just shouts things, in combination with a computer, that can also take pictures, and she scans in a three-dimensional visualization of the crime scene “just in case. You never know what comes in handy, and Fulbright seems like a bit of a dunce so who knows if or when we’ll get a crime scene photo.”

“It’s really just all advanced technology?” Apollo asks. “That it can vocalize your mood?”

“What else?” the robotic voice chirps, and Athena nods and continues, “What do you think I’m gonna tell you? That it’s magic?”

She doesn’t plainly laugh at him, but she still looks amused, and Apollo swallows what little pride he has left after a year at the Wright Anything Agency and says, “Uh, maybe?”

“Mr Wright asked the same thing, actually,” she says. “If it was magic, or a merger of magic and tech. I guess it makes sense you’d ask the same! You do work together, after all!”

Once, Apollo would have taken it as a compliment to be compared to Phoenix Wright. He doesn’t feel that charitable now. “But on the subject of magic – you know that Mr Wright is…”

How to describe Mr Wright, anyway? He’s enough of an enigma personally, without the fae factor. And then – fae-adjacent is how Klavier describes him, the riddle of a man who wasn’t stolen as a child, never made a deal, never had it in their blood, and still ended up marked by the handprints of half a dozen fae. They’re petty and scary and selfish; the curses make sense. The whole package?

“Oh, the thing with his eyes?” Athena asks. “Where he can, like, see ghosts and stuff?”

“Sort of,” Apollo says. “Actually not really, but you’ve got the overall spirit of it.” She squats down and picks up one of the feathers, spinning it in her fingers and frowning. “Wait – he just – showed you that his eyes change color and you accepted what he said about why that happens?”

“Well, yeah,” Athena says. She sets the feather down and her mouth twists disgustedly at the blood soaked and dried into the carpet. “I could hear that he’s sincere, everything he said about magic. And now we have a giant mutant bird or a monster committing murder, so.”

“I’d personally consider a giant mutant bird to be a monster.”

Athena hears Fulbright returning before Apollo does and they feign innocence, like they’ve just been examining the alderman’s old wrestling trophies all this time. Apollo almost feels bad for the detective, having been sent on a futile demon-hunt – he doesn’t appear to have connected Apollo to Athena’s words and Apollo is infinitely grateful for it – and arriving back only for Athena to manipulate him into giving up information again. This time, he’s apparently been so confused by it all that he unprompted offers them a warning about the prosecution.

If they were fae, or a witch, fine. If the warning was that there was just some sort of magic, uncertain in origin but obviously present – fine. Fine. (Obviously not fine, but liveable. The kind of thing he’s faced before.)

“A convicted – are you joking?”

Athena winces and claps a hand to the ear that is closer to Apollo. Fulbright isn’t fazed by his scream. “Not at all! By order of the Chief Prosecutor himself, so there’s not much room to question it!”

(Apparently Phoenix’s counterpart over at the Prosecutors Office is as batshit as he is. Wait, isn’t that Edgeworth? Apollo has met him and didn’t think—)

“That’s completely nuts!” Apollo says. He tries to swallow the shout but it still comes out as an indignant squawk. Athena wisely has not removed her hand from her ear and takes a step away. “What justification – even the Chief Prosecutor – a convicted killer—”

(In his head he is already composing a text to Klavier that consists only of question marks. Good fucking luck to Klavier to figure out what he’s referring to.)

“Killer he might be, but he’s also a master of psychology. Who better for the job of proving to everyone that yokai are nothing but figments of the imagination, and no fake creature committed this murder?”

Apollo imagines what Ema would have to say about this: the dead-eyed look on her face, the “maybe it will still be better than working with the fop,” and probably not nearly such a staunch conviction that it couldn’t have been magic. They saw Kristoph collapse together, found Trucy’s mother’s mitamah, and met Gourdy. She knows.

“This prosecutor,” Athena says softly, all her bravado and enthusiasm of barely two minutes ago gone. “His name wouldn’t happen to be Blackquill, would it?”

“That he would be!” Fulbright says, with far too much cheer for the fact that they are discussing the way the Prosecutors Office has been twisted inside and out. “Simon Blackquill. So you have heard of him?”

“Yeah,” Athena mumbles, rubbing her arm like a sudden chill has come over her. “You could say that.”

Maybe when she was studying psychology she looked up prosecutors of her profession, but that doesn’t entirely account for the haunted look on her face, and the way Apollo feels just that much colder, too.

-

“I still wish I had gotten to try on the Amazing Nine-Tails’ mask,” Athena says. “I want to see what kind of magic powers it gives you!”

“That’s probably just a story,” Apollo says. Probably. “And you shouldn’t go around sticking your head in the evidence, anyway.”

The breeze has a bite to it and the shadows are long by the time they make it back to the office. Their investigation found them plenty more clues, none of which piece together, and more testimony leading to dead ends. The manor caretaker, Filch, is lying about something; the mayor’s aide, L’Belle, is lying about even more, brimming with red and an apparent preoccupation with Tenma Taro; and the mayor himself tried to lie and pretend he wasn’t being blackmailed into pushing for the municipal merger. And Apollo doesn’t have Trucy, Ema, and Klavier to count on. He has Athena to count on, as much as he can when she is stepping behind the bench as a barred lawyer for the first time, and they have whatever the hell is happening on the prosecution’s side to battle against.

“I bet Fulbright took it away so that he can get magic powers from it,” Athena says.

“I bet Fulbright took it because he’s the detective in charge of the scene and it might have something to do with the murder.”

“Apollo,” Athena says with a whine. “You are no fun.”

“I’m not supposed to be fun! We’re supposed to be solving a crime!”

She and Trucy would enjoy working together. The trouble is whether anyone would actually get defended without someone to keep them pointed at the goal.

The office door is unlocked as always, but the lights are on and Phoenix, in jeans and a t-shirt and no shoes, is lying upside-down with his legs hooked over the back of the couch and his head hanging off the side, on the phone. Apparently he has given up all concerns on making a good first couple impressions on Athena as her boss in a formal capacity. This doesn’t surprise Apollo. That he complains about having back pain and then continues to sit like this doesn’t surprise Apollo either.

“Yeah,” Phoenix says, his eyes turning toward the two of them and then back to the ceiling. “I know, but you know I’m very good at keeping secrets. Which – no, that’s not my pitch to get security clearance, that’s my pitch for you to just tell me even though I don’t have clearance t—” He sits up slowly, laboriously, and saying nothing, obviously being chewed out by whoever is on the other end of the line. “I know, I know. I get it. I’m just telling you that solving a cold case where I’m not allowed to know much more than the defendant’s name is not going to be a cakewalk.” Rubbing a hand over his eyes, he adds, “But the kids are back and don’t look happy, so I think I should deal with that first. – Uh-huh, yeah. We’ll see. Talk to you tomorrow.”

The phone cracks against the coffee table when he tosses it down. Athena winces. “Hey, Apollo,” Phoenix says lightly. “Athena. I finally caught a cab and got your luggage home.”

“I, uh.” She stands with her shoulders slumped for barely a moment before she pops back up, hands on her hips. “Sorry? Sorry that I can’t lie and say I’m sorry for leaving because I’m not. I’ve never gotten to help with an investigation before, and I got to see a crime scene with all the blood” – why does she sound excited about that? – “and everything!”

“Yeah, I won’t begrudge you that.” Is that sarcastic, or bitter, or does he actually mean it? Apollo can’t tell, still can’t read the man unless he lets him, and right now, Phoenix isn’t letting him through. “Good to get field experience. How’s the case coming?”

“You guessed right,” Apollo says. “Unhappily. If our client isn’t the killer, a giant bird yokai might be, and I have no idea how we are going to indict that.”

“Have you actually seen that yokai, or just some apparent evidence of yokai?” Phoenix asks. Athena taps her necklace and it projects a holographic screen with her crime scene scan. She points out the feathers and bloody footprints with real enthusiasm. Phoenix sits forward, a deep frown sending creases up his forehead. “So it might be a yokai, and it might be someone trying to trick you into thinking it’s a yokai.”

“That’s what the detective believes,” Apollo says. “That monsters aren’t real.”

“There’s also this photograph!” Athena says, shoving the newspaper under Phoenix’s nose, through the projected screen. “Someone saw it flying!”

“Did either of you see that?” he asks, accepting it from her and quickly scanning the front page. “Or anything yokai-like?”

“Trucy’s friend Jinxie who found the body said she saw it fleeing the room,” Apollo says. “And she and Trucy and I all saw -- I think it was probably a person in a Tenma Taro costume? Way back before the murder, during the festival. The village people say that it can steal your soul if it looks you in the eye.”

“That’s bullshit,” Phoenix says, holding up one finger. “I obviously don’t know much about souls” – the frown has returned to his face, his tired eyes turning up to Apollo – “but I’m pretty damn sure it’s not that easy.”

“I’d hoped as much,” Apollo says. Athena now has her head cocked, like an owl trying to listen intently for its prey, the entire year that she hasn’t been around. “Have you ever been to Nine-Tails Vale, Mr Wright? Have you ever seen a yokai?”

“I’ve gone up a few times with Trucy.” He opens up the newspaper but turns it over again too fast to have actually read anything. “Wanted to make sure it was safe for her and Jinxie to be hanging around there, so I’ve looked around and never seen anything – maybe they’re on a different wavelength than fae things.” He grins and his eyes flash blue. “Or maybe they’re just the stories that my grandparents leveraged to threaten me into going to bed.” Athena laughs and Phoenix raises an eyebrow. “No? Neither of you had that experience?”

Athena shrugs. Apollo shakes his head. (Dhurke didn’t need to use boogeymen to keep Apollo and Nahyuta in line. The regime’s very real soldiers were more than enough of a danger to keep them close. Datz was the one with outlandish stories, but those never had a moral or purpose, and Nahyuta liked them because there was absolutely no way he could see what was coming next.)

“So we’re still where we started, not knowing what’s real and what isn’t,” Apollo says. What must Athena think, them talking so seriously about yokai? And Apollo had tried to tell her earlier this afternoon that he didn’t believe Tenma Taro is the killer. “Couldn’t some of the yokai be fae creatures? There’s—” He remembers, a bolt from the blue, one of the puzzles that Trucy dumped on his head with no forewarning. “Like, kitsunes. Isn’t that—”

Phoenix sighs for a very long time. “Yeah. If we try to create taxonomic classifications we’re gonna be here all night. Words don’t actually mean anything, and in my head I put them more on the fae side, shapeshifters of any sort, even kitsunes and tanuki and—”

“Tanuki!” Athena grabs Apollo’s arm. “That’s it, Apollo! The caretaker, Mr Filch – he looks like a tanuki, and in the Fox Chamber there were those statues—” She releases him to turn Widget’s projection of the scene toward the door, the statues, one broken, flanking both sides. “That’s got to mean something! I’ve put it together! I’m connecting the dots!”

“I don’t think you are,” Apollo says.

“I’m connecting them!”

“Hey.” Phoenix shrugs. “Shooting in the dark sometimes gets me somewhere. Don’t bank on it, but you never know.” Standing, he puts his back to them and heads for a bookshelf. “You’ve got some evidence and witness testimony, at least?”

“And no idea how it fits together,” Apollo says, and then, with Athena looking at him and Phoenix here with them, it feels like an admission of failure, a plea for help that he doesn’t need, because he’s pulled it together with only vague advice from Phoenix before. “So same as ever.”

“Oh,” Athena says. “So this is how cases are supposed to go?”

“Maybe not ‘supposed to’,” Apollo says, “but it’s how it always ends up being.”

“If yokai are anything,” Phoenix says, still focused on the bookshelf, pulling one book down, “they’re other strange things that got tossed out of the Court and fell through the cracks.”

Apollo doesn’t know why he thought Phoenix was actually listening to him. It’s a step forward and then two steps diagonally back any time he feels like Phoenix is anything of a mentor or a guide or someone to lean on.

“Exile’s a common enough fae punishment; over the centuries there’s probably been plenty of things that can’t go back to the Twilight Realm but never start to blend in here.”

“Centuries?” Athena repeats. “How long do the fae live? And wait, what’s the Twilight Realm? Do you—” She turns to Apollo. “Do you know what he’s talking about? You’ve been over all this?”

“There’s been some cases where it’s come up,” Phoenix says.

“And he always tells me after the fact,” Apollo adds.

Phoenix doesn’t acknowledge that statement, but he doesn’t try and object to it, either. Athena’s frown is deepening. Apollo doesn’t like this look on her face, the one where she looks like she’s staring straight down into his heart and is disappointed to find out how rocky his relationship with Phoenix actually is. She should get used to that feeling of disappointment that happens around him.

“Twilight Realm is – Faeryland, you’d call it,” Phoenix says. “And I’m not actually sure about their lifespans. I don’t know if they know. Usually they just cut each other down in their prime in power struggles.”

Athena’s entire posture collapses, her hands sliding off her hips and her shoulders slumping. “Oh,” she says. “That’s very sad.” And she’s blinking rapidly, like to stave off tears, and already Apollo has noticed – how could he not? – that she wears her entire heart on her sleeve, ready to show almost every emotion almost all at once.

“I suppose,” Phoenix says. He looks back at them over his hunched shoulders, something sheepish blinking across his face, like he’s never considered that angle. When he turns, he has a book open across one palm. “Mia and her mother wrote a lot of things down,” he says, a statement out of nowhere that maybe, if Apollo is lucky, will tie back to something they were talking about. “Tried to keep track of lots of things, denizens of the Court and exiles and all. Most of it gives me migraines if I look at it, but Mia made some notes in the margins and one of the things I thought I remembered – which I was right—” He squints down at the pages and then raises it toward his face. “Fuck, do I need glasses?”

