#you’re always welcome to send asks or assumptions or guess anything about me if you’d like to!

[liketwoswansinbalance]

How would you describe yourself??

It is impossible to condense the qualities of any being into a short and pithy answer. Therefore, I will say: I’m complex. Or, alternatively, I should like to think of myself as complex. How is that?

[imkylotrash]

Golden

Pairing: Sky x reader

Requests: The reader is Stella’s sister but Sky is secretly in love with her and he confesses. Anonymous

and

Could you write where sky is with a princess of solaria (Stellas sister) and they attempt to keep it secret from Stella and set before the summer of the events on the fate the winx saga is set.

A/N I paired these request because they were so similar and would have the exact same plot line. Will be doing this to a couple of the requests since they’re so similar. 

“Free at last!” you exclaim as you walk out the doors of Alfea with Sky in tow. You’ve finally finished your last exam and now it’s time to just enjoy the summer. 

“So, what’s your plans then?” Sky asks propping his arm around your shoulders. There’s nothing new in this but you still get butterflies. At this point, it’s just a given whenever he touches you. 

“Oh, you know. Travelling through the realms, visiting all my rich friends. I may even buy a yacht just to pass the time.” It’s a bit of an inside joke between you and Sky. He knows you’ll have to return to Solaria and face the dragon. 

“What about you? Will you be alright?” You’re a little worried about leaving him here. Stella had decided to dump him just days before the exams once again proving that the girl had no regard for other people. Needless to say, you weren’t the biggest fan of your sister. She always tried to live up to your mother’s expectations and acted more than royally around school whereas you had decided that the disappointed frown your mother wore every time you saw her actually suited her face. 

“Yeah,” he says shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans, “I’ll be fine. I have Silva.” It’s right then and there you decide that there’s a greater need for you here than hiding away back in Solaria. 

“You know, my mother is already profoundly disappointed in me. I don’t think it would make much of a difference if I were to stay.” Sky’s smile is brighter than the sun when he realises you’ll be staying right here with him. 

“Thank you,” he says hugging you tightly. He’s never been one to share him emotions easily but over the years you’ve learned to decipher his many facial expressions and there was just no way you would leave him right now. Your mother is as delighted as you expected when you tell her of your plans for the summer but you figure she’ll forgive you at some point. The way you see it, there’s a throne waiting for you back at Solaria and you want to enjoy freedom as long as you possibly can. Sometimes, you catch yourself wishing that Stella was the older sister. She’d be much more suited for the royal life but there’s a strict code of conduct when it comes to heirs and you’re the first born so the crown will eventually be placed on your head.  

“You won’t be returning with me?” Stella asks as she’s packing up her suitcase. Her tone in stern already setting you off. 

“I’ll be spending enough time there once I graduate.”

“Oh yes. The ever-repeating speech on how this is your moment of freedom and you won’t give it up for anything,” Stella mocks clearly upset to be facing mother alone. You feel a pang of guilt knowing what you’re sending Stella back to but the two of you have never been able to see eye to eye especially when it came to mother’s expectations of her daughters. 

“You’re welcome to stay here at Alfea if you’d like.” It’s an offer made to be polite because you know she’ll never accept it. 

“Please. Someone has to be responsible and return home. Our people look to the royal family for support. We can’t all pretend to be someone else.” 

“I’m not pretending, Stella. If I could give you the crown, I gladly would. If I had my way, I’d be just another fairy attending Alfea.” It’s a discussion you’ve had more than once and it’s always the same outcome. You don’t want the crown and Stella does but your mother would never allow the two of you to switch. Stella doesn’t say goodbye when she leaves and you’re okay with that. Instead you head out to find Sky. 

“Ready for the summer of your life?” you ask him and he smiles. It passes by too fast. The picnics out on the field, Silva training with you, walks in the forest at night. It’s nothing grand but it becomes the perfect summer on the final day when Sky pulls you aside as all the students start to arrive. 

“I have to tell you something. I’ve been wanting to all summer but I was scared I might ruin it.” Your heart skips a beat but you tell yourself that it’s probably not what you think it is. Rather than making assumptions, you stay quiet waiting for him to speak. 

“When this summer started, I thought I’d spend it alone and heartbroken over Stella but then you stayed. And I know it seems insane since you’re Stella’s sister, but I just can’t help but feel the way I do around you,” he smiles. It’s too good to be true. There has to be some kind of catch or problem in your way but right now everything feels perfect. You carefully take his hand and intertwine your fingers with his and Sky’s cheeks turn red. He’s always so gentle and kind so you know you’ll have to make the first move. As you stare into his eyes, you notice little specks of green mixed with the blue. You finally close your eyes, lean in and kiss him. Something you’ve wanted to do since you laid eyes on him the first time. You pull away with a huge smile plastered on your face thinking this moment is perfect and then you spot her. 

“Stella.” Thankfully, she hasn’t seen you but it’s only a matter of time before she’ll spot the two of you. Hand in his, you drag him with you behind a tree keeping you out of sight. 

“Of all the things I imagined you’d say after our first kiss, Stella wasn’t one of them.” He’s teasing you but you feel horrible. Despite your many differences, you do care about Stella and it would kill her to know that you’re dating her ex-boyfriend. You’re not even sure if she’s properly done with him or not and just thinking about her finding out about the two of you is enough to make your skin crawl. 

“She can’t know,” you plead looking into his eyes. He has to understand the importance of it. She’s not strong enough mentally to handle this. 

“Hey, relax,” he says cupping your cheeks, “how about we keep it to ourselves until we know what this is?” You know you don’t want to give him up but you don’t want to hurt Stella. His offer gives you him and keeps Stella blissfully unaware of the relationship which is good enough for you. 

“Okay. Just you and me, no one else can know.” 

“Please just kiss me,” he whispers leaning in and you don’t know how you could ever refuse him. Over the next few weeks, you and Sky have stolen moments between classes and nights spent wrapped in each other’s arms. You know you shouldn’t but you love him. One night you whisper it when you think he’s sleeping and he almost gives you a heart attack when he whispers it back. 

“I thought you were sleeping,” you whisper-yell trying to hide your face in his chest. 

“You’ve been turning around every two seconds. It’s impossible to fall asleep,” he chuckles wrapping his arms tightly around you. 

“I’m sorry, I have a lot on my mind,” you sigh. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks turning on the lamp by his bedside table. It showers Sky in a golden light making him look more angelic than human. It’s not fair how some people look so beautiful without even trying. 

“Yes. No. Maybe. I don’t know where to start,” you reply sitting up and leaning your back against the wall. You want to tell Stella so you can be done with sneaking around. As much fun as it’s been, you’re getting tired of watching Stella try to flirt with him because she decided he was good enough after all. Of course, he’s been turning her down but it just doesn’t seem to click with her. But you also know it’s a risk telling her since she’s not likely to congratulate you. 

“I guess I’m just tired of sneaking around,” you finally say. He signals for you to lay down with him again and you have no reservation as you crawl into his arms. 

“I’m ready for it when you are. Frankly, I just want to tell everyone you’re mine so the boys leave you alone.” 

“Please, you literally have a whole fan club waiting for you at every corner giggling and blushing if you even look in their direction.” Sky has become very popular now that he appears single and you can’t blame them. He is ridiculously handsome and more importantly, he’s kind and patient and warm. Right about now, he’s your favourite person in the whole world. 

“I do not,” he protests but even he knows it is the truth. His face is serious when he says: “Maybe we should tell her. I know you wanted to protect her but we can’t hide it forever. You’re expected to marry at some point and so am I.” 

“I know. I know. I just feel like a horrible sister.” This feeling of guilt comes as a surprise. You’ve never been that close but you don’t want to be the reason she’s hurting. 

“You’re not a horrible sister. Everything you’ve done these past few weeks has been to make sure she didn’t get hurt. It’s not selfish to want to be happy, Y/N.” But that’s just it. You’re already far too aware of your own happiness. It’s the reason you always stay away from Solaria and the expectations of the crown. It’s why you’re lying in bed with Sky right now. You've always put your own happiness first and you’ve never had a problem with it until now. 

“I’ll talk to her first thing in the morning then.” He kisses you one last time before you both fall asleep. You wake up to a note from him informing you that Silva had added a morning practice which meant you had no reason not to march into Stella’s room right now and tell her about you and Sky. 

“Can I talk to you?” you ask entering Stella’s bedroom. 

“If you must,” she replies not even bothering to look at you. 

“I don’t know how to say this so I’m just going to say it. I’m dating Sky,” you force yourself to keep going even as she goes completely rigid, “and I have been for a while now. I’ve kept it a secret because I never meant for this to happen and I didn’t want to hurt you. But it’s getting serious now and I needed you to know. I promise I’d never ever go for him if I didn’t have feelings for him.” She’s quiet for so long you’re worried she might just never speak to you again. 

“I’m not happy you kept it from me but I suppose if he has to date someone else, it wouldn’t be horrible if it was you.” Relief floods your body as you realise that she’s not breaking and she doesn’t hate you. 

“Thank you.” This is about as heartfelt as it’ll ever be between you and Stella. You share a moment locking eyes with each other before she turns her back to you. 

“I’m going to go then,” you say slowly backing towards the door. Stella doesn’t say anymore but the fact that you’re still breathing is a much better reaction than you’d dared hope for. Immediately after you head to the training grounds to find Sky. Once you spot him, you run right into his arms and he lifts you from the ground. 

“I love you,” you say kissing him in front of everyone. It’s so freeing to know that the secret is out. 

“I love you too.”

[drabbles-mc]

Catching Feelings

Bishop Losa x Reader

Request from my fave @masterlistforimagines​​: the classic friends with benefits, but someone caught feelings trope for Bish

Warnings: light angst, language

Word Count: 3.4k

A/N: I didn’t turn this into a smutty request solely because I got super wrapped up in Bish’s feelings haha. Hope y’all enjoy! xo

Bish Taglist: @sincerelyasomebody​​ @sadeyesgf​​ @thesandbeneathmytoes​​ @tomhardydallasstarsgirl​​ @multiyfandomgirl40​​ @sillygoose6969​​ @queenbeered​​ @louisianalady​​ @gemini0410​​ @paintballkid711​​ @chibsytelford​​ @yourwonkywriter​​ (If you want to be tagged in any of my writing please let me know!)

You were shimmying back into your jeans, trying to pretend that you didn’t feel Bishop’s eyes on you. It was late, and you had an early morning coming up. The thought of prolonging your stay a little bit was tempting, but you knew that you’d pay for it once your alarm went off in the morning. Bishop was lying on the bed, chin resting in the palm of his hand. You did your best not to look at him for too long because you knew that if you did, it would be too easy to talk you into staying.

“You could just stay here, you know,” he offered up with a smile.

You chuckled and shook your head. It wouldn’t have been the first time you stayed over, and if you didn’t have plans the next day you might’ve. “Not tonight, Bish.”

“Suit yourself,” there was a smug grin on his face as he watched you pull a shirt on over your head.

“Can’t make it too easy on you, can I? Takes all the fun out of it,” you winked, “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” You blew him a kiss before heading out of the bedroom and leaving the house.

He listened intently for the sound of your car starting. When the sound of the engine faded away, he let out a sigh. He sat upright, running his hands down his face. For someone who had thought that the idea of friends with benefits was childish and that he was too old for it, he wasn’t able to say no to you when you had pitched the idea. You both had busy lives that didn’t make it easy to have romantic relationships, and there was no denying the comfort and attraction that was there between the two of you, so it just seemed to make sense.

You weren’t sober when you finally blurted out the idea to him. The two of you were staying late at the clubhouse together one night after a rough couple of days, burning through beer bottles faster than you should’ve been. He’d been flirting with you all night, but that wasn’t something out of the ordinary, and you certainly weren’t the only woman he was flirtatious with. But you noticed that when women tried to push it any farther, he would send them off. He’d do it nicely, but he would make sure they didn’t overstay their welcome.

“How do you not have someone down on lock yet, Bish?” you laughed as you sipped on your beer.

He smiled, shaking his head at you from across the table, “I guess you could say that I am not the easiest man to be with, Y/N.”

“Alright fair. But you never even give these girls a chance to, you know,” you wiggled your eyebrows suggestively, “relieve some of your tension.”

He laughed, “I’m in no position to be having a string of one-night stands. I leave that to the young bucks patching in. They’re young and stupid enough to think it’s a good idea.”

“Hm,” you thought about your response for a moment, “What about a fuck-buddy?”

He raised an eyebrow, “A what?”

You laughed, playfully nudging his shoulder, “You know, a friend with benefits. No strings attached kind of deal, just sex. You get the consistency of one person so you don’t need to worry about getting tested for something every couple of weeks,” you laughed, “Plus, it’ll be with someone that you can actually stand to hang out with once you’re done fucking. Win-win for everybody.”

His eyes searched yours, trying to figure out what your end-goal was with this conversation, “I’m not in my twenties anymore, Y/N. I think I’ve aged out of the friends with benefits category.”

You smirked, slowly running your foot up his leg underneath the table, “I beg to differ.”

And the rest was history. It’d been a few months since that first night and things had been going smoothly. The two of you kept your business private since he was the president of the MC, but you knew that the guys had their assumptions. Neither you nor Bishop ever commented one way or another when they would try to bring it up. You liked the sense of mystery, and the fact that it felt a little bit like a game at times. You’d push boundaries with him every now and then, just to see how worked up you’d be able to get him at the clubhouse without anyone noticing. And for a man who said that he was too old to be friends with benefits, he sure seemed to be benefiting a lot.