Athena’s lips are pursed, her cheeks puffed out, a grin and a laugh swallowed.

“Some of the weirdest little things that get thrown out of the Court don’t land properly. They aren’t as humanoid as the true fae, they can’t marry in with humans and fade away – they can’t ever fully physically be here. Not quite corporeal, blinking in and out. And—” Again, he raises the book back to his nose. “And definitely would avoid someone like me who’s rubbed elbows with all seven of the fae royals from the past two generations.”

“She scribbled all that in the margins for you?” Athena asks. “That was nice.”

Phoenix laughs. “Not all of it,” he says. “We talked – a lot, about everything, in the early days.” The sad, wistful look in his eyes is one Apollo has seen a few times before. It’s the softest he ever looks. “Most of that was part of it, but I needed to jog my memory again with any little thing.”

“Oh, yeah,” Athena says. “Of course. Makes perfect sense – that’s psychology.” Phoenix chuckles, but like the wheel of her emotions that she’s already displayed, Athena moves past the cheer of having an answer and getting to name-drop her favorite subject, and once again turns up sadness. “I can’t imagine, though. Losing your home and then just being stuck, just, lingering, and you’re trapped in between and don’t have anywhere to belong.”

“Are you tearing up again?” Apollo asks.

“I wish there was a way to help,” she continues, wiping her eyes, but not quickly enough. “You know? Like even if they’re monsters – were they always? I’d probably be grumpy too if that happened to me.”

Psychoanalysis of yokai is not where Apollo thought this day would end up.

“One challenge at a time, Athena,” Phoenix says. He sets the book down on the bookshelf but doesn’t slot it back into place. “I know you became a lawyer to save people – exactly what you said, that if being a defense attorney was a way to help people, and your ability could help with that, then you knew you had to.” Even while deflating a little at his first comment, a grin starts to spread across her face, and there’s something almost like envy curling tight in Apollo’s chest, that there was something more than a blessing on her eye that drew him to her, that he remembers this about her, cares to remember. “But that doesn’t have to be everyone and everything, all at once. Damian Tenma is your client. Don’t worry about the yokai beyond what ones might have been involved in the case.”

Athena nods, her chin jutting out. “Tomorrow, Mr Tenma,” she says. “And the next day, everyone else!”

Phoenix closes his eyes and his eyebrows raise like he’s trying to roll his eyes behind the lids. “It’s a start,” he says.

[stroni-bomb]

To Murder A Family

You hadn't meant for it to happen, you hadn't meant to disobey this badly. Your pack was right about you, one day your own rebellion would really be the end of them all.

OC Mingcheng's Backstory - Fairy!Jaehyun's Mate.

-Stroni-

⁎ *⁎°؂✶

You begrudgingly followed your mother and father, Alpha and Luna of your pack. They were on the move again to find a new home, only leaving intervals as small as one hour for everyone to rest before trekking off once again.

"Cheer up, you look like a skunk just sprayed your clean coat. Though that's your normal face nowadays it seems," Tao, your older brother and next in line to be Alpha, cackled beside you in pack link.

You snapped your jaw rather aggressively yet somewhat playful at him. "Shut it, I've got no patience for your games."

Tao grumbled beside you, deciding to pick up the pace and walk alongside your parents. Good riddens, you glared at him from behind, he was always trying to play favourite, not just with your parents either but with the whole pack that followed diligently behind your family. Suck ups, the lot of you- was what you wanted to say in your connected minds, but instead carried on walking, each paw getting more and more sore with each step.

⁎ *⁎°؂✶

"We are stopping here," your mother announced, her yellow eyes turned to face the pack whom had stopped dead in their tracks. "Your Alpha and my son have gone to survey the area. Feel free to shift, we may be staying here for a while."

Everyone seemed to sigh in unison, the instant cracking of bones filling the air. It didn't seem awkward anymore, seeing the whole pack naked. It had happened in so many occasions you were sure you'd be able to identify everyone simply by looking at their belly buttons.

As everyone stretched out their human form you decided to stay as a wolf and have a look around.

"Y/N!" Your mother barked after you, her too in her human form. Your tail instantly sagged, so much for exploring. "Where are you going? Ladies should-"

"Stay and look elegant so the pack feel reassured blah blah blah I get it," you snapped, slumping down onto the floor deciding your pelt was in need of a clean.

"That's not how a lady should cleanse herself," She scolded once again, a disgusted look plastered on her face. Not being able to think of a good comeback in time you simply stuck your tongue out, lifting your top lip as if to pull a silly face in wolf form.

"You're so childish! There's just no talking to you anymore!" She yelled, storming off towards the family of the Betas, second in command.

Laughing to yourself you watched her leave as she vented, presumably about you. "You shouldn't wind your mother up like that daughter," a deep voice said behind you, it was your father who, thankfully, was in wolf form.

"She started it; a lady should do this, a lady should do that, how about a lady does whatever the hell she wants?" Your father gently shook his head then walked towards the trees, signalling for you to follow suite.

You gladly got up, knowing you was in for a more educational lecture, one that didn't end with telling you what to do or how to live your life. Your father was the best in terms that he didn't judge you, he didn't have crazy expectations and he actually treated you ...like a daughter.

For a while he hadn't said anything, allowing you to follow close by his side, something your mother would never allow you to do.

"Y/N," he addressed you with your name, something you weren't used to as 'daughter', 'wife' and 'son' were how he always called his family by. "sometimes I worry for you, maybe I shouldn't. But the way you live, how you do things, do you think they're beneficial to the pack?"

You stood frozen in place. Your heart seemingly stopped beating and your tail immediately drooped between your legs. This didn't sound like father, this sounded like mother, literally anything but father.

"I know I'm not one to tell you what to do but, some things you know you have to, right? To save yourself, to save the lives of your family and the pack-"

"What exactly are you on about? You see me as a threat?" You couldn't help but interrupt, his words sending you over the edge. He suddenly stopped also, looking back at you sympathetically then turning to look at something in front of him. Reluctantly you moved forward, seeing the most beautiful lake you had possibly ever seen in your lifetime.

"It's not that your a threat Y/N. You just have tendencies to disobey even the most important of rules," he paused, looking somewhat thoughtful as his perked ears moved in the wind. "This lake, although beautiful, is cursed. I can smell it, nothing but bad news. Just- don't drink from it okay? That's all."

How could something so pretty be such a threat? You called it as bullshit, assuming it was another of the stupid tests your mother would put your father under to see if you'd do as you're told in an extreme situation. You weren't stupid. You'd already decided to give the lake a visit later to have a sip but in the mean time you gave your father a sure 'yes alpha' before racing him back to the others.

As the last wer finally fell asleep you silently tracked out the path you had walked earlier, following the fading scents until reaching the glistening water. It didn't have a particular scent that screamed 'this lake is cursed'. Even if there was, had your father really thought you were stupid enough to drink from a random lake? The fact that he thought you did only made you want to drink from it more, so here you are.

Without hesitation you lowered your front legs to make it easier for your tongue to reach the water. As soon as your tongue touched the cool liquid your wolf seemed to scream out to you, shouting at you to shift as soon as possible.

"Shut up wolf," you scowled, knowing it was only psychological. "Don't listen to what my dad has to sa-" it hit you all at once though. The feeling of skin stretching, bones growing ten times the size they should be, all whilst you were still a wolf. The pain was excruciating, nothing like you had ever felt before. The scariest thing was, you had no control over yourself anymore. As the floor got further and further away you cried out for everything to just stop but you couldn't. When it eventually halted you were no longer the slightly larger than average wolf, instead you were a beast, one so tall and bulky you could barely recognise your own pelt that covered its body.

A sudden burst of anger had shot through you; flashbacks of everytime you had been ridiculed as a child, disregarded by your parents and even your brother, it surged through you like a toxic drug. Until eventually, you had come to the conclusion of...who ever said you couldn't choose your family? Choose your pack? They didn't create the rules, no no you did, and it was time for a change... your new rule? Well it was simple:

If they've hurt you...kill them.

"And that's what I did," you finished your story to Jaehyun, who laid silently in bed next to you, playing with your hair and grasping your hand whenever your voice had broken.

"You weren't you in that moment," he soothed, finally deeming it appropriate to change your mood to a calmer one. It would've been wrong to have done it before, you wanted to tell him about your past in detail, emotions and everything. "Plus, you still have Tao."

You sighed, not sure if it was relief or frustration. Turning to face Jaehyun you cautiously wrapped your arms around him, taking in his scent as you shuffled closer to his body, snuggling your face into his collarbone. It was unlike you to initiate skinship, usually leaving it to Jaehyun whenever he felt like you weren't going to bite his head off. Dealing with your numerous mood swings was something you really had to commemorate to him, his patience really was immaculate.

His light chuckle gently blew the top of your hair as his arms found their way around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer to his chest. He placed a soft kiss to the top of your head, hugging you even tighter, it was amazing to him to have you here, you've been through a lot and after everything to still want to be by his side, it made him more than ecstatic.

"Hyunie...do you like Hyunie?" Acting cute wasn't really something you were known for either, at all, but in rare instances where you were both tired and seemingly under Jaehyun's 'spell' you couldn't help it.

"Hyunie?" He paused to think, not about the name of course, just about how adorable you were being. "I love it."

"Just like I love you," you didn't even have to think as the words just naturally slipped out of your mouth. You had never openly said 'I love you' before, Jaehyun had countless times but for you love was more if an expression of actions rather than words. This time though it was necessary.

"Y-you what?" He asked shocked, not believing that he'd heard you correctly.

"You know what I said doofus don't make me repeat myself," there's the Y/N that he was familiar with.

"I love you so much too Y/N," he cuddled you even tighter, resting his head on top of yours.

"Hyunie!" You pouted, looking up at him, his lips just a small gap from yours. "Why must you always one up me? You love hog."

He smirked as his eyes fell upon your lips, "love hog, huh?"

You lightly shook your head as your eyes seemed to naturally find their way to his lips as well. "You're unbelievable Jung Jaehyun."

"As are you Y/L/N Y/N, just more so."

"Again with the one upping?" Teasingly you bit the corner of your lip, snaking your arms from around his torso to loosely hanging across his shoulders and hooking around his neck. "Just kiss me already, we both know that's what you want."

He didn't hesitate, almost immediately closing the gap between the two of you and locking his lips in perfect unison with yours. It was passionate to say the least, he'd gently pull at the hem of your pyjama bottoms and you'd run your fingers through his hair, occasionally tugging at it lightly every now and then.

It wasn't unusual for you to end up pinned underneath Jaehyun's body as his hair flopped down, some strands sticking to his forehead where a few beads of sweat would roll down. Both of you naked, feeling nothing but love and acceptance radiating from each other, strong feelings showing clearly for the other. You were sure, no, you were absolutely certain that what you had with Jaehyun, that's what is commonly known as... forever.

[moiraineswife]

Infernal Mending: The Locket, Part 3 - A Mollymauk Fic

Part 1 || Part 2 

Finally posting part 3 (I definitely didn’t forget about this except for the fact that I kind of did) 

Title: Infernal Mending 

Fic Summary: Molly has no memories of his past before he woke up at the side of the road, half-dead, and was taken in by the carnival that became his family.The only connection he has to who he was before is a locket given to him by Yasha.

Now travelling with his new, strange group, he begins to understand who he was before, and is forced to face the ghosts that emerge from the locket he opened with unthinking curiosity.

Mollymauk backstory/character study/exploration of the new team dynamic. Something in here for everyone. And shit loads of angst. Because I’m me.

Chapter Summary: Molly cools off after the uncomfortable moment with Jester, and gets help from an unexpected source that advises him on how to put things right. 

Teaser: ‘ In that moment he was close to wishing, as he had in those early days, that they had left him there to die. Nameless. Storyless. Forgotten. It was kinder than this. Kinder than pretending that he hadn’t died that day. Kinder than allowing this shambling wreck with no sense of self or purpose to continue existing in the world and call it living.’

Link: AO3 

Without another word he sped up to walk ahead of their little convoy. The wagon didn’t move fast, with their sad, solitary horse to pull it, and it didn’t take much effort to get clear ahead of them, out of range of their whispered comments about his behaviour, their prying eyes, and above all, the hurt on Jester’s face.

An empty pit inside him had opened up and threatened to swallow him whole. He shouldn’t have snapped at Jester like that, he hated himself for snapping at Jester like that but...He had done so well at pretending he had started to deceive himself, had started to believe that he might actually be a whole person, who didn’t need anything but the last two years he could remember to cobble together a sense of self.

Yet listening to them all talking, hearing how their families, their upbringings, however had or good, had shaped them, driven them, given them purpose, given them identity, had made him realise how hollow he was by comparison.

Molly put on a front, that wasn’t exactly a secret. But usually when people acted the way that he did they had things to hide. They had secrets. They had something or someone they were trying to conceal. He had nothing. He was nothing. Nothing and no-one.

The front had been enough for so long. The pretence, the lies, the bullshit he spouted whenever anyone asked him a difficult question about where he had come from or why he was like this. Most of them had known it was bullshit but that hadn’t really mattered. All that had mattered was that he had said something, he had found some lie, some story, something that he could hold on to and pretend with.

It had all slipped away when they had started to talk of family. That hadn’t been as much of a problem in the carnival. Everyone had been there to either run from something, hide from something, or pretend to be something else. No-one had pried into the others’ pasts, and there had been few questions about family. It had been commonly accepted that they were each others’ family now, and that that had happened for a reason.

He covered his face with his hands and groaned softly. Why hadn’t he just been able to lie? Why hadn’t he just  been able to tell them all that his mother was a famous musician with so much talent that kings begged her to play at their court, and that was why he could sing so well himself? His father had been an incredible painter, and was the source of his own small creative prowess? Why hadn’t he been able to invent a younger sister with lavender skin and big black eyes who he sang lullabies to, just to please Jester? Why had he gone to pieces like that?