His mind raced with the events of the past few months. At first, he was certain that surely it couldn’t be that simple, that the two of you could remain friends and just have sex with each other when it was convenient. But that was exactly what had been happening, and you hadn’t changed the way you treated him at all. He was still your friend, and someone that you valued and respected, but never once throughout the course of the weeks of late-night and post-run rendezvous had you ever tried to pressure him into something more. He was impressed that you were able to compartmentalize so well.

He just wished that he was able to do the same thing.

As the days continued to tick by, he realized that maybe he wasn’t cut out to do the whole friends with benefits thing, but not because it was only something that young people did. He began to think that maybe he couldn’t handle it because the more time that he spent with you, the more times that he got to hold you and kiss you and make you tremble underneath his touch, the more he realized that he didn’t want to just be your friend. He didn’t want to admit it, but he knew that he was starting to have feelings for you. There were times in the morning when he’d see you getting dressed and all he could think about was how nice it would be if he got to be with you every morning while you got ready for work, and you’d be there for him every night when he came home after dealing with the club and all the chaos it brought him. His mind would wander off with thoughts of what it would be like to really be with you, to finally settle down, and it was getting harder and harder to pull himself out of those thoughts.

He stared at his phone screen, waiting for your text letting him know that you had gotten home safe. You didn’t live terribly far, but he still wanted to know that you made it okay. He smiled when your name lit up his phone screen, “I’m home. You can go to sleep now”. He smiled as he typed out his reply, “Thank you. Got plans tomorrow night?”

A few minutes passed before your reply came, “Why? Miss me already?”

He paused for a moment, trying to really think out his reply. He was second-guessing everything he said, not wanting to lose you, “Something like that, yea”

“I’ll see if I can clear my schedule for you”

He smiled, deciding to leave it at that. He set his phone off to the side and rolled so that he was staring up at the ceiling. He wondered if you were just really good at pretending that you weren’t starting to develop feelings for him too. When the two of you agreed to this whole arrangement, he worried at first that you had suggested it because you already were falling for him. Now he was thinking that maybe he let his ego get to him a little bit by thinking that and it was coming back to bite him. He sighed, shaking his head at himself as he tried to force himself to go to sleep without dwelling on the fact that his bed felt empty without you in it.

You stopped by the clubhouse after work the next day to see him for a few minutes. He was seated outside on the deck and you plopped down across from him with a smile, “Presidente.”

He smiled at you, “Y/N, didn’t think I’d see you here.”

You laughed, “I told you I’d see if I could clear my schedule for you.”

“Weren’t sure if you were going to be able to follow through,” he watched as you reached across the table and took his beer, taking a sip from the bottle with a smirk on your face.

“I’ll always find a way to make time for you, Obispo,” you gave him his beer back.

He looked at you and he felt his heart pound harder inside his chest. The two of you had agreed that if one of you became uncomfortable with anything about your situation, you’d both back off with no questions asked. He wondered if he should cash in on that clause, but he didn’t want to give up the closeness he got to have with you.

“I actually meant to reach out to you earlier,” he hated the words even as he was saying them, “Some shit came up with the club. Got some stuff we need to handle tonight.”

“Oh,” you’d been looking forward to seeing him again, but you knew that this exact situation was why the two of you had gotten into things in the first place, “okay. Raincheck?”

He nodded, “Yea. Sorry to bail on you.”

You chuckled and shook your head, “No need to apologize,” you stood up from the table and patted his back as you walked behind him, “I’m not your girlfriend, Bish. You don’t have to explain anything to me. Not like you owe me anything,” you leaned down and kissed his temple, “You and the boys be safe out there. Text me when you get home so I know you’re not dead in a ditch somewhere, alright?”

A small smile crossed his face for a moment, “Alright.”

He watched as you sauntered off and hopped in your car, driving off without giving it another thought. He hated lying to you, but he thought that maybe if he gave him a few days to cool off and get his mind in order, the feelings would go away too. Maybe he was just thinking too far into it. He hoped he wouldn’t be forced to give you up.

A few days passed and you hadn’t heard much from him. You were a little hurt at first, but then you remembered who you were dealing with. He had bigger problems on his plate than budgeting in time to sneak off and hook up with you. It was a little odd only because up until then you two had managed to make things work well and see each other frequently. But it was practically radio silence on his end. You’d text him a couple times a day to make sure he was alright, and his responses were short. You tried to think if you had something to him that would upset him, but nothing was coming to mind.

You parked your car and made your way over to the office, hoping that Chucky would be there and know where the guys were. Bishop had blamed his curtness and inability to see you on club shit, and you were starting to question just how honest he was being with you about it all.

Chucky’s face lit up when you walked into the office, “Y/N, what a pleasure it is to see you.”

You smiled, “Pleasure’s all mine, Chucky,” you drummed your fingers on the counter, “Bishop around?”

“El Presidente?” he nodded, “I believe they had Templo. Might be done by now, though.”

“Thank you. Stay handsome,” you shot him a wink as you walked out of the office and made your way to the clubhouse.

You walked in, scanning over the room to see where everyone was at. Sure enough, you saw Bishop sat at the table with Hank and Taza. The three of them seemed awfully relaxed for a group of men who had apparently been incredibly wrapped up in stressful club shit for the past week. You walked over to the table with a smile, not wanting to make things weird.

“Hey boys,” you rested one hand on Bishop’s shoulder.

“Y/N,” Taza offered you a warm smile, “good to see you. We’ve missed you lately.”

You chuckled, wishing you could see what Bishop’s face looked like, “Yea, sorry, just been a little crazy on my end lately,” you tapped your fingers onto Bishop’s shoulder, “Can I borrow you for a second, Pres? Something I need to talk to you about.”

He cleared his throat, and you could feel his body tense underneath your hand, “Uh, yea, of course,” he stood up and nodded towards Templo, “This way.”

You flashed the other two men a smile and a wave before walking towards the back room, Bishop right on your heels. He slid the door shut behind him and did his best to avoid making direct eye contact with you as the both of you stood there.

“So,” you leaned back against the table, “how are things?”

“Things are…fine,” his eyes were glued to the ground.

“Oh? Are they? I wouldn’t know. I’ve hardly heard from you in a week.”

“You said it yourself—I don’t owe you anything.”

You scoffed and shook your head, “What the fuck is your problem?”

“What? I thought this was supposed to be no strings attached.”

“Yea, but you’re still my friend. Even before we started hooking up I at least felt like I could have a conversation with you that didn’t feel like I was pulling your fucking teeth,” you waited for him to finally look you in the eyes, “Did I do something? If you don’t wanna hook up with me anymore just say it. Don’t try to ice me out—I deserve better than that. I told you from the jump that we could go back to being friends with no questions asked. I’m not gonna hold it against you if you’re over this whole thing.”

He saw the look on your face and he knew that you meant every word that you said, and it hurt. He didn’t want to admit it, but he didn’t want you to be able to give him up that easily.

After a long minute of silence you spoke up again, “Be real with me, Obispo. Do you still want this?”

He shook his head, “No.”

It stung, but you weren’t going to go back on your promise—you weren’t going to hold it against him, “Alright. That’s all you had to say. We good? I don’t want shit to be weird from here on out,” there was another long stretch of silence and you could feel the frustration bubbling up inside you. you had assumed that Bishop would be able to be a little more mature about the whole thing, especially since he was the one who was breaking it off, but apparently you were wrong. Men really didn’t mature more as they got older. You shook your head, “Fuck, Bish. I really thought that we were going to be able to be adults about this. Sorry I bothered.”

You turned on your heel and made your way towards the door. Before you could grab onto it and slide it open, he finally forced himself to speak up, “Hey, wait.”

You turned with a sigh, “What?”

“I can’t do this.”

“Yea, you made that pretty fucking clear already.”

“No,” he closed the space between you and you could feel the heat radiating off of him, “I mean, I can’t do this with no strings attached. I thought that I could. Honestly, I thought that you were going to be the one that got wrapped up in your feelings.”

You smirked, “Cocky, but continue.”

It got him to smile a little bit, “But I could see it in your eyes that you were true to your word. You were completely detached from everything between us. And I was too, at first. But, fuck, Y/N, somewhere along the way I stopped caring about just the sex. Don’t get me wrong, I love it. But the way I felt when I would see that you were calling me, or when I would hear you walk through my front door when you knew I’d gotten home from a run? I knew that had nothing to do with friendship, or sex. And the way I hated every time you’d get dressed and leave and I knew that you were going back to your own empty bed while I was lying in mine drove me insane. I hate it,” he took a deep breath, “I wasn’t ready to give you up. If the only way for me to have you was like this, then I was willing to do that. But it kills me to know that I want more, and you are content with what we have.”

He threw a lot at you all at once, and your brain was still trying to process it all. The idea of being in a relationship with Bishop had crossed your mind on numerous occasions. You never let it linger though, not when you knew what kind of life he led and the kind of man he was. If you thought that he would’ve been game for a relationship right out the gate you would’ve said something. This was a development that you hadn’t seen coming. The only reason you didn’t get twisted up about your arrangement was because in your mind, there was no alternative. You were either friends who were having sex, or you were just friends. There was never anything on the other side of the spectrum, or at least that’s what you had thought.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” you finally asked.

“I am now.”

“Obispo, listen, I don’t think there’s anyone in the world that I respect more than you. You’re my best friend, and these past few months have been insanely fun. I’ve loved being able to spend so much time with you. I like who I am when I’m with you. If you wanted something more you should’ve just said something—we’re both adults. I’d like to think that we could handle that conversation.”

“I didn’t want you to shut me out if you didn’t feel the same way.”

“You really think I’d do that?”

He paused, shaking his head, “No.”

You cupped his face in your hands, “So, what exactly do you want from me, Obispo?”

He rested his hands on top of yours, “I want you to give me a chance to really be your man. All the time, not just on late nights and weekends,” he scooped you up so that your legs were wrapped around his waist as he held you up, “Could you do that for me?”

You laughed, nodding as your hands rested on the back of his neck, “I think I could do that.”

He walked over and set you down on the edge of the table. You unhooked your legs from around him so that he was now standing between them. He leaned in and brought your lips to his. The kiss was soft but still needy, and in that moment you wondered how you hadn’t seen this coming all along.

He rested his forehead against yours, “I don’t think I’d ever be able to give you up.”

You smiled, reveling in the feeling of his hands on your waist, “I don’t think I’d ever ask you to.”

You felt him laugh quietly as he nuzzled his face into the side of your neck. You smiled, biting back a giggle as his beard tickled your neck. He kissed your throat gently as he leaned into you. You wrapped your arms around him and pulled him in close to you, one hand resting gently on the back of his head. A smile crept across your face as you felt him let out a long, relieved sigh as he ran his hands up and down your back.

“Can we go back to your place?” you said after a few minutes of silence between you.

He pulled back and looked at you with a smile, “I’d like that.”

You leaned in and gave him a quick kiss on the lips, “I’ll even spend the night this time.”

He chuckled, “Oh yea?”

You hopped down off the table and tugged him towards the door, “Yes. You’re in for a long night, Obispo.”

He shook his head with a smile, “I don’t doubt it.”

[alittlewhump]

Unbidden - Act 1, chapter 2

Masterlist | Previous | Next

Content warnings: None, still pretty light here.

It wasn't long before they reached a small encampment where another woman called out to the one who had been guiding Morgan. "Fiona, I swear you're the worst scout we have. There's something following you, you know."

The rogue - Fiona - put her hands on her hips.

"I'll have you know, Akara, that this is an adventurer. He's going to combat our evil."

"And why didn't you send him to the den?"

"I just wanted your blessing, ma'am."

"More like you didn't want to go out of your way." The woman, evidently a superior of some sort, looked Morgan over with a cool gaze. "There's a monster den about half an hour's walk to the west of here. They've been giving us some trouble. If you can exterminate them, we'll talk."

Talking was very low on the list of things Morgan wanted to do. But eliminating a nest of evil creatures - that was a good task, easily defined with no messy human contact. And, of course, it would also contribute in a small way toward restoring the Balance, to fulfilling the request that had sent him out here in the first place. Surely it was more than just one den causing problems, but they likely wanted to test his ability. He nodded to show he'd understood, then turned to go. The two women continued to talk as he left.

"Is he mute, or what?"

"Nah, he talks. But listen, you'll never believe this -"

He stopped listening. There were more important things to think about, like whether or not it would be worth the effort to concentrate on making clay golems instead of using skeletons. He debated as he walked, keeping an ear out for sounds of danger. Skeletons were plentiful in these parts, he'd discovered. So that was convenient. He paused to raise two out of a boggy patch of ground. Two was a good number, enough to draw enemy attention away without draining his energy too much. He could only manage one earth golem at a time, but if other risen skeletons were attacking the Sisterhood... yes, the extra effort was probably worth it to ease future interactions. He could always reserve the skeletons for use away from the encampment, lay them back down into the earth outside their view.

Morgan stopped, crouching down to touch the ground. He sent out a tendril of magical energy, spreading it thin to form a humanoid shape. The earth lifted, obedient but slow, a form rising up ponderously. It took almost a minute to fully form, and Morgan was breathing hard by the end of it. It was a small golem, only a little taller than him but considerably sturdier. It would do for now. He was admittedly a little out of practice, but he resolved to keep working at it. Later, after this den was taken care of.

It was early the next morning by the time Morgan returned to the rogue encampment. The nest of imp demons had presented a challenge, but not an insurmountable one. He'd had to rest afterwards, taking a few hours to meditate. It wasn't quite sleeping, but it was close enough. He'd also remembered to put his skeletons back into the ground outside the view of the little town. A clay golem plodded along by his side; he was just more comfortable with at least one construct to protect him.

A familiar voice raised a call as he approached the town gate. "Hey, ghoul boy's back!" The encroaching forces of darkness must have taken a toll on their numbers, Morgan surmised. Why else would a scout have two watch shifts so close to one another? The sooner he could get to the root of the problem, the better - for all of them.

The gate rolled open and a new woman approached. Judging by her more impressive-looking armour, Morgan guessed her to be some sort of commander. When she spoke, she certainly had the tone of a leader.

"I didn't think we'd see you back here, outlander. Did you clear the den of monsters?"

"They were demons, not monsters." He hung back by the gates, reluctant to enter without an explicit invitation.

"Demons. Monsters. I don't care what they are other than dead. Are they dead?"

"Yes."

"Good. Welcome to the Sisterhood of the Sightless Eye - what's left of it, anyway. Fiona says you're here to cleanse the evil from this place. She also says you came out of the woods alongside some skeletons, so I'm not sure what to believe. Tell me about yourself, stranger."

A few more women clad in light armour had appeared, hanging back behind their leader. Not so different from the imps he'd just finished with, Morgan thought - skittish, wary. He decided to keep that comparison to himself. No sense in actively antagonizing them. They were already poised to dislike him based on his school of magic, based on his experience so far. It was possible that whoever had sent the request to his Order had done so in secret. It was also possible that they had passed on already, given the sorry state of things. He tried to skirt the issue delicately.

"I am a follower of Rathma. We are charged with maintaining the Balance between light and darkness. We received word of a source of evil nearby that threatens to disrupt that Balance. I seek to destroy it. If you can direct me-"

"The priests of Rathma are necromancers, are they not?" This was the woman from before, Akara. He hadn't noticed her standing behind the rest of them. He recognized the disdain in her face, her voice. He'd been hoping to avoid this type of interaction, but he'd never been able to figure out a good way to dodge the question without lying outright. And while he could technically lie - there wasn't anything physically or magically preventing it - he had never developed the barest shred of skill in the art of deceit, and it was impossibly difficult to guess what people would or wouldn't believe in any given situation. In cases where the truth would be unwelcome, the best option was usually to try to deflect.

"I don't intend to do you any harm," he tried.

"Answer the question, then. Yes or no."

Well, it had been worth trying. It seemed like Akara knew the answer anyway, and just wanted to hear it from him, for some reason.

"Yes."

Most of the women took a horrified step back, grimacing in disgust or fear. He didn't let it bother him on a personal level - it was easiest to work from the assumption that everyone would have these sorts of feelings toward him, based on either his appearance or his affiliation - but it rarely bade well for situations like this in which he needed information. The commander didn't flinch, which was heartening. She turned to face Akara.

"We can't afford to be choosy right now, Priestess. Whatever his methods, this is the best chance we've had in a while. I'm not going to waste it." She turned back to Morgan. "You'd do best to start by finding Deckard Cain. Word is, he knows just about everything there is to know. If he still lives, he should be able to tell you more about the evil that blights our land here."

He listened carefully as she described this scholar and his last known whereabouts. It was a good plan, to gather as much information as possible before properly facing down whatever evil had rooted there. It would likely take a few days to reach Tristram, which would give him time to work on his golems. He was pleased with these developments until the commander turned to address the women huddled behind her.

"Blaise, you'll go with him."

What? No, this wouldn't do at all. Other people just complicated things. What Morgan needed was the simplicity of solitude with his golems. He raised his hands in protest. "Madam, I really don't-"

"What the fuck, Kashya?" That was presumably Blaise, voicing a much louder objection. "Are you still mad about that thing last week? I said I was sorry, I don't deserve-"

"That wasn't a request," Kashya said calmly. "I think you're the best one for the job, and I won't hear any arguments. Now get your things together for the journey." The assembled rogues huddled in a group, chattering quietly amongst themselves as Blaise turned on her heel and stalked away. Morgan took a few steps toward their commander.

"Please, madam Kashya, I ask you to reconsider-"

"When I said no arguments, I meant it. Two heads are better than one. Now you can wait outside; you're making my girls nervous."

Morgan waited outside. It was clear that the matter was not open for discussion. He guessed that pushing it further would only serve to alienate the single person who seemed at all willing to work with him. One was better than none, so he would try to stay on her good side.

[thelovelyghostwriter]

How many responses have you gotten so far, if I may ask?

Hello, thank you for your question. I open the Q&A if you guys want updates on the survey or any problems I'm facing.

Currently, there's 380 responses in total. [It was actually 362 last night, don’t know where I got the boost overnight, perhaps that Kurapika post] 

tThere's actually 84 questions in total, but I coded it in such a way that certain questions don't appear when you indicated an option. For example, if you indicated that you are not up to date with the manga (indicating that you have read the post-Election arc AND read till Chapter 390), the questions regarding the Succession arc theories and predictions will not appear. This is why the manga readers' survey is actually longer.

Currently, 149 respondents indicated that they had read up to date, and therefore, they indicated

Another example is the shippings part. For example, if you indicated you don't ship anything, you won't see the list of ships. If you only indicated that you ship, let's say, het ships, you will only see the het ships. This is to make it easier for people to do the survey. The key is for others to not answer unnecessary questions.

I'd also like to take this opportunity to talk about certain issues/explanations that I need to address.

The reason why I'm always emphasising the goal of 385 responses and above (400 is a good number) because based on calculations. I checked on MAL and that there are over 1.2 million who have watched HxH. The "population" in this case is the total number of people who have watched/read the series. Since some people do not have MAL, the actual population number is higher (currently, we do not know what is this exact number).

At 5% margin of error and 95% confidence level*, the ideal sample size is 385 in populations above 100K, and it doesn't change after 100K.

*I do not really know how to explain this, but don't worry too much about it.

Alright, so I'm at 380, do I still need more than 5 people?

Yes, I need more people. Why? I have three concerns:

1) I said this before, but I need more men/boys to do the survey.

As mentioned, I did not put demographic questions because my country is strict with asking people for personal data. While this survey is casual, I do not want to encounter future complications. However, I can roughly guess the gender composition of respondents because of certain questions and the way the survey was distributed. 

Firstly, this survey blew up mostly on Tumblr and there’s a lot of mixed statistics. This says that 47% are female in 2021 and this other article says 72% of women use Tumblr in 2014. Anyway, most of my online (majority from Tumblr) are women and they had actively helped me sent it out to other women who likes the show as well. This same thing happened to my friends in real life. 

Actually, this is one of the biggest limitations of this survey - convenient sampling, which is giving the survey to only people that we know. Our friends who may have similar views/interest will get to do the survey, but people that we are not friends with who may have a different view/interest does not get to do the survey. Their thoughts/opinions are not recorded. 

Secondly, there are certain questions that makes it easy to guess for me if the respondent is a woman/man. 

For example, the “which character do you simp for” question. 

“nil” means they don’t simp for anyone by the way. Also, note that this is just the word cloud diagram. I will chart them manually in bar charts later on. 

Usually, when someone indicates a lot of male characters, they are normally women/girls. The ones who indicated Killua Zoldyck and Gon are usually young girls. Of course, I’m not saying men won’t indicate they simp for a male character or something, but yea know, common sense a bit here. The likelihood of someone placing Chrollo being a woman/girl is higher than the respondent being a man. That also same goes for the shipping questions. 

The survey is posted on Reddit that consisted of 83.1% males in the HxH area, according to the 1K survey that they had. This helped me boost more people (and possibly guys who do survey). However, I think only about 20 to 30 people did it (based on the boost I got after the Reddit thread was posted). I also had help from a large hxh IG account that had slightly more guy followers to give me a shoutout. I also went to reach out to some accounts whom I know the admin are guys. 

I still need a bit more help though, because currently the survey results... I’m sensing that there are more women/girls who did it from the way the results are turning out. 

Why is this important? 

It’s simple. I cannot just release the results that had an uneven ratio of the gender of the respondents and claim that this is the hxh fandom. It won’t be representative of the hxh fandom population as a whole when there are many cis-men who actually had watched/read the show, and absolutely loved it. I think it’s important to hear people’s opinions, be it men, women, young, old. 

Currently, I’m trying to attract more men to do the survey by designing my hxh analyses posts from Tumblr and transporting them to IG, because I realise they like these kind of posts and they get to see my bio profile (with the survey link) + post about the hxh survey. I also get to befriend some of them in the process (and also because I have long been wanting to post my hxh analyses on IG, but it’s just a hassle to make it into pretty poster designs). So win-win. 

Of course, anyone is welcomed to do the survey. I just need help with “balancing” it out, so please help me by sending it to your bros, guy friends, boyfriends, fathers etc. Or if you know any social media platforms where most guys dominate, then yeah please send them. Or if you’re a guy, then yea go ahead and try the survey. 

2) While the responses are 380 in total, the number of people who have read up to date is 149. 

Okay, I’m not saying I need to get people who had read up to date to be 385 as well. Realistically, not sure if I can do it. However, most of the questions pertaining the Succession arc are the most interesting ones and it takes a large chunk of them. 

So yes, it will be great to have more people to do the survey especially if they had read the manga so that we can have more respondents in those questions. 

3) The 385 response calculation is only assuming 5% confidence level and 5% margin of error. 

I don’t exactly know how to explain this, but I will try to quote for the margin of error: 

“Company X surveys customers and finds that 50 percent of the respondents say its customer service is “very good.” The confidence level is cited as 95 percent plus or minus 3 percent margin of error. This information means that if the survey were conducted 100 times, the percentage who say service is “very good” will range between 47 and 53 percent most (95 percent) of the time.”

So if you put it in HxH context, with 95% confidence level, and 5% margin of error, it goes like this: 

50% of respondents indicated that Bisky is their favourite HxH girl (this one is only one option). If this survey was conducted 100 times, the % of people who indicated Bisky as their favourite girl would be from 45% to 55%. 

But if I actually key in 3% margin of error, the sample size goes up to 1056. 

I’m willing to open the survey for 1.5 more weeks. Three reasons: 

A) I will wait for more responses of course!

B) I am currently busy with my part-time student research assistant job during summer break till this week, and they are rushing to finish up the research paper. Therefore, it’ll be nice to just wait while I do my work. 

C) I am planning to write up the theories that I had included in the survey. This means having a lot of time finding the links/threads to the theories and reading them, making sense of it. I plan to post it and also merge that in my report. 

I’m closing the survey in 1.5 weeks because I need time to do up the charts and report by mid-August because I’m afraid I might be busy once the semester starts and I won’t have anytime to do this mini fun project. 

Another thing I want to address: 

Most of the time, certain options I created is based on technical reasons. The other reason is by mistake. 

For mistakes, I went to fix them if someone highlights a mistake.

Now, for the technical reason. I did not appreciate this response in the NOTP section that says: 

The reason why I listed out almost all ships in Hunterpedia, including the ones with a large age gap and the incest ones is simple - because it helps me chart easier when I put them into options. It also decreases the chances of nonsense answers like this one. It also places less fatigue on people doing the survey.  Text boxes are only meant if the options aren’t clear or “others, please state” so that I can include people’s opinons. 

The reason why I didn’t do that for the NOTP section is that I was unable to do a certain specific coding. That’s why it ended up as a text box. It’s also based on the assumption that if something is really your NOTP, you’d know and remember it. 

Why do people online goes straight to trying to prove they are morally superior and whatnot, assuming that I listed the options because of my morality. You do not know me personally. It is based solely on technical reasons.

This is why I used this disclaimer: 

Which part of this is not clear. You can leave, just like what I said in the beginning. Another thing is not following instructions and being rude about it. 

I had also instructed clearly to list out the NOTP combinations. I even noted it clearly. Some people put “any incest/pedo ships”, which happened more than five times. What’s more, one response contained “don’t tell me what to do”. 

Yes, I get it, you don’t like these type. But what you’re doing is making me guess everything, which is unproductive. If you don’t like certain ships that are common but a “taboo” like “HisoGon”, “Killumi”, then say that. If you say it generally, I’m just going to assume the ones on the Hunterpedia list. 

Another thing is the “any toxic ships”. This is very vague. Often, some so-called “wholesome” common ships in hxh are toxic. Mind you, Killugon is also a toxic ship (let’s not be blind to the CA arc please, this pairing is unbalanced), yet almost everyone perceives it as wholesome. Most characters in hxh are toxic in their own ways, and for sure their canon dynamics if they are in a relationship are likely more toxic than what is often portrayed in the headcanon way. I am wondering what to do with this, I might put it as invalid or “no”. 

This is why my instructions are to list them. I had already edited the question twice to make it even clearer yet there’s people who defy them. I’m not just doing the instructions out of fun or make people’s life harder. Those are instructions. 

I do not understand why certain people have to feel offended/be rude at an anonymous survey. 

I can understand if people don’t follow instructions because you might missed it out and I can help to chart it for you. It’s totally okay, everyone makes mistakes, but I do not appreciate the extra unsolicited comments about me because it implies that you have read them, you just chose not to follow it. 

If you think there’s a better way to do it, then DM me. I will explain to you why I had done it so, or I might even change it based on your suggestion. For example, someone actually told me to add certain options and I did it. Another person suggested to add the non-romantic dynamics and I love that, though I think it’s a little too late to add that. Maybe in the next survey.  

If you do not like the instructions, kindly exit the survey. Nobody is forcing you to do it. It won’t record your response if the survey is incomplete for one hour. 

[lovelypersona]

wawawawa one more kiss with goro?

A/N: Half of my requests are Akira and yknow that’s valid but I love Goro ....... I also love maruki if anyone’s interested in sending me requests for him, hoo hoo!