Why, why, why?

Nothing made any fucking sense. Nothing had made any fucking sense since the day he’d woken up in a puddle of filth and rain at the side of the road and been taken in by the carnival that had happened past him and pulled him out of death’s embrace that had been closing so sweetly around him.

In that moment he was close to wishing, as he had in those early days, that they had left him there to die. Nameless. Storyless. Forgotten. It was kinder than this. Kinder than pretending that he hadn’t died that day. Kinder than allowing this shambling wreck with no sense of self or purpose to continue existing in the world and call it living.

On some strange instinct, he pulled at the fine gold chain around his neck and pulled the heavy locket up from where it had been resting, warm from the heat of his body, just over his heart.

He turned it over and over in his fingers, his calluses scraping on the edges of the fine engravings that patterned it. He clicked the latch and opened it, staring down once more into the eyes that had been haunting his dreams since Yasha had given it to him in the Feed and Mead tavern a few weeks earlier.

One of the doors was empty. In the other was a thick piece of paper, painted over with a clear liquid that reminded him of a pottery glaze in order to preserve the image below. It depicted a tiefling woman. Her horns extended straight up above her head, like a ram’s, spiralling slightly at the tips. Her skin was a deep blue, darker than Jester’s, but she had red eyes, like his. Above the top of her head, in blood red ink, were four numbers: 3010.

He had no idea who she was. But she had been important enough to him, at some point in his life, to keep safe in this locket that he had still been carrying when the carnival had found him. And she had begun to creep into his dreams, already dark and twisted, that woke him before dawn most days, shaking and sweating, clutching at the details of the demons his mind danced with at night, at the possible insight they might give him into his past. But he still had no idea who she was. His mother, perhaps, when she had been younger? Or maybe a sister, as Jester had suggested. Or a friend. A partner?

It seemed his search for answers about himself was only giving him more and more questions, adding to the already extensive list of things he didn’t know. It was exhausting and infuriating, and never more present to him than when the others had so poignantly reminded him of the life he didn’t have.

He was like a ghost walking among them. Not part of their world, but not able to move on or find peace either. Lost. Adrift. A soul condemned to wander on this plane for the rest of eternity, searching for those who may once have loved it.

It was a lonely, cold, isolating thing, and as the last vestiges of whatever it was that had made him snap at Jester faded away, he realised it had settled firmly in his chest, in the place where his heart might once have been.

He walked. And walked. And walked. Until his feet protested and his calves felt as though someone had applied thumb screws to his tendons. The sun had set below the horizon and the cold wind tugged at his coat before he realised it was time to stop.

Glancing over his shoulder, he scanned the horizon for some sign of his party and, after a moment, he spotted a rising column of smoke from a fire. He made towards it, vaguely hoping it was his friends, and not another random band of travellers. Though if it was, he assured himself dully, they might yet be more willing to take him in than his group would.

Once his self-pitying thoughts about his past had elapsed, which admittedly had taken some time, his thoughts had turned instead to how he had snapped at Jester. Thinking about it now caused him to wince, not least because of the way the others would react. Shouting at Jester was like kicking a puppy. It was, above all, an inexcusable crime that served no-one and left the world a little darker than it had been before.

After almost twenty minutes of walking, he crested a small rise, and came upon their poor horse which was grazing absently on the thick tufts of grass around it, swishing its tail back and forth to ward off the flies.

“Hello there dinner,” he murmured quietly, stepping forwards and allowing the horse to nuzzle at his hands. He’d gotten into the habit of feeding it a sugar lump a time or two while he’d travelled with it in the circus and the thing now assumed that every time he approached it, it was going to get sugar from him. He had gotten into the habit of calling it ‘dinner’ a few days ago, because it made Jester squawk indignantly every time he did so.

“Go back to your grass, friend,” Molly told it quietly, “I haven’t got anything for you I’m afraid.”

The temptation to remain beside the horse and not move any closer to the small fire they had managed to get going was extremely tempting, but he didn’t need to add ‘coward’ to his long list of flaws of today.

So he strolled into camp as casually as he could and announced to the people gathered there, “The road ahead is clear. No dangers.”

There was a long, agonizing silence as they all slowly looked up at him. Finally, after letting him stew in his own discomfort for a lot longer, Beau broke it.

“And how the hell were we supposed to know there was danger or not?” she demanded, screwing up her face in that frown of distaste she reserved just for him, “Seeing as how you didn’t bother coming back to us for six hours, by which time we’d already stopped.”

“Well,” Molly said, chewing on that for a moment as he swaned closer to the fire, suddenly realising how cold he was, “If something dangerous had attacked and killed me, my lifeless body at the side of the road would probably have been a good indication for you all to stop, wouldn’t it?”

“Yeah, stop and give whatever finally did you in a fucking medal,” Beau muttered under her breath, turning her attention back to the chopping board balanced precariously across her knees where she was helping Fjord with dinner.

Molly stepped forward to help too, feeling pity for the poor roots Beau was currently mangling, but Fjord told him in a voice that was curt but civil, that he didn’t need any help. After almost five minutes drifting around the camp trying to find something to do with himself, he felt a tug on the hem of his cloak and looked down to see Nott there.

“Yes?” he said, arching an eyebrow at her.

“The horse has a stone in one of his shoes, we think,” the little goblin girl informed him in a soft voice, “But he won’t let any of us close enough to look, he just kicks. Maybe, maybe you could fix that?”

“Of course,” Molly said, thinking that getting kicked in the face by a grumpy, overworked horse was entirely more enjoyable than the alternative.

“And,” Nott whispered, dropping her voice even further and glancing around, as though afraid to be seen talking to him, “You should give her some flowers.”

“Who?” Molly said, bewildered.

“Jester,” Nott said, as though this was obvious and, in hindsight, it probably should have been. She shuffled her feet and explained, clearly thinking him to be incredibly dense, which perhaps he was, “She likes flowers. It can be how you say sorry.”

He sauntered back to Winter’s Crest, still placidly chomping on the grass, and set about examining his feet. The horse didn’t think much of this, and did indeed kick, but a few soft words and touches were enough to calm him so that Molly could actually help the silly beast. He stood beside it a while longer, chewing on his mint leaves, pondering Nott’s words to him before deciding that it almost definitely couldn’t make the situation worse.

He was thankful for his darkvision as he scoured the nearby bushes and grasses for some likely looking flowers. Unfortunately, there didn’t seem to be any around save a few half-wilted dandelions. As far as apologies went, they would probably make the situation worse.

In the end he got hold of a stick around as broad as his thumb, and roughly the length of his forearm, plopped himself down on the grass next to WC, who spared him half a glance in between his grass-chomping, and began whittling it.

Half an hour later, he had what he hoped would suffice as a fairly reasonable apology gift and approached the camp again.

Jester was being kept well aware from the food, as they had all learned the hard way was essential to avoiding food poisoning on this trip together, and drawing furiously in her sketchpad. He wondered briefly if it would depict him headless, along with a prayer to the Traveller for something nasty to find and kill him the next day, but he didn’t really think Jester had a truly vindictive bone in her body.

He had barely opened his mouth when Fjord and Beau seemed to coalesce from the darkness on either side of Jester, both standing straight, arms folded, glaring at him like bodyguards.

Frowning, he opened his mouth to say something that would either make Fjord laugh or Beau punch him, when Jester interrupted, “It’s alright, it’s alright. You don’t have to protect me from him,” she said, rolling her eyes as though she found her companions completely ridiculous. Molly felt his heart lighten for just a second, thinking that maybe she wasn’t as hurt as he’d feared. Then she added firmly, “I can do that myself.”

Beau and Fjord did at least move aside, though Beau continued to frown suspiciously at him even as she did so, and neither of them went far. Molly tried to ignore them as he focused on Jester.  

“I have something for you,” he said quietly to her.

“What is it?” she asked, looking curious, her voice perking up apparently in spite of herself.

“An apology,” he said, frankly, then withdrew the thing he had carved from her and handed it out to her, “Nott suggested flowers, but I couldn’t find any. And besides, I think you’ll like this better.”

“Better than flowers?” she said, suspiciously, “Is it a doughnut?”

He laughed a little at that, “Unfortunately not. If I’d passed a bakery in the middle of a field I’d have been sure to get something for you.  This is the best I could manage with what I had available to me.”

She took it from him and raised an eyebrow, obviously unimpressed. “It’s a stick,” she informed him, “Definitely not better than flowers. This one isn’t even on fire,” she glanced around him to where their fire was currently consuming many sticks.

“Take a closer look,” he urged her, afraid she was going to impulsively set it alight just to declare it better than a simple stick.

Frowning, she peered down at it for almost a full minute before she declared, “It’s a stick with holes in it. Probably better than just a stick, but not better than flowers.”

Sighing a little in spite of himself, Molly held out a hand, “May I?” he asked her.

She handed him back the roughly carved flute, now looking slightly suspicious, as though afraid he was teasing her. Beau and Fjord were both watching him now, and Nott was peering from around Caleb’s legs at him. Their eyes on him, he blew gently and played a soft few notes.

Jester clapped her hands together in delight while at the same time he was almost certain he heard Fjord give a soft groan. Like Molly, he was probably fully aware that this gift meant they’d never have another peaceful moment on the road.

“It sounds just like an owl!” Jester said excitedly, snatching it from him and blowing it herself. The note she made was a little more cracked than his had been, since she hadn’t quite perfected the art of not doing something to the fullest extent that she possibly could, but she looked very pleased with herself all the same. “You were right, this is definitely better than flowers,” she informed him.

“I’m glad you’re pleased,” Molly said, bowing to her, “I’ll teach how you to play some songs on it tomorrow,” for the sake of all of their ears, he hoped she picked it up quickly.

He opened his mouth to continue, but Beau interrupted, “Is that it, then?” she demanded, shifting protectively a little closer towards Jester, arms folded.

“No,” Molly scowled, “It’s not.” With that, he turned firmly away from her and said to Jester in Infernal, “Can I have a word? Just the two of us?”

She studied him for a long moment, then she said, “Yes, alright,” in Common, set down her sketchbook, and got to her feet.

She took his hand and promptly began to lead him away from the confused Beau and Fjord.

“Jes?” Fjord said, a question in his voice.

“We’re not going to have sex with each other, “ Jester informed Fjord placidly, while Beau choked, “Don’t worry,” she patted his arm in an apparently reassuring way then, with surprising strength, tugged Molly deeper into the darkness.

She seemed to have a destination in mind, and he didn’t protest as she dragged him into the shelter of an old oak tree and plopped down, patting the grass beside her in invitation. He accepted it, and joined her on the ground.

Before he could say anything she spoke, examining the roughly carved flute in her hands. “Where did you get this?”

“I made it,” he replied, in Infernal.

She cocked an eyebrow at him, “Really?” she said in the same language.

He nodded, “Really really.”

She studied him for a long moment, apparently trying to decide if he was teasing her, then said, “I didn’t know you could make things like this.”

He smirked at her, “I’m a man of many talents and mysteries, my dear.” She continued to watch him and after a long moment he shrugged and said, “Yasha taught me how to do it, while we were travelling together. Something to keep my hands busy, she said.” He had needed that, back in those days, just to keep him from climbing the walls or clawing off his own skin in frustration. “She’s much better than me, the things she can make are incredible. But don’t ask her directly about it.”

Jester cocked her head, curious, “Why not?” she asked.

Molly smiled thinly, “She’s self-conscious about it,” he said, “Doesn’t like attention being drawn to her. She’d probably butcher me right here and now if she knew I’d even told you this much.” He wasn’t sure how much of an exaggeration that was. It probably depended on Yasha’s mood in the moment she found out. “Although,” he added wryly, “I suppose you might not object to that.”

Jester considered him for a moment, then she said, “I would.” There was such a sweet sincerity to her words that he felt yet another stab of guilt for having snapped at her before. “You were a bit of a dick,” she admitted, “But I wouldn’t want her to hurt you.”

“I wouldn’t blame you if you did,” he told her, quietly, “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.”

“No,” Jester agreed, with that characteristic candid bluntness of hers, “You shouldn’t have.”

Without really noticing what he was doing he started pulling up long blades of grass with his fingers and absently weaving them together. Jester watched him for a long moment. Finally, he said, his voice soft, “It’s nice to have someone to speak Infernal with again.” That seemed to catch her off-guard and she just blinked at him, “Haven’t you missed it?” he asked her.

“Not really,” she said slowly, “But I haven’t been travelling for as long as you have.” She considered for another moment, then, “And it is nice to have another tiefling to talk to. Fjord is very nice, but for a sailor he’s very bad with languages. He doesn’t even know the fun stuff like the curse words!”

Molly laughed at that, “I take it you’ve already solved that problem?” he said.

“Of course I have,” Jester replied, looking mildly offended that he’d even felt the need to ask. “He now knows how to say all the important things.”

Molly smiled, “I’m glad to hear that.”

He was silent for a log moment, staring up into the velvety black sky that blanketed the world. They were far enough away from any cities that he could see stars stretching out in endless clusters before him, like handfuls of diamonds tossed across the sky by the hand of a careless god.

Yasha had told him once of the strange beliefs of her people with regards to the stars. They believed that the entire sky was actually only stars, and nothing else. The black patches were not the sky, they were simply stars that had not been given souls yet.

He had questioned her on what that had meant, and she had solemnly told him that every star he saw in the sky corresponded to a departed soul. When a loved one died, she had claimed, their soul was carried into the sky, and drifted into one of the empty, waiting, black stars, illuminating it.