Don’t let the title fool you, this is angst. P5/P5R spoilers!!! Major P5R spoilers, for real.

Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go! (Cause I’m Not Planning on Going Solo)

One of the worst days of your life so far was learning about Goro’s disappearance. And this was because you knew that, most likely, he didn’t disappear at all— it’s more likely that he was actually dead. And that thought... crushed you.

Your relationship with the highschool detective wasn’t much, but you held it dear in your heart. Goro wasn’t going to let anyone in, not even you- but he gave you an inch more than he gave others. He let you see him without all the makeup and dress up, and every so often, his true personality would break through and you’d get to see the real Goro Akechi.

The Goro Akechi that was essentially trapped behind the bars of his own fate, and he knew it, too.

So when you learned about his disappearance, you felt... a deep, unrestrained dread. It flooded through you and took over your mind- the grief of losing him was genuine and harmful. Yes, you loved him- you loved him as much as you could with what he gave you. But that was the end of it. Because he’s gone now, and now you can never get him back and truly learn everything there was to know about him.

That’s what should of happened, at least.

Instead, a new year begins on January 1st, and you awaken with a lighter feeling on your chest than you remember. You feel good, honestly- and the first thing you think of as you get dressed and ready for the day is how you have a coffee date with Goro.

Your beating, loving heart leads you to Le Blanc, and the world turns sideways once again.

The world... is cruel. It has been turned sideways so many times that it’s hard to tell which side was truly upright anymore. Goro is the same as before- but he isn’t, at the same time. He is unashamedly himself- which is not at all like he was before. Before, it took you months of carefully picking apart the tears in his walls to get even a glimpse of who Goro really is. And now? It’s like all that effort was either wasted or finally recognized as he becomes someone else entirely.

Nonetheless, he follows you home after everything you learn. It’s strange, but you welcome it.

The two of you seem to live together after that. And it’s very strange- because here you were, in an alternate reality with your dreams coming true just to see your friend again and simply go on a date with him. But that dream was thrown in the dirt and replaced with a new dream. A dream where you actually live with Goro, talk with him and help his injuries when he comes back from fighting against the twisted world you now live in.

You like this better than the dream that was cooked up for you. Because this is real- and that makes it so much more satisfying.

———

At night, you sleep in your room and Goro sleeps on the futon in the living room. It’s been an arrangement that’s went well the past month, but it breaks on the second of February when Goro enters your room as you’re preparing for bed.

“Is something wrong?” You ask him, because his behavior was unusual and his stance was stiff as he stands in your doorway.

“I need to tell you something,” is all he says.

You sit up in your bed, resting against the bed frame as you look toward him and his tired eyes, his stressed features that never seem to leave his face. You silently pat the bed as an invitation for him to sit beside you - and surprisingly enough, he takes the offer. He sits on the very edge of the mattress, and you notice he’s still wearing his scarf and coat from when he went to talk with Akira and Maruki.

Scooting forward just an inch, you place your hands gently on his shoulders. He jumps at first and then looks at you strangely as you tug and remove his scarf. “You probably shouldn’t sleep in your winter clothes,” you smile at him and fold the scarf, setting it on your nightstand. “But what is it that you need to tell me? Did Maruki say something?”

Goro hums, working on removing his coat and setting it gently on the floor as he thinks. “Not really. Not anything I don’t already know. We should be ready to end this now.” But there’s a far off look in his eyes that tells you that maybe - maybe - he’s not as ready as he would like to be. “Besides that, you need to know something before everything goes back to normal.”

“I’m listening.”

Goro frowns, scoffs, and then begrudgingly leans against the bed frame as you are. “I won’t be around after this is over. Chances are that I’m not even really alive- that I died awhile ago. And that will be the reality we’re going back to once we change Maruki’s heart.”

He says it so simply. Without much emotion in his voice- as if he were just stating an ordinary fact that wasn’t that interesting. You stare at him silently- and quite suddenly you remember that anguish from before.

The grief from when he died the first time. You’re not sure you can live through that again, especially after having these new memories made with Goro now.

...But you know that hesitation and sympathy isn’t what he wants.

“...I see.” You say, playing with your fingers in your lap. The detective sighs.

“You, too?” You look back up at him, seeing the agitation across his features. “You’re the same as Akira. Does my life really change anything about this?”

“You’re making a lot of assumptions even though I haven’t really said anything yet, Goro,” you frown at him with a worried twitch in your brow. “I’m going to guess that Akira’s reaction is why you’re upset in the first place.”

He’s the one who is silent this time, averting his eyes from your gaze. You lick your lip nervously as you look at him, your hands twitching- and then you slowly reach forward and grab one of his hands that sits limply at his side.

Goro’s eyes snap to you then, but he doesn’t move his hand away.

“Listen, Goro... I’m not a part of this. I’m not a Persona user- I’m just the normal standby that got mixed up in the mess. Nothing I say will change what you need to do.” You move your thumb gently across his palm as you speak. “I lived through your death once already. I know nothing I will say will change your mind, and I’m not going to try. But is it really so awful that once you’re gone, I’ll miss you?” You look back up to his eyes. “Because I will, no matter what. ...I’m going to miss you a lot, Goro.”

Goro’s mouth opens, but no words come out. The two of you just look at eachother in the silence before he closes his mouth, eyebrows twitching as his hand gently squeezes yours. “I suppose I can’t control that.”

You smile at him. “You really can’t.”

“Then, if it’s alright with you,” the detective mumbles, “I think... I’d like to sleep here. With you. For tonight.” It comes out in an awkward mess, but at least he got it out. You smile wider as you nod, and you tell him, yes, of course you can sleep here.

Even now, he still has a barrier around him as he dresses for bed and slips under the covers with you. It’s obvious that he doesn’t know how to let that barrier fully go, even in a reality where he’s allowed to be himself and be free. But you help him, just as you always have, as you turn off the lights and scoot closer to him in the darkness. Your hand finds his again and holds it tightly.

“Wake me up before you leave,” you whisper to him. He promises you that he will.

And when the early hour finally rises and Goro awakens, you’re wrapped snuggly around his body in a way he’s never experienced before. It’s warm, and even though his body might not be real, he can still feel his heart beat and his skin tingle from morning chills. And just as he promised, he wakes you up once he’s dressed and prepared himself to go.

As you lay in your bed, disoriented from sleep with your eyes droopy and your hair a mess, you look at him so adoringly as you reach up and cup his cheek. Goro can see how you’re looking at every inch of his face- you’re sleepy, yes, but you’re also aware this is the last you’ll see of him.

“Goro,” you mumble. “Kiss me.”

He does. He leans forward and bends down so he can hold your face and run fingers through your hair as he kisses you as gently as he’s able. You smile as he kisses you, and that alone makes his stomach do a flip as you pull away and look at him with those loving eyes again. Then they slowly, slowly close, and Goro lets himself watch in the silence of the morning as your body dozes off again and your hands on his shoulder and face drop down. He tucks your arms under the covers, and with one last look at you, he stands back up and leaves your apartment.

[eiressofinspirationwrites]

Snowed In

Pairing: Malcolm Bright x Female Reader

Word Count: 2650

Description: Shameless use of the only one-bed trope starring Malcolm Bright. Gil sends you to pick up some old cold case files from a detective in a town a few hours away and Malcolm accompanies you. What was supposed to be a quick day trip turns into an overnight trip when a blizzard leaves you stranded in the small town.

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

“Doesn’t look like the two of you are going anywhere anytime soon, Detective,” Detective Kinzinger said as he caught a glimpse of the snowstorm that had started to rage outside the station walls, “Just received word that the main road out of town was just shut down due to severe conditions.”

“There’s got to be another way out,” you insisted, “We have got to get these files back to our team. We’ve got a serial killer on our hands and we needed to close this case yesterday!”

“Sorry,” Kinzinger apologized, “but any backroads out of town are going to be in even worse condition than the main road. Your best bet is to check into Mrs. Marshall’s bed and breakfast. It’s only a few doors down from here.”

“Malcolm are you okay?” you asked when you noticed him staring out the window, his hand shaking slightly. When he didn’t respond you walked over to stand beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder, “Malcolm?”

Malcolm jumped when he was pulled out of whatever trance he’d been in, “Yeah, sorry,” he gave you an unconvincing smile, “I’m fine.”

“You look exhausted,” you frowned, “What do you say we go and find that bed and breakfast so you can get some rest?”

Malcolm shot a sideways glance at Detective Kinzinger, you could tell he wanted to say that he wasn’t going to risk sleeping without restraints but didn’t want to draw attention from the older man, “Yeah, that sounds great,” he lied.

“Care to point us in the right direction, Detective?” you asked shouldering your messenger bag filled with the copies of the case files you’d been sent for after you’d pulled on your coat.

“Give me a second to put on my coat and I’ll walk you there,” Kinzinger offered, “I wouldn’t want you two to get lost in the blizzard.”

“Thank you,” you smiled politely, “Do you have everything you need Malcolm?”

“Yes,” Malcolm replied as he pulled on his own coat and wrapped a scarf around his neck.

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

“Hello, dears,” a kind-looking woman you assumed to be Mrs. Marshall greeted the two of you when you entered the bed and breakfast, stomping the snow from your shoes before entering any further, “Need a room for the night?”

“That would be great,” you replied with a smile, you couldn’t help but feel at ease around the woman. She gave off very heavy grandmotherly vibes, “My partner and I didn’t quite make it out of town before the storm rolled in.”

“You’re not from around here are you?” Mrs. Marshall asked as she pulled out her registration book.

“No, we’re both from New York City,” you replied, “We both work for the NYPD. Our Lieutenant sent us out here to get somethings from Detective Kinzinger for a case.”

“Oh, Jimmy is such a lovely man,” Mrs. Marshall cooed, before she asked, “What name should I put down?”

“Malcolm Bright,” Malcolm spoke for the first time since entering the bed and breakfast.

“And your name dear?” Mrs. Marshall asked after jotting down Malcolm’s name, “I don’t need if for the register, but I don’t want to just call you Mrs. Bright.”

You nearly choked at the assumption that you and Malcolm were married, and you caught a glimpse of his ears reddening but he didn’t say anything, “Uh, it’s Y/n.”

“Well, Y/n,” Mrs. Marshall grinned, “It’s a pleasure to meet you and you too Malcolm. Here’s your room key. You’re in 204. Up the stairs, second door on the right. Let me know if any of your neighbors get a little too noisy. We’re full up now. Lots of people got stranded here by the blizzard just like you.”

“We will,” you replied taking the key from her, “Thank you so much Mrs. Marshall.”

You and Malcolm trudged off in search of your room. Your mind raced as you trailed behind him. Mrs. Marshall had said the two of you had gotten the very last room and you prayed that it had two beds in it, but you had a sneaking suspicion that wasn’t going to be the case.

“Well, that answers that question,” Malcolm sighed when he pushed open the door to reveal one full-size bed, “I’ll make up a spot on the floor with the extra blankets and pillow. I’m not going to be sleeping much anyway.”

“We can share the bed,” you said as you brushed past him to deposit your bags on the floor by the bed, “We are both adults, Malcolm.”

“Night terrors remember?” Malcolm reminded you, “I would never forgive myself if I accidentally hurt you.”

“We can debate the bed situation after I take a shower,” you sighed, pulling a t-shirt and shorts from your bag.

“How are you so prepared?” Malcolm asked as he watched you remove a small bag filled with travel-sized toiletries from your bag, “We weren’t planning to stay the night anywhere. I didn’t even know you had that other bag until you grabbed it on the way over here.”

“I always have an emergency bag in my car with a change of work clothes, gym clothes, and shower stuff along with a few other odds and ends,” you replied as you wandered towards the bathroom, “If you look in there, you’ll find a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt that should fit you. I planned ahead for you.”

“Wow, thanks,” Malcolm said as he turned to dig through the bag, when he looked back you already had closed the door and he heard the shower turn on a second later.

He went ahead and dressed in the clothes you’d packed for him, surprised to find they fit him perfectly. Once he finished neatly folding his suit, he started making himself a place to sleep on the floor. While he worked, he thought about how much he wished he could share the bed with you.

Which was a foreign feeling to him, he’d never found himself wishing that before. Intimate relationships had never been his forte and it would be unprofessional for him to engage in such a relationship with you. You worked for Gil and Malcolm couldn’t risk compromising your position or his own on the team. Your work was everything to you, just like work was his everything.

“I told you that you didn’t have to sleep on the floor,” Malcolm jumped when he heard your voice. He hadn’t even heard the shower shut off let alone the opening of the bathroom door, “Sorry,” you apologized, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No, it’s fine,” Malcolm reassured you, “I was just lost in my own thoughts.”

“Thinking about the case?” you asked running a towel through your hair to wring out as much of the water as you could.

“Yeah,” Malcolm said, you could tell he was lying but decided not to push the issue.

“I’m glad those fit,” you gestured to the sweats, “I was guessing when I packed them.”

“Where did you even get them?” Malcolm asked tugging at the hem of the shirt.

“Pulled them out of the lost and found at the station,” you shrugged, “They’re clean. I washed them when I went home to take care of my cat before we left.”

“Thank you,” Malcolm said.

“You’re welcome,” you gave him a small smile, “I-,”

You froze when the lights in the room went out.

“Well that can’t be good,” Malcolm said as he reached around for his phone to use the flashlight feature.

“Blizzard probably knocked the power out,” you said turning on the light on your phone, beating him by a second, “I’ll go check in with Mrs. Marshall. She might have some candles or something we can use so we don’t drain our phones before bed.”

“Sounds good,” Malcolm said as he sank into the armchair that was in the corner to wait for your return.

“She could only spare a couple of candles,” you announced when you returned, “Seemed like everyone else in this place had the same idea. Thankfully she thought we were so nice and cute together that she offered us a few extra blankets.”

You held up the pile of blankets, “She said when the power goes out like this it’s usually for several hours so it’s likely gonna get cold in here given how old the building is.”

“Well, I guess we’re in for a long night,” Malcolm sighed, looking forlornly at the sad arrangement he’d made on the floor.

“If you think you’re going to be laying on the floor all night with the heat out you’re crazy,” you informed him, “I don’t care if you actually sleep or not. You’re going to lay in the real bed.”

“I can’t… I mean we shouldn’t…” Malcolm stammered nervously.

“Malcolm, we’re adults and the heat is out,” you said, “It would be absolutely ridiculous for you to sleep on the floor at this point. Besides, I trust you. You’ve saved my life a few times now.”

“You’re not going to take no for an answer,” Malcolm chuckled, “Are you?”

“Absolutely not,” you said stubbornly, “Now get your butt in bed. There’s not much we can do at this point so we might as well try and stay warm while we can and if you’re that worried about impropriety you can sleep on top of one of the blankets so that there’s a layer between us.”

“Alright,” Malcolm conceded, “you get in first.”

“Fine,” you said. Once you layered the extra blankets on top of the bed, you climbed into the bed and snuggled into the soft mattress, your head sinking comfortably into the down pillow.

Malcolm stood hesitantly on his side of the bed.

“Good lord, Malcolm,” you rolled your eyes, “You’ve faced down cold-blooded killers and your own father, and you’re scared to share a bed with a girl?”

Malcolm wanted to say that he wasn’t scared to share a bed with a girl, he’d done it before. He’d simply never felt the way about the girl in the bed the way he feels about you, “What if Gil or the rest of the team finds out?”

“If it makes you feel better, I won’t tell if you don’t,” you promised, “We can tell them we had separate rooms.”

“Okay,” Malcolm sighed and finally slid into the bed, making sure to leave a blanket between you and him.

“Is it safe to assume you’re going to lie awake all night?” you asked as you rolled onto your side to face him.

“Oh yes,” Malcolm nodded, not that you could really see it since it was so dark in the room.

“Well, I’m going to get some sleep,” you said, “It’s been a long day.”

“Goodnight, Y/n,” Malcolm said.

“Goodnight, Malcolm,” you yawned and rolled back to your other side so that you were facing away. It didn’t take long before you drifted off.

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

Several hours later you woke up, but you weren’t sure why. It was still pitch-black outside, and you could hear the wind howling violently. Then, you heard the muttering.

You shot up in the bed quickly grabbing your phone off the nightstand to light up the room. When you looked back towards Malcolm, you saw that he’d fallen asleep, but his face was contorted with fear. He was trapped in one of his night terrors.

“Malcolm!” you shook his shoulder, you briefly considered that it might not be a good idea to wake him up too roughly, but you couldn’t leave him trapped in his own mind like that. You’d seen how quickly they could escalate when he’d tackled Dani in the station during his first case.

“No, stop,” Malcolm whimpered, “Don’t… Don’t hurt her.”

“Malcolm!” you said louder this time, still shaking his shoulder, “Come on, Malcolm, wake up!”

“Stop, don’t… don’t do it!” Malcolm's pleas grew louder and more urgent and he started to toss and jerk.

“Dammit, Malcolm,” you cursed, “This is probably going to hurt.”

You pulled your arm back and proceeded to give him a solid punch to the gut.

“NO!” Malcolm howled as he bolted upright in the bed, but his eyes flew open finally free from the nightmare, but they were still wild as he struggled to regain his bearings.

“Hey, you’re alright. You’re safe,” you said gently grabbing his shoulders and pulling him to you, wrapping him in a reassuring embrace, “It was just a nightmare.”

“Y/n?” Malcolm whimpered into your shoulder slowly coming back to his senses.

“Yeah, I’m here, Malcolm,” you rubbed his back, “You’re okay. We’re in Mrs. Marshall’s bed and breakfast. Remember? We got stuck here because of the blizzard.”

“I-I remember,” Malcolm stammered, “I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry about?” you asked as he pulled away. Thanks to the dim light your phone provided, you could see the fear still etched across his face, whatever he’d been seeing wasn’t good.

“I woke you up,” Malcolm cleared his throat, “and I could have hurt you.”

“But you didn’t,” you pointed out, “I woke up in time. I was awake before you even started to thrash around.”

“You should try to get some more sleep,” Malcolm said as he tossed the blankets aside and started to get out of the bed.

“Wait,” you grabbed his wrist as he stood up, “Where do you think you’re going?” “I can’t stay in the bed,” he said, “It’s pretty clear I can’t be trusted to stay awake and I’m not going to risk hurting you.”

“It’s freezing in here, Malcolm,” you argued, “Just lie back down. We’ll both stay awake this time. We can talk.”

“No, you should get more sleep,” Malcolm repeated his earlier sentiment.

“I got plenty of sleep,” you lied, “Besides, my adrenaline is rushing now. I wouldn’t be able to at this point. Now get back under the covers.”

“Fine,” Malcolm sighed and slid back under the blankets. In his exhaustion, he didn’t notice that he’d failed to keep one blanket between the two of you. You noticed but decided not to say anything. You really didn’t mind in the first place, “So what should we talk about?”

“What was it like working for the FBI?” you asked as you reached over to shut off the phone light.

“Well, it’s not as glamorous as it sounds,” he said as you turned back around and slid back down into the blankets next to him.

“Tell me anyway,” you said.

The two of you spent a couple of hours swapping stories back and forth before you both succumbed to sleep once again. Neither of you meant to but it just happened.

The next time you woke up you found yourself wrapped in Malcolm’s arms tucked securely against his chest. Your first thought was to pull away, but then you noticed how he was holding you. It was almost as if he was clinging to you for comfort like a child would their teddy bear.

You smiled when you realized that he was sleeping rather soundly and couldn’t bring yourself to risk waking him up. So, you closed your eyes again, hoping to get a few more hours of sleep.

After all, you were snowed in. The two of you weren’t going anywhere anytime soon and you had to admit, being wrapped in Malcolm’s arms was rather nice.

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

A/N: Hello, loves! Hope you enjoyed this little fic. I promise that I’m still working on my last three Good Omens requests. Unfortunately, I got way off track in the one I was working on so I had to start over so it probably won’t be ready tomorrow. Thank you all so much for your patience.

[chuffyfan87]

Hiding. Part 82b (NSFW)

“How did you guess?”

"Just a hunch." She grinned. "You go sit at your desk and we'll see what we can do. It'd be nice if you could leave on time today."

He grinned and kissed her forehead before moving back to his desk. “Remember the first time you chucked all that paperwork on the floor so I could fuck you on the desk?”

"And we spent the rest of the shift tidying up..!" She giggled, slipping off her shoes and hopping up to perch on the edge of the desk, her feet resting in his lap.

His hand ran up the inside of her thigh, “It was fun though.”

"It was." She shifted slightly to pick up the file on top of the stack.

His hand continued to rub her thigh, he was getting distracted.

Sensing his distraction Duffy gently bopped Charlie on the head with the file she was holding.

He pouted. “That hurt!”

"Aww, you poor baby!" She teased. "As soon as this pile is finished I'll give you a treat for being a good boy." She promised seductively.

“What kind of treat?” He grew slightly erect at the idea.

"Depends on how much of a good boy you are..." She placed a finger in her mouth before flicking open the file in her hands.

He held her gaze before he picked up a file. Between them, they managed to complete all the paperwork.

"Well now that took us hardly any time at all once you were concentrating properly."

“You make it so hard to concentrate, especially when I’ve got this.” He pointed to his crotch.

"Oh so that's why you found it so hard to concentrate was it." She smirked with deliberate emphasis.

“Uh huh, definitely is.”

Duffy hopped down from her perch and pushed his chair back from the desk, moving to stand in the gap she'd created.

He gazed up at her and smiled softly, “You ok?”

She eased herself down so she was knelt in front of him. "I'm ok, how about you?" She asked, running her hands along his thighs.

“Hard.” He replied, his breathing becoming heavier. He ran his hand through her hair, “You sure about this?”

"Perfectly sure now stop asking silly questions!" She retorted, giving him a mock glare.

Receiving the mock glare, his cock twitched and he sighed contently.

Working her hands up to his belt buckle she quickly freed him from the suffocating material of his trousers and boxers. "Well hello there big boy!" She purred.

“I so wish you could sit on my cock right now.” He admitted.

"Patience is a virtue." She whispered before slowing running the tip of her tongue along his length.

“I’ve forgotten how your pussy feels when it clenches around my cock...” He groaned, slightly louder than he’d intended to when the tip of her tongue ran along his length.

Taking just the tip into her mouth she sucked hard.

He groaned, running his hand through her hair. “Fuck babe.”

Encouraged by his grip on her hair she increased her speed taking him deeper into her mouth with each stroke.

His moans increased in volume as did his grip on her hair. It didn’t take Charlie long before he shot his load down her throat.

Duffy sat back, a satisfied smirk on her face as she wiped her finger on her chin and sucked it clean. She was about to speak when suddenly the door began to open. She dove under the desk in a panic as she heard the CEO's voice.

Charlie just managed to shove his soft cock back in his boxers and zip himself up. “Have you never heard of knocking?” Charlie asked.

Duffy smothered the urge to giggle from her hiding place under the desk - both at the ridiculousness of their predicament and at the grumpy tone in her husband's voice.

"I need to speak to you about these waiting time statistics." The CEO remarked, ignoring Charlie's complaint.

“And it was that urgent it constituted you barging your way in here like a bull in a China shop?” Charlie paused for a moment or so, “Let me guess, you’re not happy about them?”

"You'd be correct in that presumption. The waiting times would be fine if your nurses didn't spend quite so much time idly gossiping."

“My nurses spend too much time gossiping? Waiting times wouldn’t be half as long as they are if people were educated enough on what is classed as an emergency and what can really be discussed with a general practitioner. Don’t blame my nurses for the waiting times when they work bloody damn hard!”

"I personally feel the issue would be rectified by a more substantial presence of senior nurses on the floor during the shifts."

Charlie laughed, “And when do you expect the paperwork to get done? In my own time because I won’t be doing that. The more I’m out on the floor, the less time I have to do things like this..” He gestured to the pile of files.

"That's where your band seven nurses come in Charlie. You need to utilise their expertise better."

“So what exactly are you suggesting?”

"You need to alter the shift patterns of your current band sevens and replace any that are unavailable or inflexible."

“You do realise I won’t be altering anyone’s shift patterns nor replacing those that aren’t flexible!”

"You can't run an efficient department by pandering to your workshy and idle senior nurses."

“And who exactly are we referring to when we talk about those that are workshy and idle? Because I have two of the most hardworking senior nurses in this department!”

"Really? Coz as far as I can see at least one of them spends more time with her feet up at home than here working."

“And which nurse would we be referring to?” The anger was evident in his voice.

"Well you know your department better than I do. It wouldn't really be my place to name names but we can't be seen to play favourites..."

“Why don’t you just come out with it, hm? Do you think I’m favouring my wife over other senior members of staff? You’d be talking rubbish of course. You’re welcome to look at the staffing rotas. My wife does exactly the same number of nights as every other senior staff member as per required in her contract as a staff nurse working in the emergency department. My wife also happens to work opposite shifts to me because it ensures that there’s always someone at home with the children but on occasions we will work the same shift and rely on either our family network or nannies and childminders to look after the children whilst we’re here. My wife also works bloody hard when she is here and often works through her break to ensure the other staff members can take their breaks. Now would you like to continue with the assumption that my wife is workshy or..?”

Duffy couldn't help the snorted giggle that escaped her before she slammed her hand over her face.

Noticing the CEO’s silence, Charlie smirked; “I didn't think so. Anything else you’d like to discuss whilst you’re here only...” He glanced at the clock, “My shift finished two minutes ago.”

"Only that next time your wife comes into the department outside of shift hours I suggest she remembers to take her shoes home when she leaves!" He remarked, looking pointedly at the abandoned pair that lay on the office floor before turning to leave.

Charlie laughed, “Thanks for the reminder. I’ll tell her to stop leaving her stuff around when I get home.”

"Her apparent magnificent nursing skills that you think so highly of would be much more useful to the department than her abandoned belongings." He retorted before leaving the office.

“You cheeky bastard!” Charlie called. He was a right bastard!

Hearing the door close Duffy broke out into peels of laughter.

Charlie moved and pulled her out from underneath the desk. “You are so, so naughty!”

"I'm not the one who got into a fight with the CEO." She shrugged, still giggling.

“That’s true. Shall we go home, babe?”

"Should I log the time I just spent working on reports? Wouldn't want the CEO thinking I'm completely workshy, would we?" She snorted.

He laughed, “Depends which bit you log? You giving me an incredible blowjob probably won’t impress him.”

"Surely reducing the stress levels of the nursing manager comes under my remit as department sister?" She grinned.

“That’s very true.” He squeezed her bum. “I love you.”

"Shall we go home before someone else casts aspersions on my character?"

“Yes lets!” He squeezed her bum again, kissed her tenderly and together, they left the office and the department.

Once they reached the car Duffy turned to Charlie. "I'm not sure there could have been a worse person to walk through that door. I'm just glad he wasn't two minutes quicker."

He smirked, “He would’ve got an eyeful.”

"Luckily I've learnt to lean forwards rather than backwards to avoid that particular problem." She licked her lips as she settled back into the passenger seat.