Shooting stars were the last farewell of a soul as it left the world as they knew it and was carried into the sky to take its rightful place. Her people believed that some day, when the sentient races had completed their quest in this world, that the last thing the gods would see was the sky was it should be, an oasis of rippling light, every dark, empty star filled, and that the world would then ended.

As he stared up above them he wondered if his family were up there, watching him, or if their stars, like his, were dark. He wondered if the woman from the locket was there, too...

“Mollymauk,” Jester said after a long moment, interrupting him.

“Mm?” He started, looking down at her.

“I’m not sure how to tell you this,” Jester said in Infernal, gently patting his hand, “But this is a really shit apology.”

He barked out a laugh at that, “It is,” he agreed, then dragged a hand through his hair. His fingers caught on the tiny braids Jester had been weaving into it that morning, which he had forgotten about until now. “I haven’t had to apologise to people too often,” he explained, with a broad, lazy smile, “It’s one of the many burdens of being as perfect as I am-“ he broke off, snickering, as Jester playfully shoved at him.

He sobered up a moment later, gazing up at the stars once more, his throat growing tight. “The truth-“ he faltered, swallowed hard, and forced himself to try again, “The truth is, Jester, that I wasn’t really trying to apologise there. I was trying to explain.”

Jester’s brow furrowed in answer to that, “Explain?” She repeated, confused, “By telling me about Infernal?”

“Yes,” he said, his voice growing suddenly hoarse, thick with an emotion that he couldn’t place that welled up from his chest and threatened to drown him for a moment. He swallowed it back down and forced himself to continue, though he didn’t look at her now. “Before you I hadn’t spoken Infernal in a very long time. I had no-one to speak it to. No-one in the carnival knew it, and I almost thought it had left me, too, until I saw you again.”

Jester stayed uncharacteristically quiet and still, as though she had been frozen, watching him silently.

With a ragged, shuddering breath, he looked up at her again and said, “My family are gone, Jester.” The words were true enough. Whether the interpretation she chose to place upon them was also true was another matter entirely, but not one he cared to dwell upon at the moment. “All of them. There’s nothing left of them. And so...So it was nice to have someone speak Infernal with me again.”

She reached out slowly and took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. At the same time, she tangled her tail with his, a common sign of intimacy and affection that he had also not experienced...For as long as he could remember. Yet it felt right. He smiled, a little shakily it was true, but he smiled.

“I know it’s not an excuse,” he continued, “But that was why I snapped at you before.”

“It must be painful to think about,” she said quietly.

He swallowed, “It is,” he admitted, and for some reason, it felt good to say that, to acknowledge that there was this wound in him, this hollowed out scar, capable of hurting him still, even if he couldn’t recall the wound itself.

“Then I’m sorry I pushed you so hard to talk about it,” Jester said, resting her head comfortably on his shoulder and putting her arm around him. She was by far the most comfortable of their group with casual physical affection, something he was glad of.

“I’ll forgive you if you forgive me,” he promised her, turning to the side and kissing the top of her head.

She was quiet for a long time, allowing them to settle in the peaceful silence. Then she said abruptly, “Deal,” and got to her feet without warning.

Molly blinked, a little thrown by this sudden turn of events, even more so when she swooped down and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. “I forgive you, Molly,” she said, and he felt a soft warmth spread through him at her words. “And to prove how much I forgive you, I’m going to go back to camp and tell Nott not to put beetles in your dinner after all.” With that, she skipped off.

“Wait, what?” Molly shouted after her, her words only just hitting him as he scrambled to his feet and chased after her.

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

[i-w-p-chan]

Connections - Expansion Pack, Part 9

Note: finally y’all get to see Akira awakening to Arsene.

Set on the same day the PT stake out Mementos to catch Morgana and Haru- Akira finds himself in the Metaverse on his own, awakens a Persona, gets important shit done, and then meets up with the PT later. This bitch was very busy on that day. Kudos for not dropping dead (this is the point when the bags under his eyes start to develop, I’m certain.)

Warnings: How Does One Write A Straightforward Palace Infiltration?, Glass, So Much Glass.

Disclaimer: Don’t own P5.

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Akira sighed after he made his way back to the attic above Leblanc. The spontaneous, accidental trip he made to that space station was… strange to say the least.

He took out his phone and stared at the new app that installed itself on it after Ren had found themself in the space station.

Whatever it was, it was definitely related to what the Phantom Thieves of Hearts did, which meant Akira had to dig into it.

MetaNav.

He frowned and opened the app; it certainly looked like a navigator app, but trying to search for any destination on it proved futile.

Why was it called Meta Nav? Did it refer to a metaspace of some sort?

He hummed as he tried to remember any details the Thieves had let slip in regards to their work. There was something about names, wasn’t it?

Did he have to look up names of people instead of places? Did the app work as a navigator to people’s hearts? He snorted at the thought, but all the same, he shrugged and tried out the first name he could think to input.

“Kurusu Akira.”

“Candidate found,” The app chimed, and Akira tapped his phone against his chin, he needed more coordinates?

But what?

Back with Madarame, the Thieves seemed to fixate about getting a room inside his shack open as if it was an obstacle in their work. Back with Kaneshiro, they needed to get into contact with him, presumably for something connected with his work. Back with Futaba, they went up to her room. And now with Okumura, they were lurking around Okumura Foods’ HQ.

Was it the place of residence? Or work?

“Café Leblanc.”

“Candidate not found.”

“Shujin Academy.”

“Candidate not found.”

He frowned as he dropped his hands to the side; he needed to think of a place connected to him to work.

In the following minutes, he’d tried out every single address he could think of back in his hometown and any place connected to his career as Joker, but the constant ring of ‘candidate not found’ persisted.

He sighed as he flopped down on his bed and buried his head in his arms, he could do it the next day, while the Thieves were busy looking for Morgana, because his search results were depressing for the day.

If he couldn’t figure it out, he could ask Futaba, but for the moment, it would remain as his last resort.

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Akira took the chance to slip away after school the next day to slip back into one of Yongen’s alleyways where he was sure no one would come across him.

Opening the Nav, he started trying out other addresses in Tokyo, from the Diet Building to the ramen shop he frequented, but still none of them garnered a reaction other than the usual.

He scowled down at his phone, “Just what in the whole of goddamn Tokyo will make this absolute garba-“

“Candidate found.”

“What?” Akira stared at his phone incredulously, “Tokyo? Fucking Tokyo? Is this some sort of farce or what?”

“Candidate found. Beginning navigation.”

.

Akira stared around him incredulously; wherever he looked, Tokyo looked like a city made of cracked glass- everything existed in perfect mimicry of its real world counterpart, except the whole city was made of glass, with big cracks going through it and some parts completely shattered, its shards floating in the air around it, but leaving behind what looked like its exact appearance in reality.

He made his way to Leblanc, to see that the glass had completely peeled away from it. He frowned as he wondered what it meant, though he had a feeling that wherever he was right now wasn’t a place that he should take lightly.

Another look around the area showed him that the places with the most shattered glass were the ones he usually frequented, like the baths and Sojiro’s house.

He hummed thoughtfully as he considered the whole city from what he could see in the distance. Maybe he could check other locations?

His feet took him to the station, and he made his way down to the train he usually took from Yongen on his way to school. The moment he hit the ground near the tracks, the world shifted.

He blinked and looked at the signs around him; did he suddenly shift from Yongen’s station to the one near the school? There was only one option to try: leave the station and check.

He rushed out of the station, absolutely thankful to the fact that it was empty, and made his way to the streets; he was right, he was near Shujin.

Shoving his hand into his bag, he looked around for his trusty grapple gun, taking it out, he aimed at the building nearest to him, and launched the grapple, using it to propel himself to the roof.

He landed and quickly shot back up to look in the direction of the school; the building itself was quite cracked and shattered in places.

He had already traversed across a couple of buildings on his way to the school when he skidded to a halt, an idea popping into his head.

Instead of checking Shujin, why not check what the Diet Building looked like?

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Using the convenient shifts that occurred at the train station, Akira soon made his way to the Diet Building.

His eyebrows shot up when he saw the building was the only one that wasn’t cracked or shattered in places, and they would have shot up even more if it was possible when he saw who was standing in front of the building.

“Akira,” Goro called to him, a smirk plastered on his face, as if he was ready to confront Akira right then and there.

“Goro.” Akira made his way to Goro, unable to shake the feeling that something was seriously wrong in the situation.

Goro’s eyes widened in mock hurt and he put his hand on his chest as he gasped dramatically, “Goro? Whatever happened to Tantei-san, hon?”

“Are you… alright?” Akira blinked in bewilderment, wondering what happened to make Goro act so dramatic out of the blue.

Goro snorted, his current expression melting away in favor of an annoyed one, “Of course I’m alright, when have I never been alright? Do you want an itemized list? Of fucking course I’m not alright! I mean, you have eyes, look you idiot.”

Akira blinked again and looked in the direction Goro had gestured in: it was still the Diet Building.

“It’s the Diet Building.”

“I know that.” Goro sent him a particularly fake smile before he grabbed Akira and dragged him to the building, “How about you check inside? I’m pretty sure you’ll love the surprise waiting for you!” With that said, Goro opened the door and threw Akira in before he slammed the door closed behind him with a resounding bang.

The interior of the building itself was definitely more sinister than he would have pegged it to be, with shadows crawling across the walls and floor, dark, tattered curtains draped over the windows, and with a winding staircase wrapped in spikes leading up to the next floor.

There was a pair of bright yellow eyes glaring at him unnervingly from the shadow of the staircase.

Akira stepped backwards towards the door, even though he was basically trapped, he could still surprise whatever was watching him if he flung himself through one of the windows instead of actually bolting for the door.

The yellow eyes’ glare intensified, and their owner bolted at him. Akira immediately pivoted on his heel and rushed towards the nearest window, jumping at it with his arms braced around his head.

His forearms slammed against the window, but it failed to break under his weight. Pain lanced through his arms, and his momentum carried him to slam fully against the window before dropping to the floor. His reflexes launched him back to his feet in a crouch, and he shook his arms as he stared blearily at the shadow while trying to regain his bearings after the shock of the crash.

There was a derisive snort, “Is that the best you can do? Guess I can give you a little credit for going to the window instead of trying the door, but still you ultimately failed.” The voice sounded eerily familiar in its condescending, boastful tone. In fact, it sounded just like…

Akira’s eyes widened when he finally got a good look at the yellow-eyed shadow; it looked exactly like him, dressed in a black, tight, full body suit, with a red jacket with tail coats, a pair of heels, red gloves with clawed fingertips, and a red top hat.

His doppelganger sneered at him, “Is that the best you could do? I can’t believe we’re fundamentally the same person. Hah. But then again, what else could I expect of some coward who can’t even face his failings.”

“Excuse me?” Akira was miffed, “And who are you to have the gall to say that?”

His doppelganger allowed a self-satisfied smirk to quirk his lips, “Now, was that too hard? Actually speaking up with your own face and voice for once instead of hiding behind some stupid mask? Or masks, as it were?”

Akira allowed a scowl to mar his face and he crossed his arms, if this little shit wanted to trash talk, then Akira was willing to trash talk, “You still haven’t answered my question, faker.”

“Faker!” His doppelganger crowed, “You’re calling me a faker? Now that’s comedy! Guess that’s why you go by Joker, eh?”

Akira stiffened and his doppelganger immediately noticed it, “Oh, I know all about that. About your abilities, your skills, your secret identities- Joker, Ren, the whole shebang- I know all about your shenanigans, your burdens and problems, your deepest, darkest secrets. I am you after all.”

“Oh?” Akira scoffed, “So you put on a mask that looks just like me and claim that you’re me? Because that’s very believable.”

“That’s rich, coming from a weakling like you.” His doppelganger cooed, “What do you call those nice glasses you have on? Are they not a mask? An extra layer? Something to hide behind? And we’re in a world full glass and faces already, so take it off.”

Akira hesitated, and the doppelganger scoffed, “See? That’s why I’m here, that’s why this whole place exists, even. Because you’re a weak-willed lil’ bitch who apparently can’t take a hit from fucking Shido.” The doppelganger paused before a sour look took over his face, “Actually, let me rephrase that last part. In fact, ignore the part about fucking Shido because-“ The doppelganger inhaled, “Where is the goddamned brain bleach when you need it?”

“If I knew, I’d have drowned you in it already,” Akira snarked.

The doppelganger’s expression turned from sour into pleased, “See? That’s the sass I like! My problem is that it finds a way to miraculously disappear when it comes to your probation. So you thought yourself invincible but discovered you weren’t in quite the unpleasant circumstances, so what?”

“So what?” Akira repeated incredulously, “So what?!”

“Are you telling me that you regret all that happened to bring you here?” The doppelganger stalked towards Akira, who stood firmly, refusing to back down.

“No. absolutely not.” Akira ground through his teeth.

“Excellent.” His doppelganger grinned viciously at him, “So, are you just going to lie down and do nothing when you can? Just simply sit back and watch? You can easily predict what could happen with our friends, are you planning to just keep your head down and not help because you’re afraid of retribution?”

“NO!” Akira shouted and stomped towards his doppelganger, taking his glasses off and throwing them away, uncaring of how they shattered as they hit the ground, “I don’t care what happens, I know exactly what I want to do, and how I should go about it, and I am not going to just sit back and watch my friends do everything!”

“That’s the spirit!” The doppelganger flung his arms around dramatically as his form glowed brightly and melted into Akira’s body.

Akira’s stance faltered as he registered the excruciating pain that lanced through his head and he cried out.

“Vow to me, I am thou, thou art I.” Akira heard his doppelganger cackle in his head and, strangely (or maybe not strangely?), he chuckled along with it, “Now call upon my name!”

A surge of energy flowed through Akira, and he straightened, “Come to me, Arsene!”

The chuckles in his head grew deeper in tone and echoed around him, and he turned around to stare at the great, horned being floating in the air.

There was a pleased hum within his core, and the being- Arsene- vanished, only for a familiar weight to settle down on Akira’s face, and he reached his hands to check what it was.

It was his Joker mask.

Actually, he was also dressed in his Joker get-up. Was this why the Phantom Thieves of Hearts all wore their own costumes? And here he thought they were going by the phantom thief code.

Well, no matter.

Aki- Joker- for it was Joker now- turned his focus towards the stairs, knowing exactly what he had to do next, and jogged towards it. It was time to start the climb, to see what lay hidden at the top.

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Staircase after staircase, floor after floor, and each time Joker had to make his way through increasingly difficult security measures. Not that he was surprised about it.

And the crowning jewel of them all…

Joker twisted through laser beams and flung out his hand with the grapple gun to use the grapple to latch onto one of the beams; it was fragile, and it wouldn’t hold out for long, and the security measures were quite nightmarish at this point, but he was now within reach of the glittering treasure sat atop the pedestal waiting for him on the last floor, and there was a great window in sight, waiting for him to crash through it and drop down.

There were a lot of risks with such a spontaneous plan, but Joker had no time or resources to come up with something better while on the fly, and had the feeling that leaving the place and returning later was a bad idea.

The beam creaked and bent, and Joker snatched the glittering treasure right in time for the beam to break and fall, dropping Joker into a crouch near the pedestal.

The pressure sensitive plates under his feet activated, and sirens started blaring out. Then, the floor started to crack as the lasers switched angles and started to make their way towards Joker, itching their traces into the ground.

Joker wasted no moment in dodging the lasers as he bolted towards the window and leaping through it.

The glass gave in under his weight, shattering and giving way for Joker’s escape route. Joker twisted his body as he plummeted through the air, and brought out the knife that manifested along with his costume before plunging it into the glass at the side of the building, using it to slow down his descent as he raked down the whole side of the building, leaving shattering glass in his wake.

He hit the ground with enough force to cause his knees to buckle and almost fall to the ground before he recovered as much as he could and stumbled away from the building. He’d made it a good distance away before ducking into an alleyway to avoid the glass from the shattering building.

He breathed deeply before he brought the treasure closer to his face to inspect it; it was a mask that looked exactly like his own, except it looked well-worn with a crack going down its side.

“I see you made it out.” Joker whirled around to see the Goro from before staring at him with one hand propped on his hip, “Well, that’s good news I guess. But I figure you should really make your way away from here.” He gestured to the buildings around him, which were also shattering as well.

Joker inwardly cursed and reached for his grapple gun; using it to scale a building to look for a better escape route by way of rooftops, the world flashed before his eyes when he landed on the roof, and he stumbled before he straightened up.

“The destination has been deleted.” Akira heard his phone chime, and his eyebrows went up when he looked around him and saw that he was out of the glass Tokyo and back to the real world. He checked his phone and saw the bookmark that had been created for his name no longer existed. Huh, so he had to steal the treasure and leave?

Speaking of the treasure…

He looked back at the treasure and saw, to his shock, that it no longer looked like his mask; in fact, it actually looked like a calling card- one of Joker’s. A quick inspection of the note written on it made one thing clear: it was Joker’s first calling card.

He frowned as he checked it, wondering what it meant that the treasure took this form in particular, before he had to hide it away and check his phone again, this time he checked the trackers he used to keep tabs on the Thieves, and when none of them showed up, he figured they were in the other world already.

He hummed contemplatively as he considered his next move; he could now get changed into Ren and gather as many phantom thieves as he could to start an impromptu heist to steal all of Shido’s dirty secrets to kick him off his high horse after they gathered enough evidence against, and then he could see if he had time to check up on the Thieves of Hearts and see how their situation involving Okumura was going along with the Morgana situation.

He checked the clock as he opened a group chat with the phantom thieves he was most acquainted with; if he was quick enough about his plans for the day, he may even get back to Leblanc in time for dinner.

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End

[golddaggers]

chemistry // part two

pairings: teacher!dylan o'brien x student!reader.

warnings: besides cursing? none.

a/n: look finally decided to realease chapter number two? hahaha :) plus, I’d like to announce that I will be uploading every Saturday. well, the ones I can because university is a bitch. nonetheless, proceed to your reading.

word count: 2,6k+

part one

For some weird reason I was yet to figure out, because it was a lot unlike me, I woke up in an incredible good mood. Which could totally be related to the fact that today was the first sunny morning after weeks enduring grey skies, rain, thick coats and freezing temperatures. Not that I hated all of that, except I did; it made me feel depressed. Plus my hair looked awful.

Yawning tiredly, I stretched out, sitting on my bed. While doing so, my eyes fell to Karen’s sleeping figure all curled up like a ball underneath three sets of sheets on a mattress carefully placed on my carpeted floor. She had decided to stay over the night because we still needed to go over some flash cards to our Algebra exam, that happened to be today, after my mother’s delicious dinner. I wouldn’t be the one to blame her, Louisa Smith was definitely a good cook, which means her belly was probably too full for her to find the strength to leave.

A small laugh slipped past my lips as I got back to my feet, muscles still numb for the amount of hours I stayed in the same position. Either way, I was refreshed to have had, at least once and in a long while, a decent night of sleep; also, the recently made coffee scent alongside the, very likely, scrambled eggs, homemade buns and everything a hungry person could dream about got my stomach complaining, setting my destination to the kitchen room.

The lovely forty year old woman I called mum was humming happily to a song whilst, by smell, squeezing oranges to make my favourite juice. I understood she used cooking as a self defense mechanism to keep herself together; we were still struggling with our father’s departure. It was complicated to even bring up in conversations, so, eventually, we just sort of stopped. I was pretty sure she would get over it. She was the strongest person I had ever known, of course she would.

“Good morning.” I mumbled, hugging her tightly, feeling her tummy shake as the woman laughed. “And this smells great, by the way.”

“Good morning too, sweetheart. What got you up so early?” My mum quizzed, directing me one of her best soothing smiles. “Are you nervous about the test?”

“Yes, obviously.” Rolling my eyes, a tiny smirk curled my lips as I took place at the table. “But it’s not why I’m up. I actually have no idea, but I have this feeling today is going to be great.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re happy, baby girl.”

“I am too, mum, these past weeks haven’t been easy, exactly…”

“Yes, I am aware of that, but you know what? We’re in a much better place now.”

“I think so too.” Supporting my elbows on the table, I watched my mother’s tired traits. “I want you to be happy too, ma.”

“I’m going to be fine!” The older woman looked away, prohibiting me from spotting her probably glassy eyes. “Now eat, before-”

A pale seventeen year old walked inside wearing a ridiculous bright red nightshirt and a sleeping mask controlling the brown mess that her hair was. She smiled kindly to both of us.

“Mrs. Smith, if you were going to say ‘eat before the eating monster arrive’, that would have been a great advice.”

The three of us shared a laugh before reuniting at the already set kitchen table, everything in place so we could eat together; Karen stole to her plate two muffins, three little breads, a couple of bacon’s slices and eggs, obviously. My mum and I just gazed at her, trying to hold our chuckles back. For someone so small, my friend definitely had a huge appetite.

Once the fun moment was over, we conducted a rather great breakfast, discussing light matters and gossiping like three old friends would do. To be honest, while we chatted, I was in awe to see that my mother was indeed improving; you could tell she had no masks on this time. No pretending nor disguising to be okay. It was purely and merely her.

Yes, this surely was a sign that a great day was ahead of me.

About twenty minutes later, Karen and I went upstairs to get ourselves ready to go to school. Because it was still a lot early, each one of us took our time to enjoy a warm bath, to pick a nice outfit, fix our hairs, etc, etc. Standard girl stuff, I guess.

“So,” The brown haired girl questioned, brushing her hair and locking it up in a tight pony tail. “You haven’t mentioned your date with Mr. McHottie a single time. Aren’t you going to go?”

“It’s not a date!” I whined, putting on a colourful sundress that fell to the mid of my thighs. Her green eyes glanced at me in disbelief, a smug grin taking over her heart shaped face. “It’s not! This is a class. Strictly professional.”

“Yeah… I just don’t buy it.” Scoffing, she stood and straightened her grey skirt, which matched perfectly her white buttoned blouse, the blue cardigan and also her heels. “You wouldn’t be dressing so nicely if the inner you didn’t think this is more than a casual lecture.”

“You are crazy, Karen.” Shaking my head, I slipped in my normal tennis shoes and put on a jeans jacket, grabbing my already fixed backpack that was placed near my closet’s door. “Can I just be in a good mood for once? Not everything has to be about men, you know.”

“What are you implying?”

“I’m not implying anything, I’m just mentioning I’m happy. That’s all. And that it has nothing to do with Mr. O'Brien.”

“Fine, if you don’t want to talk about it, I won’t push it.” Karen sighed, collecting her bag as well. “But, seriously, who are you denying this for? Me or you?”

The girl left without giving me time to even come up with a proper answer. Of course she had point; Karen knew very well I had had a crush on him a while back, in the tenth grade. But it was over, I was just kid. Furthermore, I highly doubted Mr. O'Brien would even think about the possibility of being with student; he was way too professional for that to happen. Like, friends, I guess, but dating? Not in million years.

A final exhale escaped as I made my way downstairs; I sure as hell needn’t to convince anyone, nor myself, that nothing was happening, because, well, nothing was happening. He was just being nice. That’s all.

“What took you so long, darling?” My mother questioned as soon as I took my place on the front seat, putting my bag on my lap as I fastened my seat belt. “You look pale too.”

“I’m fine, I swear.” Gazing through the corner of my eye to the back row, I saw Karen shake her head, frowning at my response. “By the way, I might be running late today.”

“Why so?”

“Uh, my chemistry teacher, Mr. O'Brien, offered to help me catch up on the subject. He said I have been off lately.”

“Isn’t Mr. O'Brien the hot one?”

My cheeks quickly reached a scarlet tone as my eyes grew wide to her last sentence. Since when does my mother notice if people are hot or not? I was clearly shocked, yet, Williams broke the tension with a laugh, getting mum to do the same.

“Mum!”

“Just commenting, silly girl. You should see your face.” She stopped under a red sign, looking at me tenderly. “If he says so, I’m okay. Just don’t be so late, alright?”

“Got it.”

Connecting the white earbuds to my phone, I opened the Spotify app and swiftly drowned myself on Sofia Karlberg’s version of the song ‘Toxic’, wishing nothing but to distract myself of all the things that could lead me into thinking of my encounter later with a certain chemistry teacher.

As it turns out, the whole putting out of my mind my own human personification of a Greek God was incredibly hard. I mean, I tried, I really did, but his sinful honey eyes kept haunting me the entire course of my classes. Seriously, why couldn’t him be like my AP Calculus teacher: bald, pudgy and not at all attractive? It would make things a lot easier for me.

Biting my bottom lip to contain a frustrated sigh, I glared at Mrs. Ziemann, trying to focus on her interesting lecture about the end of World War I. She excitedly explained how wrecked both Italy and Germany were once it was over, especially the latter, with the cruel Treaty of Versailles. Oh, well, at least paying attention to that could allow me to forget I was only five minutes away from my meeting.

As the woman finished her presentation, I wrote down a few topics to look upon later when studying the subject, which I needed to do, because this good looking lady was known for her killer exams. On a side note? I may have cried myself after a couple of them.

“And this wraps up our class today.” She smiled solemnly, her pretty blue eyes locked on the back of the class where the lacrosse team was based. “Oh, wait, before you all go, I would like to inform I want, for next week, a paper on the tragic events at the end of World War I.”

This time I didn’t hold back a sigh, taking notes on my journal to do this assignment soon, for next week I also had, oh darn, a chemistry exam. Fate must really think my life is a big fat joke. That’s ought to be it.

I swiftly packed my stuff, placing a handle on my right shoulder and moving away from the class, only to find Karen leant against a wall outside, trying to look casual while chewing gum. Oh, yes, I had to solve this too.

“Please tell me you forgot about our little misunderstanding from earlier today.”

“I didn’t.” Her eyebrows were knitted together, her mouth forming a straight line. “But I’m willing to move past it if you promise to tell me the details of your “class” with Mr.McHottie.”

“You are such a gossiper!” I laughed, stopping at my locker to get my Chemistry book volume two. “I have been trying all day long to not think about it.”

“Let me guess: useless.”

“Damn right it was.”

“Well, he won’t bite you, at least.” The green eyed girl patted my back, a smirk plastered on her face. “Not unless you want to, I guess.”

“You are such a mean whore.” We both chuckled, our next stop being in front of Mr. O'Brien’s office, me knocking at the door twice. “And this is where I leave you, K.”

“Tell me the details!” She whispered, winking at me playfully. “I mean it!”

“Get out! Now!”

Williams raised her thumbs up to me, winking one last time then disappearing in the halls just before the brown haired man, also known as Greek God, also known as my chemistry teacher, opened the door. I certainly wasn’t ready to see him so loose, if that’s the correct term.

His hair was more disheveled than usual, the scruff still framing the beautiful pink lips, his white casual shirt had a button open, revealing an adorable puddle of chest hair, and his red tie was lying over his desk from what I could see. O'Brien directed me a comforting smirk, placing his rather large hand on my back, pulling me to get inside the room. One small comment so we can proceed: did he have a heater on or was it me that just suddenly grew warmer under his touch?

Gripping tighter on my hard covered book, I went forward to take seat on one of the first row’s places whilst he stayed behind to close the door. Okay, first minutes, still not weird. Maybe just a little bit. Why am I so tense?

“Are you okay, Smith?”

“Yes. I’m sorry, I’m just a little bit nervous…”

“You don’t have to be.” He smirked tenderly, pulling a chair to sit in front of me. “It’s just you and me, plus I won’t do anything to you.”