“Bet you’re full after all that, aren’t you?” As he got into the driver's side and closed the door, he couldn’t help but rub her inner thigh again. “Full and wet...”

"I'm not going to need seconds at dinnertime that's for sure."

“You didn’t answer my other question.”

She uncrossed and recrossed her legs slowly and deliberately. "Well being interrupted did rather take the edge off things a little..." She pouted.

“Would you like me to release some tension for you? I could use my hand..” His hand travelled further up her thigh, “And I’ll be gentle.”

She slid back further into her chair as his hand went higher, her legs uncrossing themselves once more.

“Fancy finding a secluded spot before heading home?”

"You don't fancy taking your chances in the carpark then?" She asked, her eyes half closed.

He shook his head, “Not particularly.” He began to drive in the direction of home, stopping in a quiet spot near some fields.

"Much more romantic!" She giggled as she unbuckled her seat belt and groped blindly for the lever that reclined her seat further.

Taking off his seatbelt, Charlie lent over and slowly began to remove her leggings and knickers.

She let out a muffled giggle as she finally found the lever sending them both toppling backwards.

He kissed her neck, “What were you thinking on the way here?”

"How I wish it wasn't just your hands..."

“I can use my tongue?”

"I'd like that but... Are you sure?" She was trying not to be anxious but couldn't help herself.

“Of course I’m sure.” He stroked her inner thighs, “What’s making you anxious?”

"Its only been a month since I had a baby, everything isn't quite back to how it was yet."

“And you think that’s going to put me off?”

She nodded.

“No darling, it doesn’t.” He ran his index finger over her, “You weren’t kidding when you said you were wet, were you?”

She shivered at his touch, her eyes closing again.

He did it again.

She let out a soft moan.

He moved himself so his tongue was able to meet her clit.

"Shit!" She gasped.

“You ok?” He asked.

"Yeh, it's just been a while."

He kissed her clit again and ran his tongue over her.

She reached down and ran her fingers through his hair.

His tongue began to probe her insides, he was gentle with her.

Once she was comfortable she tightened her grip encouraging him to increase his speed slightly.

Feeling her tighten her grip in his hair, Charlie increased his speed slightly. He was allowing her to be in control.

It didn't take much for her to start to peak - it had been a long time and he knew exactly what she liked afterall.

Feeling her begin to climax, he increased his pace once again.

"Fuck! Charlie!" She moaned.

Satisfied once she’d climaxed, Charlie gently kissed her pussy before moving, licking his lips. “You okay baby?”

"Yeh." She replied, slightly breathless.

“You taste just as sweet as always.”

"Oh fuck I needed that." She mumbled.

“We both needed that.” He replied with a grin. He kissed her softly.

She slid her tongue along his lip.

He held her gaze, “Do you feel better?”

"Much." She smiled before pulling him closer again.

“Good. I’m glad I could be of assistance.”

"Charlie?"

“Yes babe?”

"Shut up and kiss me!"

He grinned and kissed her passionately.

She pulled him so he lay half over her as their hands began to reacquaint themselves with each other.

His hands roamed every inch of her body, his fingertips brushing against the scar on her abdomen.

"I want you so bad..!" She whispered hotly in his ear.

“So do I,” He whispered. “But you said you’re still tender. I don’t want to hurt you.”

"Two more weeks?" She grumbled, groaning with frustration.

“We can try now if you want? Like tonight? But if it’s hurting you or is uncomfortable, we should wait.”

"Flouting the doctor's express instructions again..? We're such naughty nurses..!" She giggled.

[hollandroos]

The Price We Pay | Four

Summary: A one night stand was all it took for your entire life to change. You're shoved into unknown territory, agreeing to fake date the prince long enough for his parents and the media to get off of his back only there are a few issues... one of them being that you really can’t stand each other.

Series Masterlist

Words: 4.2K

Warnings: None!

Moodboard by @marvelousxtsh

-

“I thought I told you just to dress casually?” You taunt.

Tom steps out of the car– the passenger seat to be correct because after half an hour of back and forth you finally made him agree to drive, claiming it’d be a waste of time to get a driver. Though a part of you wondered when the last time he drove was and if it’d be safe.

But you were still alive, even after the painfully awkward drive between games of Ispy.

He shrugs, brown curls slicked around. “I wanted to make a good first impression.”

“Tom, sweatpants and a hoodie would have been fine. You could scare them off in that.”

His eyes widen, immediately going to stare down at his outfit– maybe it was a little over the top but truth be told he had no idea about your family and where they came from. He feared underdressing and hadn’t debated overdressing in the slightest.

“Fuck, really?”

You tug him forward by the front of his coat, pulling it off of his shoulders. Beneath was a white dress shirt tucked into his pants and you undid the top button, puffing out the collars. You throw the jacket into the front seat of the car and Tom grimaced at the way the material creased, buttons knocking against the dash.

“That’s a little better, you look good like this.” You felt a little proud and he smiles, glancing around for cameras but he finds none– in fact, he finds no one. Your childhood home really was in the middle of nowhere. “Just c’mon, and remember to relax, my family is nowhere as intense as yours.”

God, were you going to kill him–

He shoves the thoughts to the back of his brain. “S-should I hold your hand?”

“Yeah, we want to pull this off don’t we?”

He takes your hand into his own, intertwining your fingers together. The action was probably the closest you’d been since that night and it bought Tom a sense of comfort, reminding him that he wasn’t alone in this– so he began rubbing his thumb over your knuckles.

“Oh yeah, by the way, I have four siblings.”

Maybe you should’ve told him soon– about Kenny who was only a year younger then you and Carley who was eighteen, then there was Louis and Marcus who were fifteen. But Tom never asked.

Four? Tom had none.

He stands startled. “What–”

“Y/N!” A shrill voice calls and you smile at the two twins that raced towards you, one with ponytails and the other a set of muddy shorts.

They were loud and extremely clingy. Personal space didn’t exist and showers were the enemy– even after a day of helping in the backyard.

You turn to Tom and give him a lopsided smile, small crinkles forming beneath your eyes. And rather sarcastically, you kneel. “Welcome to my life, your majesty.”

-

From there, Tom watched you interact with your four siblings, each of a different age except the twins with completely different personalities. You were right, they were loud and it came as a shock to him.

But he sort of liked it.

The prince was used to hundreds of hallways, the only noise being his own two feet padding against the marble ground as well as his men or the grandfather clocks singing a chorus every hour. Here, you had to speak up to be heard and shout across the table which at the palace would’ve been considered rude– here it was the only way to get your thoughts out.

Louis and Marcus had easily gravitated towards Tom and Carley had clearly tried to suck up the prince and he found it amusing. He allowed them to play around in the fairly expensive ride and even gave each of your siblings a box of chocolates as a ‘hey, I’m suddenly dating your sister please like me’ gift.

Kenny didn’t trust the man one bit.

But he watched you interact with each of the kids like they were your own and he briefly remembered you mentioning the hours you’d spend taking care of them when your mum was at work, making their favourite lunches and playing games to pass the hours.

It was a softer side he was pleased to see.

He watched you smile, corners of your lips turning upwards as they fill you in on everything you’d missed like Kenny moving jobs and their science project at school.

Tom had never had that, the comfort of another sibling. From an early age, he was in the classroom learning how to be a prince– the best kind of prince in fact. He wasn’t learning how to balance books on his head but laws at the age of nine. He had maids and cooks and teachers and busy parents that never ceased to forget about his existence.

But it doesn’t take him long of sitting around an overly crowded family table, much smaller then his own for him to realise that someone was missing.

“Where’s your mum?”

You leave the other kids to discuss whose turn it was to do dishes, ignoring your own stomach rumbling. “Right about now she’ll be at work but she’ll be back by dinner to meet my handsome boyfriend, she’s very excited.” You watch his face change. “Yes, Thomas, the people here do have to work long hours to get by.”

“I knew that! I did, I just thought they finished around three you know…” He feels a wave of awkwardness wash over him and fiddles with his fingers. “I don’t think your brother likes me very much.” He nods towards Kenny.

And of course, you being as uncaring as you turned straight to your younger brother. “Ken, what do you think of Tom?”

His face hardens. “I’m undecided.”

The comment makes Tom tense and if his heart wasn’t pounding before then it most definitely was now. He couldn’t put his finger on why he felt so nervous about this. If anything he must’ve been more nervous then you when you met his parents but he wasn’t sure because to this point in time, you’d done a beyond amazing at keeping your feelings hidden.

Tom felt like he’d barely peeled back one layer of many.

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing.” You try, taking his hand into your own and giving it a squeeze once more. “The others love you.”

It was a small action but one that made Tom’s heart run miles.

“Tom!” Carley says, staring between the two of you. She interrupts your small– barely there but there nonetheless moment. “Did you know that you’re the first boy she’s bought home in… probably forever?”

Toms' eyes widen, finding your suddenly fearful gaze. “Really?”

“Okay that’s not true–” You tense, sending her a threatening glare. But your sister only shrugs, a teasing smile making way on her face. She knew what she was doing and you hated it.

“We all didn’t think this day would come but here it is.”

Your grit your teeth and unknowingly squeeze Toms hand a little harder. He notices. “This is why I didn’t fuckin–”

“Tell me more, I want to know all about Y/N.” Tom interrupts, feeling your grip loosen. “What was she like as a child? did she listen at school?”

-

After half an hour of hearing all about your interest without your consent, your siblings all decided to scatter. Some went off to play with friends, some went to their room to do homework and one of them was apparently working out.

You didn’t know when your sister got so productive.

You and Tom wondered around the property, introducing him to your long missed farm animals. You watched his face change to disgust as he stepped over manure and puddles, nearly laughing at the way he seemed nearly unsure of every single step.

Of course, there were animals at the castle but nothing like this.

He didn’t tend to go around to the pens but seeing the pigs at yours– leaning down to pet them and nearly being shoved back when they rammed into his legs was surprising but made him laugh nonetheless.

And the cows– he loved the cows. There were two of them, Betsy and Bucky and without hesitation he pets the both of them.

“Originally we were going to sell them to the slaughterhouse but we grew too attached, mostly me but the younger ones did too of course and we managed to convince mum to keep them. So now they’re like our pets.” You smile, running a hand over Betsy's back.

Bucky moos at Tom.

“They’re adorable.” He smiles, stepping in what was either mud or cow manure. Tom only screws his face up for a second but quickly gets over himself. He had promised to give this a try and he wasn’t regretting it yet. “Do you have chickens?”

“Lots of them. When we were kids it’d be a race to see who could get the eggs first.” You smile at the memory.

“And here I thought you were a towns girl but you’re really a country girl at heart.”

“And here I thought you were an asshole prince, I guess only one of us was right with our assumptions.” You smile cheekily.

The two of you continue to walk around the place slowly, making sure to take it everything from the surprisingly blue sky to the grass that flattened beneath your feet with every step and the smell– because the smell wasn’t the best but the amazement in his eyes was definitely worth something.

“We haven’t actually had a proper moment to talk.” He mutters, stuffing his hands into his pant pockets. “I mean there was that first night, we were drunk. Then we were rushed then my parents were involved.”

“Have we not?”

“Nope.” Tom shakes his head, the two of you continue to walk around the property. “I hope you know that I appreciate what you’re doing for me. Seriously– it means a lot. I know it probably wasn’t easy to give up work and going from being… you, to headlining the papers.”

“Work was easy to give up, my boss is an ass and it really wasn’t easy have those out there.” You laugh, shaking your head. “Are you going soft on me?”

“I’ve always been soft, you just push my limits.” Tom teases, taking his hands out of his pockets.

You snort. “I do?”

He ignores the moment his hand brushes against yours.

“You have attitude, you’re feisty, no one’s ever spoken to me the way you do before and it’s– it’s different.” He shrugs, voice reaching a new pitch.

“I’m just real, Tom. I’m not going to start kissing your feet or beg you to love me. You’re a man with a crown and that crown means barely anything to me.”

“You see me as a person.” He highlights.

“You are a person. A person that annoys me to an extent.”

You come across the mud puddles you used to push your siblings into when you were a kid.

“Why do I annoy you so much?”

You don’t have an answer to his question at that moment.

So you shove him.

You watch him hit the ground with a gentle thud, mud splattering up and staining the end of your pants but he looked worse.

“Are you fucking serious?” He hisses.

You cover your mouth, trying to prevent him from seeing the smile that took place and the giggles that threatened to spill. You didn’t even care about how threatening his words sounded.

He looked a right mess. Mud stained Toms pants and right up to his waist, hands planted in the mud were a sticky brown and the frown on his face only topped it off. Dirt clung to his coffee brown curls.

You didn’t even take a second to think about how expensive his clothes were before you threw him into the giant puddle of mud or how long it’d take to clean his outfit, you purely focused on the amusement you felt the moment he hit the mud and the look of pure shock and disgust on his face when he realised that he was now coated in the mess.

“This isn’t funny!” He snaps, screwing his nose up at the god awful smell. “Get me the hell out of here or I swear–”

Tom stops, cutting himself off as he sees you clutching your stomach, laughs slipping from your lips. He watches the way your eyes screw shut, strands of hair falling over your face as you lean forward to grip the post for support and you hurl over just enough to take hold of your lower stomach.

“You just– you look so funny right now. You got such a shock too oh my god.” The words came out between laughs and gasps for air, there was even a single tear.

Then he had an idea– one that he knew could either get him into trouble or extend the fun and of course, Tom wanted to extend the fun.

“Can you help me out?”

He sticks a muddy hand out and you wipe a stray tear away, still trying to get your breathing back as you clasp your hand in his. All you thought he was going to do was push himself up, not pull you in.