“Uh, people already think you-”

“Well, I seriously don’t mind what people think. You’re amazing, you know?” His eyes connected with mine for a while until he gazed down at his feet. “I meant as a student. That’s why I picked you to tutor.”

“Thank you, Mr. O'Brien, you are a wonderful teacher as well. I love your lectures so much!”

“That’s relieving, it would be pretty bad if my favourite student didn’t like them.” A small laugh slipped and, suddenly, all the nervousness was gone. “Should we start?”

“Yes, definitely.”

The following hour was simply incredible!

If him teaching to a whole class was good, having him as a mentor was even better. It was like he didn’t have to hold back nor maintain a straight face all the time. Plus the jokes? Damn, I could never have imagined he had such a great sense of humour. I mean, the man had gift on finding the right words to make me laugh like there was no tomorrow.

By the end of our time, I had not only gotten more confident on physical chemistry, but also met a side of my teacher I didn’t know previously. Mr. O'Brien, or Dylan, as he asked me to call him, was a sweet, caring guy. If the fifteen year old version of me had known this, she would be dead and buried now. God, I was a lame kid.

“It was nice being being with today.” He mumbled, nudging my shoulder with his and wearing the best smile in the whole wide world. “I’m glad we’ll be doing this for a few more weeks.”

“I’m glad too.” The watch on my wrist told me it was over six pm, which strictly meant my mum would be all over the place once I got home. “I should get going.”

“Wait, I-I…”

“Yes?”

“Oh, fuck it.”

Not thinking twice, he cupped my cheeks, pressing his perfectly shaped lips against mine in a sweet, tender kiss. At first I was surprised, however, as his tongue slowly licked stripe at my bottom lip, I melted away, surrendering to his touch. It was definitely nothing I could have ever dreamt about. The way his hands found the crook of my waist, how we moved in perfect sync… Everything felt like this was meant to be.

When air became necessary, we merely glued our foreheads together, gazes boring into one another. It wasn’t perfect, it wasn’t ideal, but, hell, I enjoyed this.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, we shouldn’t-”

I didn’t want to hear the rest, he wouldn’t pop my bubble so soon, therefore, I kissed him again, this time with much more passion and hunger. So strong we were left a heaving mess afterwards.

“You’re an amazing kisser too.” O'Brien whispered, making me giggle. “I mean it.”

“You are one crazy person, O'Brien.”

“I told you should call me Dylan.”

“As you wish, Mr. O'Brien.” Playfully winking at him, I stole another peck, earning a small smile from him. “This is crazy… I mean, someone could have seen us! Oh, fuck, what if one of the cleaning ladies saw us? You could lose your job! Shit!”

“Relax, nobody saw us.” His thumbs massaged my cheekbones, trying to sooth me. “But you can’t tell this to anyone, okay? Not even Miss Williams. Even though I don’t regret one bit, I could really lose my job if this comes out.”

“Of course I won’t tell anyone, it will be our little secret.”

“Deal.”

I hid my face on the crook of his neck, breathing in the intoxicating musk of his cologne. I couldn’t believe this was actually happening to me; I mean, it was too surreal. If it was a rumour about Briannah, I would have believed more, because, well, she did want to do it, but me? Nah, it was messed up. Nonetheless, it wasn’t less real. I was indeed within his arms. And, in that particular moment, I decided to not care about the consequences any longer.

[losille2000]

Christmas Balls, Part I

TITLE: Christmas Balls CHAPTER NUMBER: 2/? AUTHOR: Losille2000 WHICH TOM/CHARACTER: Actor!Tom GENRE: Romance/Fluff/Humor FIC SUMMARY: There comes a time in every dog owner’s life where he must consider neutering his companion. Tom doesn’t want more puppies running around, anyway, so the decision is simple. Bobby, on the other hand, can’t seem to understand why his dad would be so cruel to him. Nobody took his bollocks, did they? How is that fair? Maybe he can convince the nice veterinarian lady to give his dad a taste of his own medicine… RATING: M (let’s be real, there will probably be sexytimes) WARNINGS:  Nothing. AUTHORS NOTES: Thanks for reading!

Previous Chapters: Prologue - Also on AO3!!

Part I

Tom figured he was probably the worst dog parent known to mankind. Instead of fretting all day about how his precious pooch was doing in surgery, he found his mind wandering repeatedly to the woman slicing and severing and sewing him up.

And, to top it all off, his excitement to pick up Bobby had little to do with warm puppy cuddles or anything even remotely fatherly. It had everything to do with seeing Ivy again.

 It had been a long time.

Too long, if he were being honest.

Five years, by his count.

She was still the same old Ivy, bright and bubbly, gorgeous and curvy, the latter of which had only filled out in the time since they’d last been in the same room with each other at her brother’s moving-to-Australia party.  Of course, she hadn’t always been such a looker; in fact, when he first became friends with her brother, Archie, at Eton and joined the Hayes family on a holiday in Majorca the same summer, she’d been nothing but the annoying little sister, two years his junior.

 She had big eighties-style plastic glasses and a penchant for memorizing Star Wars dialogue, while he, at the ripe old age of thirteen, tried desperately to distance himself from such associations. And then, to make matters worse for her, early puberty tragically catapulted her toward bad acne and greasy hair; he had no time for her and all the time in the world for the buxom Spanish beauties sunning themselves on the glittering island shores.

 Things had changed for her, slowly at first, and then they lost touch when her parents sent her to a boarding school in Scotland. Eventually, she showed up at Cambridge with an amazing rack, a pouty smile and the biggest, most come-hither doe eyes he’d ever seen on a woman. If any of those features had grown any larger, they would most assuredly become ridiculously cartoonish in a Disney sense, but they’d stalled at just the right proportions to make her the talk of Pembroke College.

 Because of course she had to choose Pembroke while he was still there, so he had to watch her gallivanting through the dining hall and around campus, trailed by a whole gang of silly young boys that set his teeth on edge. She was like the freaking Pied Piper of Pembroke; perhaps more St Patrick, for most of those boys were slithery little snakes and treated her terribly.

 Not that he had anything really to say about it, though Archie had insisted he watch out for Ivy. Which he did, but if there was one thing Ivy did not need, it was a bodyguard. Because he’d never seen a woman put another man in his place as quickly or as viciously as she could. When it was all said and done, Tom thought it was probably a good thing God had graced her with a steel will in addition to her voluptuous exterior. She needed something to protect herself from too much hurt, especially seeing as she was also the type of person to fall too quickly into and out of love, both with people and places.

 Which was why he hadn’t seen her much since he graduated from university. After her own commencement, she traveled the world on humanitarian missions providing veterinary care to farm animals and pets alike, but not for some all consuming need to save the world. Obviously, her want to help the less fortunate was a cornerstone to her personality. However, the moving around bit had more to do with her unwillingness to be pinned down in one place for very long without an out.

 It made him suspicious, then, that she had returned to London to eventually take over her father’s practice. This wasn’t some position she could easily abandon; the practice had been going for some forty years since her father started it, with a list of long time clients. Had she finally reached the point of settling down?

 And if she was settling down, what was he going to do with that information?

 Apparently, he was going to invite her to move in with him like a good friend because he didn’t want to see someone forced to live with their parents any longer than they actually had to. Phyllis and Graham were lovely people, but they certainly had their troubles with a daughter who, by their standards, was a wild child.

 To put his foolhardy plan into action, he held off returning for Bobby until later, far past the three o’clock retrieval time, closer to six when the clinic closed because he wanted to talk with her. Maybe invite her back so she could see the room he had available—the one that had once been a previous flat mate’s, but had since been empty. Then he could spring his idea on her, and hope she didn’t take it the wrong way, like he was trying to get into her trousers.

 Which he totally wasn’t, because he was a gentleman. And she’d just got out of a relationship. Right?

 Phyllis greeted him with a smile when he walked into the clinic from the darkening street outside. “Ye certainly waited long enough!”

 Tom smiled at the woman who was more like a second mum to him than anything. As it turned out, Dr. Hayes, the elder, got on with Dr. Hiddleston, his father, like a house on fire after their boys had become friends. From that point forward, their families’ fates were sealed. His mum and Phyllis traveled together. His da and Dr. Hayes often went cigar smoking at the club they both belonged to, if they weren’t back in Scotland for an early tee time.

 And Emma and Ivy had become best friends.

 Which made inviting Ivy to live with him a no-brainer, really. With Christmas coming up, it would make more sense for her to be around; though Dr. and Mrs. Hayes planned to travel to Australia to visit Archie for the holiday, Tom parents’ wouldn’t hear of Ivy being left alone. It was a perfect situation!

 “Yeah, I had some things to do,” he lied through his teeth. At the moment, he had nothing on his schedule but relaxation.

 Phyllis grinned at him like she could see straight through his flimsy excuse. “Well, he ought tae be rarin’ to go by now. Let me see.”

 She picked up the phone and dialed an extension before she spoke into it to say that Bobby’s owner had arrived. He took a seat in the waiting area as Phyllis answered several calls in quick succession; the door from the back opened up and he stood, expecting to find Ivy, but felt immediate disappointment when it was one of the other vet nurses.

 He did, to his credit, forget about Ivy the instant he spied the pitiful expression on Bobby’s face. Was it possible for dogs to have so many expressions? Because this one about broke Tom’s heart, and the opaque white cone around his neck didn’t help the image at all, either. On his right front arm was a blue bandage wrapped all the way around. Bobby only let out a little whimper and shook his tail a bit, but wasn’t his usual energetic spaniel self.

 Oh, God. What had he done to his poor child?

 “Hello, Mr. Hiddleston,” the tech said. He looked at her name badge—it read NICOLE. He’d not met or seen her the last two times he’d been in with Bobby. She was also, apparently, a fan of some sort. He could read that thousand watt smile with no trouble. It was the “on the edge of freaking out” grin. “Here he is,” she said, handing the puppy over to him.

 Tom took the bundle of fur from her arms, gingerly wrapping his own arms around the warm puppy to snuggle him close. Bobby released a heavy sigh and set his head on Tom’s shoulder, sounding thoroughly dejected by the whole experience. However, Tom took it as a win that his poor pup still liked him enough to want to be cuddled.

 “These are his meds,” Nicole said, holding out a bag with a folded piece of paper in it. “There are detailed directions inside, but we recommend the Tramadol for pain every twelve hours with food, at least for the first few days. Afterward, you can give it at your discretion, but it won’t hurt to give him the full course and on schedule. Better to keep the pain away completely than let it creep up and have to battle it.”

 “Will he… will he be in that much pain?” Tom asked, suddenly beside himself. He knew, logically, the procedure wouldn’t be painless, but it hadn’t connected until that moment, at least, that it would continue to hurt for a little while.

 Nicole giggled and reached out to give Bobby a little scritch. “Every dog is different. He’s not been very whiny, so he seems like he’ll take it on the chin like a proper Englishman.”

 “Well, good.” Tom bent his head and looked down at the puppy lounging in his arms. “And the bandage?”

 “Take it off when you get home, but just make sure he doesn’t chew or lick at his leg,” she said. “The IV cath was in there, so now that it’s out it shouldn’t bother him, but you never know with little ones. Other than that, he’ll probably sleep the rest of the night. Give him a light meal tonight with his meds… and you can return to regular feeding in the morning. Limit rough playtime and jumping for the next fortnight.”

 Tom’s head was spinning with all the information. He could barely do this with one puppy. How could people with human babies take care of their own flesh and blood without completely losing it, forgetting something, or being a good parent? Yeesh.

 He began to thank Nicole, but paused when the door to the back rooms burst open. Ivy hustled out, throwing a coat on over a slim black skirt and an ivory cashmere sweater that did nothing to hide her amazing figure—certainly different from her hospital-blue scrubs from earlier. She set a leather bag and a purse on the counter and hastily shoved her arms through both coat armholes.

 “Och, Mum, I’m so late,” she exclaimed. “Why didn’t you give me a warning call?”

 “I did, Ivy. Ye told me ye were in th’ middle of expressing anal glands,” Phyllis replied, her voice censuring.

 That did not sound pleasant. But for some reason, the thought of Ivy’s delicate, fine-boned fingers in the arsehole of an animal made him laugh. She’d never been overly girly, refraining from getting down and dirty, but that thought placed her on another level.

 Ivy mumbled something before turning in his direction. “I don’t need to hear it from you, either, Thomas. Watch it or I’ll express your anal glands.”

 Tom sucked in a breath, wondering if he would actually mind that. Sadly, and almost abhorrently, he could think of worse things that could happen to him; if she were near the prostate, well, then all bets were off.

 “Ivy Margaret Hayes, I’ll nae have that gab in this office!” Phyllis scolded. “I dinnae care how old ye are or if ye outrank me. He is a client.”

 Ivy rolled her eyes at her mother and wrapped a thick woolen scarf the same shade as her brown eyes around her neck. She set her hands flat on the counter and pushed herself up enough to lean over the thing without going around—Tom marveled at the strength that must have required—and then planted a kiss on her mother’s cheek. “I’ll be back later. My meeting shouldn’t go too late tonight, I hope.”

 Phyllis smiled and grabbed her daughter’s cheeks in her hands, giving her a kiss in return. “I hope this is the one you’re looking for.”

 “You and me both,” Ivy huffed and settled back on her heeled feet. The shoes only accentuated the smooth, long muscles in her calves. He never realized she was that much into fitness, nor that her legs looked that good.

 Okay, maybe he had noticed the latter, but on his list of preferred physical attributes, legs were not at the top.  He thought about amending that list now, though. Now that he’d had a good look, he wondered what hers would feel like wrapped and clenching around his hips.