“Tom–”

Then you were in the mud too, landing right on top of him. Your hands sunk into the muck which was anything but warm, coating themselves in the dirt before a heavy gasp left your lips, spots of mud decorating your cheeks.

Your laughs stopped, mouth falling open and shut like a fish as you took in the sight of your clothes lathered in ick and it stunk– dear god it stunk but not even a second later you took a hand full of dirt and dropped it on Toms clothed chest, turning the white tee a deeper shade of brown. You shouldn’t have been surprised and if you were watching instead of laughing then you would’ve seen him pull you in.

Still, the thought doesn’t plague your mind for too long because seconds later your hands are back in the mud collecting another handful.

“You’ve started a war you won’t win.” He threatens, a smirk forming on his features. Dirt sits at the corner of his mouth.

“Try me, Holland.”

He dumped mud directly on top of your head, strands of hair now highlighted the same colour of the muck you were still sitting in, back coated too from rolling off of him. Instead of getting annoyed, your chest erupted in giggles.

You felt like a child again, throwing mud back and forth with your siblings when your parents weren’t watching and Tom felt like… he felt like a different person. Because the prince would never do something this dirty just for fun.

With mud slathered all over his hands, Tom places one hand on your cheek gently creating a handprint on your face. You were both covered in the stuff. Your clothing may as well be thrown out and your hair would need some serious care but the smile on both of your faces was enough for it to be worth it.

The sun beat down on the two of you as you continued to layer each other in mother nature's gift, screwing your noses up at the sight of each other but that didn’t stop you.

Tom felt his cheeks flush at the sight of you so carefree but doubted it was noticeable beneath the mud. He basked in your giggles, the way your eyes squeezed shut as you wiped any dirt away from your eyes. You were happy and so was he.

There was no camera flashing or expectations to be held. It was just the two of you like it had been the first night and Tom had to stop and realise- this was the girl he’d spent the night with, giggling over glasses of wine and cheap alcohol.

It was carefree, bittersweet.

Then you were sitting there, both winding down and panting, the odd laugh still slicing through the silence and neither of you could even think about what you’d be going back to tomorrow. The next news line or obstacle you’d have to overcome was forgotten.

“What do we do now?” You sigh, taking in the site of both you and Tom covered head to toe in mud. If your mother were home, she would have lost it with both of you. You’d both be in the corner.

You looked the same way you smelt.

Tom screws his nose up, trying not to laugh at the sight of you with mud prints on both cheeks. “We smell disgusting.”

“Come on, we’ll use the shower before my family gets home– and not together!” You offer, beginning to force yourself out of the muck, noticing how his face changed from suggestive to blunt.

He felt something new.

“Damn it,” Tom mutters under his breath, fighting to urge to pull you back in. He didn’t want to go too far. “It was worth a shot.”

“Keep trying, maybe one day you’ll get there.”

That newfound feeling was hope.

-

The shower was… difficult to say the least.

You had to stand and watch the clear water turn a sickly shade of brown as it hit the floor and ran down the drain, clumps of dirt and shreds of grass following closely behind. It made you grimace but lathering yourself in the coconut scented soap and finally feeling clean again was worth it.

You step out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped just above your breasts and hair down naturally wet after the shower.

Tom glances up once– only once, then he directed his gaze back down to the book he was reading. It was clearly one from your bookshelf and by the looks of things he looked pretty into it, or at least he was pretending to be.

Your bookshelf was full and he wondered if you’d ever actually read a single one of them or if they were just for display.

It wasn’t the book in hand that shocked you but the fact that he wasn’t staring you down, his eyes weren’t filled with a certain hunger and instead they were focused on the pages of the teen romance novel. He was showing basic respect and it shocked you.

“Aren’t going to look? I’m practically naked?” You taunt, reaching into one of your draws. The plush, white towel rides up your thighs.

He shakes his head, keeping his eyes on the pages. “I’m not that bad, you know?” Tom chuckles. His hair was still wet from his own shower, hanging over his forehead in unkempt curls, wet and a darker shade then normal.

“I had a hunch,” You shrug. “Just a little bit surprised is all.”

He wore your brother's clothes, simply a plain grey tee and jeans and you’d admit that you thought he looked better in actual colours but he also looked good in the more– normal, everyday clothing.

And actually seeing him fitting in with your family made your heart flutter, stomach twisting and churning.

It actually felt weird to see a boy in your childhood bedroom– a boy that was used to so much more then a shoebox-sized room and a single bed. He was probably shocked by the little amount of furniture because of course you didn’t have a three-person couch in the corner or your own fireplace for when it got really cold.

But he did fit in, you knew that much.

You duck into the bathroom to throw your clothes on and put your hair up in the towel to dry it off, not wanting to deal with pesky drops of water running down the back of your neck and walk back into your bedroom. He was still in the same place.

“My family should be back soon and we could get going if you want?” You offer, tugging the oversized shirt down your thighs.

Tom glances up, placing the book down beside him. “Why don’t we take your mother's offer and stay the night? I mean I can take the couch and we can just head back tomorrow. It’s what? Half five anyway and the ride back would easily take an hour.”

“Are you sure you want to do that?”

“Yeah, if you want to that is.”

You furrow your brows, silently pleased that he had put that offer on the table. You had missed your family and staying a night would do you good. Maybe it’d do Tom some good too.

“Okay, Romeo, we’ll stay here tonight and be on the road by eight tomorrow?”

“Eight sounds good.” He smiles innocently, legs folded on the bed crisscross and you notice a scarred line down one of his temples beneath the light, a little imperfection that you wouldn’t have normally noticed.

There were those few exterior imperfections that you’d picked up on like that scar and his eyebrow– the one that was a little wonky compared to the other and his height you’d picked up on. He seemed to want to be taller then he was.

But you didn’t have an issue with any of it.

Of course you had your own flaws too and even thinking about them made you want to duck cover and hide. But Tom was slowly picking up on them. He’d be lying if he said he minded.

That night Tom slept on the couch in the living room with a selection of sheets over the top of him and a woollen duvet. For someone who had never slept on a couch in his life, he slept like a baby and you? You spent a solid hour staring at the ceiling before finally drifting off.

Tom felt a sense of comfort, draped in not only the blankets but a sense of comfort. He didn’t worry that people were watching him– attempting to pry out a secret or expose him to the world and he slept soundly that night.

-

It was a seven am wake up.

The sun streamed through the thin blinds, pulling Tom from a rather deep sleep and quite literally, forcing him out of bed. He wouldn’t admit that he fell from the bed with a tumble, hitting the ground with a heavy thud.

He neatly folded the blankets given and straightened out the pillows, making the place look presentable and sat and waited for you to come in. He flicked through papers, tried out different seating positions tried to force him back to sleep before he heard the living room door open and stumbled up, turning to see you looking beyond tired– he feared to ask why.

You grumbled a good morning, hugging the fuzzy robe to your chest and trudged to the kitchen. Tom followed loosely behind much like a lost puppy.

“So, the plan today? We leave at around eight and you dropping me straight home? Because I’m tired and don’t feel like dressing up for your parents again– as fun as it was prancing around in a dress last time.” You laugh lightly, voice slightly raspy.

But Tom doesn’t mind it.

“Yeah I can drop you straight home, we can try and avoid the paps but there is something I need to ask.”

For some reason he felt nervous to ask, utterly unsure as to what your answer would be. Of course you’d only known each other for just over a week but the media had suspected around a month or more.

And as a royal things were expected to move fast.

Then your mother walks in.

“Morning you two.”

Your mum sounds as tired as ever, the bags under her eyes evident and hair thrown around messily– much like yours. She wasn’t cherry, never being a morning person but you knew that she was happy to have you back even if it was just for one night.

Tom tenses.

“Morning Ms. Y/L/N, how’d you sleep?” Tom wraps his arms around your waist as he asks the question, pulling your back flush against his chest making you too look like a real couple. You tensed at the sudden physical act of affection, nearly dropping the butter knife but don’t.

It wasn’t the question he wanted to ask but It was one that made him look respectful. You feel his lips ghosting across your temple and for a moment bask in his gentle touch.

“Not well, Marcus kept me up in the night again.” She sighs, “I did sleep a little better though knowing that my daughter was back under my roof.”

You smile, though deep down you felt bad about the lie that you were carrying out. “You know you can come and visit me anytime you need to get away? I’m sure Kenny wouldn’t mind looking after the younger ones for a night or two.”

You’d completely forgotten about Toms question.

“You know I couldn’t, sweetheart, not when you’re finally really starting to live. You have a boyfriend now! And a prince too, that’s incredible.”

You feel a pang of guilt, the product of lying to the women that raised you and only manage to smile awkwardly. So you turn to Tom, craning your neck.

“Oh hey, what did you want to ask me?” You divert attention from her recent comment, feeling a stomach ache coming on.

He blinks a few times, feeling your mums warm gaze on the pair of you. “There’s a gala… yeah, a gala next week and I was wondering if you’d like to come as my date–fake date of course!”

You smile and take hold of his clasped hands– it added to the act. “As long as Harrison does my outfit again then I’m game.”

A gala meant being out in public with Tom as his girlfriend.

Please remember to reblog or send me an ask telling me what you thought of this chapter!! One reblog goes a long way :-)

PART 5

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[dogbearinggifts]

Dead Ringer

Umbrella Academy 

Author’s Note: This is a sequel of sorts to my first Umbrella Academy oneshot, He Saw the Ghosts. It’s not strictly necessary to read that one before diving into this one, but since it’s a different take on the scene in the VFW where the “Vet’s Only” guy who accosts Klaus is told to chill, you’ll probably enjoy it if you’re a fan of stories where people are nice to Klaus. 

Richard had just transferred his whites from washer to dryer when a dead man stepped into the laundromat. 

There was no proof the man had died, of course, no evidence one way or the other, but when considering the fate of a soldier who’d gone missing from the A Shau Valley at the height of the Vietnam War and who hadn’t been heard from in fifty years, death was a safe assumption. It was the conjecture he and others had worked from when trying to find the man’s draft card, his records, his name, and it was the presupposition that had spurred Richard in that search. That soldier had a name, and whatever family was left deserved to hear it, even if the speaker delivered no more news than what they’d already assumed. But his likeness was all that remained, and that likeness had been burned into Richard’s memory from countless minutes poring over that photograph. 

Now here he was, dragging himself into the laundromat. 

Richard knew he ought to go back to his laundry, look away and give the kid space to do whatever he’d come for and head back out unimpeded, but he stood dumbly with hand on the dryer door, watching the kid shuffle from the entrance toward the wall of washers. A sheen of sweat clung to his face and bare arms. With no idea of where he lived and no plans to ask, Richard couldn’t say how long he’d been out in the evening chill; but it didn’t take much to guess he’d been out there too long. Even if he’d left with a jacket and lost it somewhere along the way, he was exposed now and he’d remain exposed for as long as he stayed out. 

“He’s not here.” The kid muttered it to no one but himself, but when he turned for the door, Richard spoke up. 

“Who’s not here?” 

The kid had looked about to take another step, but he halted and turned instead. That face—dear God, it was the same. The exact same face he’d stared at and wondered over and spent years trying to name stared back at him. Richard wished he had the photo in front of him just to scour it for any differences, anything that might prove he wasn’t seeing what his mind screamed he saw. This kid was fifty years too young to be the one in the picture, twenty years too young to be his son, but Richard would be damned if he wasn’t a dead ringer for the soldier himself. 

“My brother.” The words came out in a monotone, as if inflection was too much effort. “Need to find him.” 

Richard knew he ought to ask about the brother. Get as detailed a description as this kid would offer, determine his last known whereabouts, offer to call the police if circumstances called for it. A part of him, a part he ignored, longed to ask if he knew this kid from somewhere, try and tease more information about the photo out of him. But all he could see in that moment was the bare arms and sweat, the disheveled curls and drawn expression, the way he hunched slightly as if standing upright cost more energy than he could afford.  

“No offense,” Richard said, “but it looks like you need to head back home and rest.” 

The kid cut his eyes briefly to one side. For an instant, Richard thought an irritated look crossed his face, an expression that said I told you so. “Yeah. But he was drunk when he ran off, so you know. Can’t let him get too far.” 

The sigh in those words was audible, and Richard couldn’t have blamed him for it if he’d wanted to. The words themselves told him he ought to let the kid go on his way, head out to find this brother before his drunkenness led him to disaster. 

“How long have you been looking?” 

The kid shrugged, and a name sprang to mind. Klaus. Jim had mentioned it when noting his resemblance to the unknown soldier—though that was far from the only detail he’d recalled. “Didn’t get to ask where he served, but it must’ve been bad….”

“Why don’t you sit down here a minute,” Richard said, nodding to the row of molded plastic chairs bolted to a wall, “and give yourself a chance to regroup?” 

Klaus hesitated. His hands still gripped his arms, though not as desperately; it appeared the warmth of the laundromat had countered the lingering outdoor chill. He didn’t meet Richard’s gaze. 

“Look, if you’re gonna be out in the cold without a coat, you need to be smart about it. Figure out where to go next and how long it’ll take to get there. You’ll have a hard time helping this brother of yours if you collapse before you find him.” 

He paused a minute longer before a wan smile tugged at his mouth. “You sound like somebody’s dad.” 

Somebody’s dad. Not his dad. Just somebody’s. 

“Sit your ass down, son.” 

He made a small show of dragging himself to the chairs, but he sat his ass down and rested his head against the window. Richard watched him a moment, went to the vending machine and cast another glance over his shoulder. Klaus made no move to stand, let alone leave, so Richard fed some money into the machine, retrieved a bottle of water, and joined Klaus at the window. Klaus watched as Richard pushed his knitting onto an adjacent chair and sat. 