 Which was exactly the last thing he needed to be thinking about Ivy Hayes. If they were going to live together, he couldn’t think of her as a sexual object. That was off limits. She was persona non-grata where that was concerned.

 She grabbed her bags and tossed them on her shoulder, waving at Nicole and him. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Nicole. Please make sure Dusty ate his food before you leave, and if he doesn’t, take the bowl out and note it.”

 “I will, Doctor,” Nicole said.

 He almost let Ivy escape before he remembered why he’d come around so late. Tom thanked Nicole and Phyllis and jumped out the shop door just as a cab pulled up to the curb and Ivy reached for the handle to let herself inside the vehicle.

“Ivy! Wait!” he called.

 Ivy’s back straightened, and she turned around stiffly to look at him. “Tom, I’m really, really late.”

 “I know. Just give me a few minutes?” he pleaded. He pointed at the black Jaguar parked two cars down the road. “I can give you a lift for your time.”

 She groaned and slumped her shoulders, looking inside the cab at the driver. “I’m sorry, I guess I’m going with him.”

 The cabbie nodded and zoomed off into traffic again with a squeal of his tires.  Tom sighed and readjusted Bobby in his arms, realizing the increasingly heavy animal had officially fallen asleep.  Ivy marched down the pavement to his car and stood beside the passenger door, turning to look at him expectantly.

 “Come on! I need to go!”

 “Right!” He strode down the street and unlocked the doors as he went. Ivy heard the click and slid easily into her side before he even had to opportunity to open the rear door and position Bobby on the blanket he’d laid there earlier for the ride home.  When everyone was finally settled, he turned the ignition and looked at her. “Where am I taking you?”

 She held her mobile up at him. “Go toward Primrose Hill. What did you need me for?”

 Something very crass played at the tip of his tongue, but he succeeded—barely—in holding it back. Instead, he looked askance at her, keeping his eyes on the road as he began the short trip toward Primrose. “About your living situation.”

 “Oh, that,” she said, relaxing into her seat, as though she thought what he wanted to talk to her about would be upsetting. What did she think? There was going to be something unpleasant he wanted to talk to her about? “Hopefully it’s all sorted after my meeting. You’re taking me to meet my estate agent at a flat.”

 “Oh.” He pressed his lips together and squinted out the window, even though there was no sun and none of the street lamps were particularly bright.

 Ivy sighed, then breathed in deeply. She shut her eyes for a moment and a smile played on her lips. “This is a nice car. I like this car.”

 “I’m glad,” he replied.

 “Totally beats the rust buckets I’m used to in the field,” she said. “And it makes me feel like a Bond girl.”

 Tom muffled a growl, but she simply laughed at him. Of course, she’d poke fun at him whenever she got the chance. It seemed to be her favorite thing to do whenever he was around. But, he played along. “I’m a villain, darling. Not a hero.”

 “I’ve always known that,” she remarked, smoothing her hands down her skirt-covered thighs.

 He nearly swerved into an oncoming vehicle with his attention on her knees, not on the windscreen. With concerted effort, he glued his attention forward, gripped the steering wheel harder. The leather stretched, the sound audible in the quiet car.

 “Drive much?” she teased.

 “Shut up.”

 Ivy laughed at him. “By the way, Bobby is amazing. I love him. I thought about stealing him.”

 “Yeah?” For some reason, that made his heart five times as large as normal, and his chest puffed up to accommodate the needed space.

 “I just can’t believe you got one,” she said. “Aren’t you on the go all the time? Traveling all over isn’t fun when you’ve got dependents.”

 Tom shrugged. “I know it’s not exactly right, but with the appropriate service animal designations, he can travel when and where I want him to travel. But the only places I would take him would be the US or Europe. Otherwise, he’ll stay home.”

 “I always wondered how celebrities did it with pets. I thought it was something like that,” she said. “I heard Henry Cavill does that with his dog.”

 Tom hummed. “A fan of old Henry’s, huh?”

 Ivy grinned. “Have you seen him?”

 “I have,” he replied, suddenly feeling let down, somehow. Henry was a perfectly decent guy, based on the few times he’d met the man, but he was just like all the others Ivy dated. Well, all the others that he knew of—stupidly handsome, built, and haughty. Most of the time, Tom was none of those things.

 Not that it mattered, of course.

 Ivy shrugged a shoulder and glanced at him. “Too much for me to handle, though. Too pretty. Too much work.”

 Tom laughed at her. “I’m detecting a very strong manhater vibe. Is your break up recent?”

 “No,” she said. “We were done a year ago, and I stayed on at the clinic he owned for the following year. Like an idiot, I thought we could continue working together despite the end of our relationship. I ended up wanting to smack him every time he hit on a new client or a nurse. And I don’t ‘hate’ men. I love men. The problem is that men don’t love me, they just want to sleep with me. Then they get bored. I get bored.”

 He almost confirmed that he understood why, but that was also insensitive… and not to mention completely uncalled for when it came to a friend. Was she a friend? She was a family friend, sure. They were friendly with each other. But he couldn’t really say they’d ever been “friends” as the term was strictly applied. Even at university, with him running guys off her, she didn’t want to be around him. She wanted nothing to do with him, and fairly, he hadn’t wanted anything to do with her, concerned as he was with his own life.

 But somehow, this time, he felt different. He wanted to be her friend. Honestly, the bit about boredom? It sounded like she was speaking directly from his own thoughts. He was bored, too. Bored of different beds and different women on a remarkably quick timetable. He wanted something solid and real, based on him. Not on how he looked or what he did for a living.

 “Turn left here,” she said, breaking his thoughts. “Just up there on the right, he’s waiting for me out front.”

 Tom followed her directions and slowed to a stop on the busy street lined with buildings full of flats. The street parking was completely full, so she jumped out of the car quickly, with gratitude on her lips. He meant to go on, but stopped when he realized he hadn’t even mentioned why he wanted to talk to her.

 “Hey, Ivy!” he called from the open window.

 She froze and spun around, looking down at the line of cars stopped behind him, angrily inching forward in a passive-aggressive attempt to get him to move on. “What?”

 “I meant to ask—want to move in with me?”

 Ivy nearly doubled over in laughter. “Good one, Tom. We’d drive each other up a wall in an hour.”

 “Bet me!”

 “You’re holding up traffic,” she said. “The Fuzz will be on you in no time.”

 Tom glanced in the rearview mirror. There weren’t any flashing lights yet, but the line of cars continued to grow. Horns tooted as a polite, very British reminder of their passive aggressiveness. “Then say you’ll move in with me.”

 “I don’t even know what you’re thinking or offering or anything!” she yelled. “And I might like this place!”

 “If you don’t, then we’ll talk,” he said.

 Ivy shook her head and rolled her eyes. “I’ll call tomorrow to check up on Bobby and then I’ll let you know what happened, alright?”

 Tom waved at her. “Look forward to it!”

 He then waved at the person sitting in the vehicle behind him before moving off down the road. He was fairly certain the car that zoomed around him and sailed past shot him a dirty look and a backward peace sign with his fingers, but Tom shrugged it all off.

 Mission accomplished.

 Sorta.

[itsworn]

The Right Way to Tie Down Your Hot Rod for Towing

You know how it goes. Every now ’n’ then, poop happens. If and when it does we might find ourselves far away from our own trailers in need of roadside assistance. If by chance you’re a card-carrying member of a roadside-assistance insurance company, think twice or more before placing your trust—and your pride and joy—in the hands of the first driver your “club” dispatches. Those drivers are on rotation, meaning whichever towing company is up next is the one that gets the call—and some of those drivers are rough. If it’s your daily door-slammer, fine. If it’s your pride and joy hot rod, street rod, custom rod, call the shots and call a towing professional you’re comfortable with. Granted, that’s only possible where we know the players—like close to home, but, statistically, close to home is usually where poop happens anyway.

Now, I don’t exactly recall mentioning this here before, but years ago I was a tow-biz professional myself. With that bit of experience I solidly believe that I know what to look for at tow time. If it’s painted, plated, and/or polished, it doesn’t have to take a beating from a reckless slob with greasy J-hooks and a big ol’ paint-scratchin’ ring of keys hangin’ from a belt loop.

Around the tow yard and out on the streets we see dangerously sloppy performances by Brand-X tow services. Thinking back, one of the worst loading procedures I’ve personally witnessed involved a guy many of us know. When his Model A coupe cracked an axle housing, a call went out to his towing insurer. As requested, a driver arrived with a rollback, but his bed was coated with motor oil and antifreeze with a sprinkling of broken glass. I watched in horror as that driver lowered his bed to the asphalt and instructed the car’s owner to drive it up onto the truck. That’s nuts! A qualified driver would never relinquish control. From here let’s switch to positive; take a deep breath and relax as we watch a true tow pro in action.

For the purpose of illustration, let’s raise the hood of a car that’s not really broken down. Then let’s search for a payphone. Then let’s search for a payphone that works and call a towing company owned and operated by real hot-roddin’ car guys who get it. Yes, qualified tow truck drivers are out there—perhaps in your area too. Just a little homework, just ahead of tow time, can save you some grief. On that note, let’s begin with our dramatization. Granted, every situation is different. Granted, there’s more than one way to load a hot rod, but for the job at hand, this is how we do it in the city of Riverside, California.

Inevitably, when it happens, it’ll be in some scary place. Sure enough, this time it’s right here at home. At times like these it’s good to know who to call. In this instance it’s my tow-truckin’ friend who’d prefer to remain anonymous, Gary “Wizbang” Estee.

So, in tow terms, here’s a nylon bridal and a couple nylon D-ringed straps. These things are only the beginning of this particular loading procedure.

Whenever a job demands it, additional padding is affixed to the nylon D-ringed straps. Clean cloth diapers will work, but these days we pretty much prefer softer, microfiber toweling, like the kind we’d find at Harbor Freight.

So, here Estee begins his hookup. From a down-low perspective we can almost feel the pressure. That axle is ground smooth and painted as pretty as any topside part of this car. A more thoughtful builder might have incorporated tow-time hookup provisions, but this car’s builder (yours truly) didn’t think that far ahead.

Scrutinizing his hookup as he goes, Estee chooses to keep his nylon bridal straps clear from this car’s chrome-plated custom nerf bars. Once again the aforementioned microfiber toweling comes into play between nerf bars and a fairly proper length of 4×4-inch wood.

Estee’s truck positioning is spot-on. Two lengths of 4×6-inch wood are used to decrease the loading angle for the lower cars we haul. Around here we call ’em “approach ramps” and if your driver rolls up without, make another phone call.

With the initial front hookup completed, Estee operates his winch just enough to take up cable slack. This would be a good time to put your shifter in its neutral position and release the park brake partially. Why partially? Because we’re working on a slight downhill.

To this point we’ve witnessed a good amount of TLC toward the front end of this car, but what’s happening out back? Any tow pro should know to watch both ends while loading. If yours is draggin’ tailpipes, tell the fool to put your car down and make another phone call.

Back when I was towing, basket straps were not yet in vogue. According to Estee, these have gained popularity since new cars today don’t have much to hook to. Here in this hot rod application, securing tires rather than shiny, painted underpinnings makes sense too.

Once all four corners are secured via basket straps, the initial upfront hookup (cable, nylon bridal and padded D-ringed straps) can be loosened up a tad or two, as we won’t depend on cable tension while rolling down the road anyhow.

For positive security, two ratcheting safety straps are employed up front. These are now hooked into the same microfiber-padded D-ringed straps that our hookup all began with. If this were an actual emergency, we’d be just about ready to roll.

The preceding dramatization was only intended to illustrate safe ’n’ proper loading by a tow-biz professional who knows what he’s doing and cares. Although operators like Estee are the minority, you just might have one in your area. Go on, do your homework and get to know your local tow pro—before tow time.

Trailer Tips for Do-It-Yourselfers

“If you want it done right,” call the right towing company or do it yourself. In times of lesser emergency when we have our own way, it’s tough to beat the safety and security of our own trailers. During the course of most any homebased build, a project will likely be trailered from place to place for this or that. After the build we might still trailer a finished rod or custom, at least on occasion. In this instance, after a marathon detailing session, a little Deuce five-window is about to be loaded into an enclosed trailer for the Grand National Roadster Show.

This year once again we’ll borrow a friend’s enclosed trailer. The trailer is a nice one, but last year we struggled with our friend’s catchy ratchet straps. This time we’ll save some skin, as we’ve just received a shipment from Mac’s Custom Tie-Downs. For the job at hand we’ve chosen a Pro Pack, which is a popular Summit staple as well. Since our friend’s trailer is already equipped with floor-mount recessed D-rings, Mac’s fixed (direct hook) ratchet straps fit the bill. Next time we might use a trailer with E-tracks installed in its floor, so we’ve ordered additional bits for that application. Made right here in the U.S., this is high-end stuff, designed specifically for folks like us, by folks like us. From here let’s begin at the beginning. It’s time to load up.

Same as before, we’ll need to pay attention to changing ground clearances at both ends as we load. When loading a lowered-enough vehicle into and/or onto a trailer with a drop-down door or ramps, we’d best pay attention to the underside as well.

This time our tow vehicle is a 3/4-ton shop truck equipped with airbags, so we can raise its tail end to decrease the apex as necessary. Without the airbag option, Plan B might involve driving the truck’s rear wheels onto approach ramps, like the ones we saw used earlier by our tow truck driver.

So, here’s what we’ve just received from Mac’s. This Pro Pack consists of four 10,000-pound 2-inch-wide ratchet straps, four 10,000-pound axle straps, four strap wrap storage straps, four protective fleece sleeves, and a heavy-duty padded bag to boot. Also as a side order we have four E-track ratchets, which fit the bill for the other trailer.

Here’s a closer look at both ratchet styles we’ve ordered. The E-track style on the left is self-centering. The fixed (direct hook) style allows a close connection to trailer floor D-rings, which gives a nice advantage for loading a lowered rod, custom, and so on.

There really is a difference. If you visit Mac’s website you might see company founder Colin McLemore spinnin’ a ratchet’s hub. It’s an impressive demonstration, worth trying here and now. Let’s give this one a spin, and another, and another—just because we can.

While we’re playing with our new toys there’s a little Deuce five-window in the trailer just waiting to be tied down. Now, I don’t know about you, but I love the sound of Velcro. On that note, let’s outfit Mac’s axle straps with Mac’s protective fleece sleeves.

The soft side is microfiber. Attached this way the sleeves will protect paint and plating. In addition, they’re easily detachable when not needed. At the ends of these ratchet straps, Mac’s unique snap hooks give another advantage, as their top-mounted thumb release feature is a skin saver as well.

A few extra wraps on any ratchet’s hub will help prevent slippage, so we’ll begin ratcheting with a little slack in the straps. Now this is where we notice another difference—the smooth and easy operation of Mac’s ratchet mechanisms.

At this stage our new tie-down hardware is only slightly snugged. This would be a good time to pull this tall gennie shifter into its Neutral position. Then we’ll make the rounds to each corner for a final tightening down.

In this instance our straps are fairly far extended to reach the outermost D-rings. Ordinarily we’d prefer to have the straps parallel with the vehicle’s frame, but this arrangement enables us to keep pressure off of Pete and Jakes’ chrome-plated shock absorbers.

For the rear hookup, the straps are straight but still fairly far extended, so there’s only a little over a foot’s worth of excess. For rolling down the road in an enclosed trailer this is fine. If we were using a regular flat trailer, however, we wouldn’t want our excess strap ends dangling loosely.

Now, let’s just imagine we’re using a regular flat trailer. Let’s also imagine we have a longer length of excess strap. We surely wouldn’t want that blowin’ in the breeze. In such situations we see knotted messes all the time. Here Mac’s dual-purpose strap wraps are a tidy alternative.

By the way, we did OK at the show, and while we were there we purchased a second Pro Pack to keep. For our needs, the Pro Pack is indeed the proper choice. For other applications, Mac’s offers plenty more, including custom applications.

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[paradisobound]

World’s Greatest First Love: Chapter 7

Summary: Dan Howell wanted a clean break from his father’s publishing company. It was why he applied for a different company in London: to stop the ridicule of his coworkers for riding on his ‘daddy’s coat tails’. But he wasn’t expecting to suddenly be going from a literature editor, to a graphic novel editor. And he certainly wasn’t expecting to come face first with his first love who broke his heart from when he was a teenager: who just happens to be his new editor-in-chief.

Based on the Anime and Manga “The World’s Greatest First Love: The Case of Ritsu Onodera” aka Sekai-Ichi Hatsukoi

Rating: Mature (For Now)

Word Count: 2.3k (this chapter)

Warnings: None

Beta Read by: @phanandpenguins

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Meeting Monika a few days before had put doubts inside Dan’s head. Every time he stepped into the office, the business card she gave him sits perched next to his mug of coffee and he can see it. Every time he goes to get a drink, he can see her name and the words literature department in small print on the bottom.

He should transfer.

But then the thought of transferring doesn’t seem all that appealing to him anymore and when he thinks about it in detail, his head feels like it is swimming. He’s grown so used to working with graphic novels over the last month that it’s hard for him to know whether or not he still wants to go back to editing literature.

It’s 9:30 in the morning and Dan is already having a crisis. He shuts the top of his laptop down and sits back in his chair, rubbing his eyes with palms. His eyes hurt and a headache is quickly taking residence in his temple. He feels like the coffee is no longer strong enough to help his brain fog.

It also doesn’t help that the past few days, all he can think about is Damien walking into Phil’s apartment with that kitten. Dan can still see it in the back of his head and he doesn’t know why it’s bothering him, but it is.

Clearly, Damien has a key to Phil’s apartment but what about the kitten? Did they live together and Dan just never noticed? Are they friends or are they…

The second thought makes Dan’s stomach twist and knot and he shakes his head because he doesn’t like that second thought. But why? He’s not doing anything with Phil, and he has no intentions of doing anything with Phil. So why does the thought of him being with Damien put such a hindrance on his body?

Is it because of Phil’s flirting? Phil’s insistence that they need to talk about the past. Maybe it’s the fact that deep down, when Dan turns his head and sees Phil sitting at his desk, he can vaguely feel the pouring of love into his heart. They’re the same feelings he felt ten years ago.

Dan groans inside his head and stands up from his chair, pushing it in and walking off to get a breather. He needs to maybe go outside for a moment and take in some fresh air. Maybe it’ll help clear his thoughts and rid his headache.

He starts walking down the hall to the elevators and before he reaches them, a hand comes up and grabs his shoulder and jerks him back. He quickly turns to see who just did that when he comes face to face with dark hair and dark eyes and he feels all color leave his face.

“Can I talk to you privately?”

Dan looks at Damien and frankly, he doesn’t know if he should go anywhere privately with Damien. The thought also scares him a bit. But Damien is technically, on a long list of hierarchy, one of his superiors so he knows he should listen if Damien asks him a question.

“Okay.”

Damien motions for him to follow him to an empty room just off the side of the break room and he shuts the door behind them.

“I need to talk to you about Phil.”

Dan cocks his head. What about Phil?

“Excuse me?”

“Listen, I’m not an idiot,” Damien snaps out, “I know who you are.”

Dan stands there, bracing his palms against the table behind him as he tries to steady himself, “I seriously don't know…”

“You have some fucking nerve to come here and work for Phil after what you did to him.”

Dan’s nostrils flared and his body geared up in the fight response he’s been doing for years every time someone mentions Phil, “I didn’t do anything to Phil. He’s the one who broke up with me.”

“I met Phil our first year at University,” Damien says, changing the subject, “and I befriended him because at the time, he needed a friend. He would tell me over and over again about the ‘boy that broke his heart’ or ‘the boy he can’t find’ or ‘the boy who got away’, and I listened to him talk about you for years. Talk about Dan, talk about how he was going to try and find you and reconnect. But you don’t know the hell he went through trying to mend his broken heart. He turned to drinking, sleeping around, to never being able to date. And you know why that is?”

Dan shook his head, slightly terrified.

“Because he could never get over you. You left an indent in his brain like a drug and he couldn’t ever figure out how to shake you. You caused him nothing but stress and pain over the last ten years and I’ll be damned if I let you come in and put him through that all again.”

“There is nothing going on between Phil and I,” Dan says, as stern as his shaking voice will allow him to be.

“So let's get something straight between you and me,” Damien said, ignoring what Dan had just said something. “Stay. Away. From. Phil.”

Dan opened his mouth to retort when the door to the room opened and they both turned to see Phil and a set of authors behind him, waiting to come in. Phil’s face reads one of confusion and Dan is sure his reads something entirely different.

But he doesn’t stay to allow either Damien or Phil to speak up. He pushes past them both and retreats to the bathroom where he proceeds to cry for an unspeakable amount of time. When he comes back out, Phil is sitting at his desk again, and when he looks at Dan, his face changes expression.

Dan knows it’s because he can see how red his eyes are and the tear stains that run down his cheeks. But he ignores the looks from the other editors and finishes going through the storyboard sent by his author.

***

Dan arrives back to his apartment later than he wanted to. But he stopped at Dominos and grabbed a cheap pizza so he could indulge his sadness in plastic tasting cheese and grease. He sets down the large pizza on his coffee table and is just about to fall into a heap on the floor when his doorbell rings.

He groans, quite loudly, as he rolls his eyes and walks back over to his door. He doesn’t even look through the peephole, he just opens the door and is about to ask, “what do you want?” when he sees Phil stood there.

“Oh hey! You’re home,” Phil says, “I have a question about…”

“Listen, Phil, now isn’t a good time.”

Phil furrows his brows but all Dan can think about is the ringing of Damien’s voice in his head over and over again. Stay away from Phil.  

“Is something going on?” Phil asks. “You were upset earlier. That’s exactly what I was going to ask about. I was wondering if you’re doing okay? I know Monika talked to you after the meeting and I guess I wanted to touch base if you were going through something.”

In the hallway, Dan sees people walking behind Phil so on a whim, he opens the door further and lets Phil inside. Phil shuffles inside and Dan shuts the door, “To answer your question,” Dan says, “I’ve had better days. But I’ve got a large pizza I’m about to eat.”

“Are you really thinking about transferring departments?”

The question catches Dan off guard, “You mean going to literature?”

Phil nods.

They walk into his apartment further and take a seat on the floor next to Dan’s pizza. Dan opens the box and grabs a piece and Phil looks at him with puppy dog eyes and Dan caves and lets him grab a slice.

“I liked working in literature,” Dan answers finally. “It was something I really enjoyed at my fa--last publishing company.”

“Dan, we all know that you used to work at your father's publishing company. You don’t have to try and hide that.”

Dan rolls his eyes and continues anyway, “I really liked working in literature. It was something I felt like I was really good at. And although I only worked for my father for a year, it still felt like I gained mass amounts of experience. I even got to edit some big authors too.”

“You’re a good editor,” Phil says between bites of pizza. “You’re really good at what you do. I’m actually really glad that you came to work for me because you are exactly the editor that I needed.”

Dan feels a blush creep on his cheeks. He finishes his slice of pizza and goes to reach for another when Phil does too and it’s suddenly like deja vu all over again. Except this time, they’re not reaching for a book. Their hands touch and briefly, Dan can feel Phil’s fingers drum against his skin. He gasps and goes to pull his hand back but then Phil connects them and their palms are sitting on top of each other.

Dan rips his hand away and looks up at Phil with a stunned face, “You don’t get to do that.”

“I can’t hold your hand?”

“No!” Dan gasps out. “We--there is nothing going on between us so no, you can’t do that.”

“It’s just holding your hand.”

“If you want to hold hands with someone, go hold Damien’s!”

When the words leave Dan’s mouth, he doesn’t even realize the meaning that they hold. Phil stares at him with a clear expression of shock and as soon as Dan sees that, he knows he has fucked up.

“There is nothing going on with Damien and I,” Phil says. “Did he say something to you? Is that why you were in the meeting room with him this morning and why you were so upset? What did he tell you, Dan?”

Dan sat back and rested his back against his couch. He wanted to ignore the question and pretend he didn’t just bring up Damien and suddenly would have to talk about him. He wants to shrug it off but he knows he can’t do that either. Dan looks at Phil, who is waiting for his answer and he says, “Damien told me a bit about you after we broke up.”

“And what exactly did he tell you, Dan?”

“He told me how much of a mess you were,” Dan says, although it comes out as more of a mumble.

Phil lets out a sigh and rolls his eyes, “I want to make something clear to you, Dan.” He pauses. “There is nothing going on with Damien and I. When we were in university together, we had a brief fling but it was nothing more than that. We’re only friends.”

Then why does he have a key to your apartment? Why did he have a cat running out of your door? Why is he being this way?

“I don’t know what Damien told you,” Phil says, “but I never stopped thinking about you. I never stopped loving you. Not once in the 10 years that we haven’t seen each other have I stopped thinking about you.”

Dan lets his head fall back as he fights off the tears threatening to fall. His chest heaves a few times to try and keep the tears at bay and he lets out a few quick breaths to try and help. It works for the most part.

“You laughed at me.”

Dan’s not sure when he speaks but the words come out and he can’t pull them back.

“Wha--what are you talking about?”

“The day we broke up, I went to your house and we had sex and when I asked you what we were and what your feelings were for me, you laughed,” Dan swallows back the tears. “That’s why I slapped you. That’s why I ran.”

Dan doesn’t want to turn his head and face Phil but he does and he sees a look of shock written over Phil’s face as his mouth falls open to process what Dan has said. It’s silence between them. Nothing more is said and in that moment, Dan wants nothing more than for Phil to leave so he have a proper cry because he really needs one right now and he’s not gonna cry in front of Phil.

When Phil finally goes to answer, Dan’s phone starts vibrating erratically on the floor next to them and he reaches down to pick it up. The number on his phone is that of his author and he immediately sits up to answer the call.

She has her next manuscript done and she’s thanking him for the edits. He feels better, hearing that from her directly over the phone and not from an email. He’d met with her once in person but it’s still better to talk over a phone when it comes to discussing her graphic novel.

She begins to speak about how grateful she is for him being her editor and he feels his heart beat a little bit faster at the compliment. He takes it with a smile and really, it’s the first time he’s smiled the entire day--at least that he can recall.

It was really exactly what he needed after such a shit day. That one moment of validation that made it feel like everything he was going through was worth it. The long work days, putting up with Phil and Damien. The constant work cycle that leaves him stressed more than he has ever been.

But in this moment, it’s all worth it. Every single part of it is worth it.

She hangs up and Dan puts his phone away and he looks down to see Phil helping himself to another slice of pizza, “What did she say?”

“She complimented me and told me she was lucky to have me as her editor.”

Phil’s lips curled into a smile, “What a nice compliment, but don’t let it get to your head.”

Dan just shakes his head and sits back down beside Phil, grabbing another piece himself.

“I should get going,” Phil says after he finishes. “But I think we should try and sit down and have another talk.”

“Gonna be honest, mate,” Dan says. “Don’t think I can.”

“But we have to eventually talk about this,” Phil presses. “We can’t ignore the elephant in the room.”

No, but Dan wishes he could.

“I know…”

Phil gets up and walks towards the door but stops before he gets to it and turns back around, “I mean it, Dan, when I say I never stopped loving you.”

He opens the door and Dan watches as it closes and for some reason, it feels like the end of the last chapter and the beginning of the next.