“She gonna be mad?” 

“Is who gonna be mad?” 

Klaus nodded to the beginnings of a purple sweater for Richard’s granddaughter, the feet of a neon pink T. Rex barely completed. “That old lady when she sees you moved her shit. Touched some granny’s yarn on the bus once.” He shook his head, as if to ward off the memory. “Sometimes, I can still hear her screeching at me. You insolent hoodlum! I should tie you up with that yarn and hang you from the window!” 

Richard laughed. “I think we’re safe. I’m the only one knitting here.” 

“You knit?” 

Richard untwisted the cap from the bottle and handed it over, unable to help a wry smile. “You surprised?” 

“No. I mean—yeah. Kinda.” He took a swig. “Just always thought old women named Agnes had a monopoly on it, you know? Cool that you rescued that yarn from their Knitting Mafia.” 

He chuckled. “We did have an Agnes who joined us for a while. Sweet woman. Kept getting frustrated, never got the hang of it. Still sends us free donuts, though.” 

Klaus stared at the sweater, and Richard tried to name what he saw on his face, aside from the weariness and disorientation that had followed him in. Curiosity, yes, but a bit of something else. Longing, maybe, but the sweeter sort rather than the bitter one. 

“There’s a few of us who meet,” Richard went on. “You’d mostly be around other vets, but anybody’s welcome.” 

Klaus nodded. He left no opening for Richard to ask where he’d served, but there was no confused denial on his part, either. It seemed Jim’s guess had been spot-on. 

From where Richard sat, he could spy the pulse in the younger man’s neck, hammering away quickly—too quickly. The laundromat was always slightly above a comfortable temperature, but Klaus had been covered in sweat from the moment he walked in. He looked like death warmed over, as one of Richard’s friends might say, and here he was out on the streets alone. 

“So your brother. He just got drunk and ran off?” 

“Pretty much.” 

“On foot?” 

“Yeah.” 

A call to the police would be useless, then. Not that a drunk man roaming the streets on foot wasn’t a danger to himself, but he wouldn’t be as much a danger to others as a drunk man behind the wheel. Wait a few hours, and if he doesn’t come back on his own, we’ll send somebody out to look, was what the dispatcher would say. 

“Where have you looked so far?” 

“Couple clubs. Some bars.” 

His suffering could belong to something else—a nasty flu, maybe, or a bout of food poisoning that should have sent him to the hospital. But if it didn’t, if the sinking sensation in Richard’s stomach was indeed the sickening recognition of an old foe, then Klaus had approached temptation more than once and walked away. 

And he intended to skirt ever closer to that chasm until his brother was found. 

“You want me to help you look?” 

“You’ve got laundry.” 

“It can wait.” 

Klaus’ gaze traveled from him to the dryers and back again, settling into incredulity. 

Richard cracked a smile. “If someone decides they can’t live without my tighty-whities, I can buy more.” 

That seemed to prompt a moment’s thought, but it ended with Klaus shaking his head. “No, he…I can’t pounce on him with a total stranger.” 

He had a point, loathe as Richard was to admit it. There was no telling what state this brother would be in when he was found. Best to have him found by family. “Is there anyone else he knows? Any other siblings? I could call.” 

“Yeah, but they’re all out trying to stop the end of the world, so….” He sighed, briefly straightened. “Looks like it’s down to me.” 

Richard’s smile remained. It was hard not to like someone with such a casual flair for the dramatic. “What’s he look like?” 

“Big guy. Blond hair, clean shaven.” 

“Heavyset, then.” 

“No, just big. Tall. Big shoulders. Tiny little head.” 

“Sounds like he’d be hard to miss,” Richard said slowly, dismissing the possibility that he’d spotted this brother and didn’t know who he might be. “What’s his name?” 

“Luther.” 

This couldn’t be Klaus Hargreeves. He and Jim had discussed it at length when the coincidence of a young man named Klaus having a brother named Diego surfaced, but if the Klaus Hargreeves had joined the military, the media would have latched onto that story like leeches and bled it dry. A brother named Diego, another named Luther….well, Luther and Klaus weren’t the most common names, but Richard knew of at least a few young mothers who had chosen one or both for their children at the height of the Umbrella Academy’s fame. 

“I’ll keep an eye out, try and get him to stay here if I find him.” 

“Thanks.” 

Klaus stood, and Richard had the urge to cast about for some excuse to keep him there. Something, no matter how small, no matter how ridiculous, that would keep him from entering the lair of a monster that still had its claws sunk deep. Tell him he’d seen that brother of his somewhere safe, that he knew someone who had. The lie would crumble the second it passed his lips, but at least he’d have tried. 

Richard got to his feet, fished a notepad and pen from his shirt pocket and scribbled his number. “If you don’t find him soon, call me.” 

“You sure? It’s getting kinda late.” 

“I’m out here doing laundry on a Wednesday night. You really think I’ve got anything better to do?” 

That raised another small smile, and Klaus pocketed the number. 

“Call if you run into any trouble, all right? Anything goes wrong, you just need a hand, give me a call.” 

“Thanks.” 

It wasn’t a promise, or even an agreement, but he had a number. That was something. “Be careful out there.” 

Klaus nodded, paused, dipped his head, and shuffled back toward the door. It might not be right to let him go off alone, but it was the only thing to do, all Richard could do. Let him make his choice and hope it had a halfway decent ending. 

“Hey.” 

Klaus turned, hand on the door. 

“We’ll meet tomorrow at seven. Me and the others. Downtown library, small conference room on the second floor.” 

“I don’t even know how to knit.” 

“Neither did I.” 

Klaus smiled again. Like his other smiles, it wasn’t quite happy, but it was far from despairing. Weary and small, but a little hopeful and still there. It remained in place as he opened the door, following him out with the chime of the bell. 

[classpect-crew]

Can I get a bit of help? I'm trying to understand myself better but I can't find what classpect would be best for someone who hides behind a 'mask' to spare others from having to be burdened by his emotions? Thank you so much!

I think the most difficult aspect (heh) of Classpecting is that someone’s personality doesn’t always give the best insight into their true Classpect, and it’s often more about their goals, their passions, and how those affect how they interact with the world around them. That said, I think I can help you narrow this down if you feel this is a big part of your individual journey.

Whenever people mention a “mask”, my mind immediately goes to the Knight, but I’d like to explore some other options as well. While Knights are very well-known for their tendency to wear “masks” around others, it’s also a tendency for people who haven’t quite reached their full potential yet, or even those who have some past trauma that’s keeping them from feeling like their emotions are anything but “burdens” upon others. I think this is more true of you, which leads me away from the Knight. With that in mind, this opens up a lot of potential for your Classpect.

First, we should consider which side of the Active-Passive scale you lean toward. The question you should ask yourself is this: when you examine this feeling that you’ve been burdening others with your emotions, where does that feeling come from? Do you ever feel like someone else is pushing all of their troubles on you, or is it something you only feel about your own issues? Basically, are you treating yourself with the same kindness that you might give to others, in terms of how much your emotions matter compared to theirs?

I don’t want to make too many assumptions, but as someone who’s been in the same position for many years, I get the feeling that you have more patience with others than with yourself. In this way, one might be inclined to say you’re on the Passive side, since Passive Classes tend to affect the world in a way that benefits others moreso than themselves. However, I truly believe a lot of Classpects are meant to challenge us. Think about Rose, for example: she was given the very Passive title of Seer, and her role was to be a knowledgable advisor to her team. Of course, for someone who clearly valued independence, this was a big challenge for her. When she ultimately went Grimdark—inverting into a Witch of Void in the process—she proved that she wasn’t yet able to handle a Passive role.

I believe your case may be the opposite, however.

You may be very used to being in a “Passive” role. Even the way you’ve explained it in your message tells a lot about who you are and how you feel about yourself: words like “spare” and “burdened” give me the impression that you think of your emotions and your struggles as things that are meant to be locked away, so no one else has to “deal with them”. Maybe you even feel sometimes that people “put up with you”, and part of the reason they “can” is because you wear a mask around them. You’ll notice I’ve put a lot of these phrases in quotes, because these may be fears or beliefs of yours, but they’re not necessarily true. In fact, I’m guessing they’re insecurities of yours. (Trust me, I’ve been there, too. I know exactly how this feels.) I think the Classpect system would try to challenge you to come into your own, and to develop into a confident person with a sense of individuality, placing healthy value on your own emotions and recognizing your own struggles. With that said, I think you’d be more suited to an Active role—specifically one that starts out rather Passive before really developing.

A few come to mind already: Witch and Maid. Players with these Classes—particularly the Maid—tend to start out very Passive in nature, either relying on others or just not yet having a strong sense of self. They also tend to have low self-esteem, as we can see very well with Jane, and some even have a fear that they’re “burdening” others with their problems. The biggest challenge for both Witches and Maids is to begin to value themselves and realize that they’re worthwhile, and they don’t have to hide themselves away to let other lights shine instead. They—you—get to learn what it means to stand tall, and that can sound like a scary idea at first, but once you get to that point, you’ll realize how good it feels to see value in yourself and exist independently.

What it really comes down to, as far as the difference between Classes, is how they affect the world around them. Witches will manipulate what’s already there, increasing or decreasing their Aspect as they see fit. This is seen most clearly with Jade, of course—she manipulates spatial dimensions at will, and she has a lot of power because of it. Maids, on the other hand, bring their Aspect into creation. Such is the case with Jane bringing life to a desolate planet, or Aradia spamming timelines like there’s no tomorrow to create her bot army. To be honest, it’s hard to tell exactly what your Aspect might be, and that’s because Aspects are so flexible and vast in their associations. To be perfectly honest, I don’t just want to slap down a label and say “here you go!” without knowing more about you and what might fit. Your Class can be defined by how you interact with the world, and from what I’ve gathered about you, I’m guessing the closest ones are going to be the Witch and the Maid. Your Aspect, though, is a lot more complicated, and I’d need to know a lot more about your motivations, your ultimate goals, and how you interact with the world before I can really narrow it down. You’re absolutely welcome to send another ask about it if you’d like to remain anonymous, or you can also message me privately on this blog if you’d like help narrowing down your Classpect the rest of the way.

[zaddyzimmermann]

Hot Off The Press

Another AU where Jacky-Boy is a hockey player and Bitty has a job that involves hockey bc that’s my aesthetic. Anyway, I really know nothing about how the world of sports journalism works so there is probably some inaccuracies in here, but it’s an AU so who cares. Artistic license and all that. Very slightly NSFW (i just wanted to get all the warnings out there). 

***

“Are you into men?”

Jack has been asked this question before, but in such a subtle way (and typically involving Parson) that it’s easy to avoid. No reporter has ever straight out asked him. Besides, he’s not gay. He’s bisexual. So when Jack usually tells them, “No.” it’s not a lie. However, this time it feels different. Maybe it wasn't just this particular time, but all the times added onto each other that's finally causing him to really think about what hole he's digging himself into.

The blunt question has him feeling panicky and the other presser notice his reaction too. Jack can’t say no, because that’s not true. He is into men. Jack’s panic quickly shifts, and now he just feels like shoving the microphones away and storming out, because this is hockey goddammit. Not E! news.

“Excuse me?” Jack clears his throat, trying to buy himself some time to think of a properly crafted response. Over the years, he's developed a talent for that.

But everything is on overdrive and he feels his breath start to quicken again--

“Are you into men?” Another reporter asks, and it takes Jack a moment to realize that the reporter isn’t asking him. He’s asking the man who popped the question in the first place.

 All attention, including Jack’s, turns to the small blonde that got lost in the bundle of people. He holds up his mic towards the reporter who popped the question in the first place. 

“Excuse me?” The man mimics Jack, but not intentionally. The man actually looks quite offended to be asked in the first place.

“You don’t like being asked such a personal question do you, Tom?” This reporter has a southern accent that makes him stand out even more among the various presser.

“Shut up, Eric. You’re wasting time as usual--”

“I beg to differ.” Eric snorts. “Last time I checked we are supposed to ask Mr. Zimmermann about his win against Pittsburgh, yet here you are, wasting time asking about something irrelevant to your job. Which is reporting on hockey games.”

Jack suddenly realizes that the two men about ready to attack each other know one another, possibly on a level outside of their jobs. It was an assumption, but they did use first names. Jack has never, in all his three years of being in the NHL, witnessed a fight break out between two reporters mid-interview. Jack just stands there awkwardly, feeling gross and sweaty as the adrenaline from his recent win dies down. 

“Anyway,” Eric Bittle bristles, shouldering his way to the front where he can hold his microphone in front of Jack. “I do believe you scored the winning goal just twenty minutes ago. Very nice. How do you think the remainder of the season is looking?” It sounds like Eric is trying to hide his accent, and Jack is temporarily distracted by his big brown eyes. Then he gets himself together, like he always does, and talks about what he’s good at: Hockey.

***

The second time the same sports reporter defends him, it’s when Pittsburgh beats them on home ice. It’s been at least two months since Jack has even heard about the guy. Eric Bittle writes very little articles, but is used as a credible source for dozens of others.

“Do you think your overdose set you back? With your talent, you could have surpassed your father in records by now.”

It was certainly a backhanded compliment, and it’s not the first time someone has said this to him. Although some days, especially today, Jack really isn’t in the mood. It’s so irrelevant to the subject at hand, it is blatantly disrespectful. However, just as Jack nearly snaps, a familiar voice speaks up from the back.

“That didn’t sound like a question.” Eric Bittle, in all his southern glory, has once again popped up from the shadows when Jack needed it most. “You’re also proposing quite a speculation there, Tom. Like always.” 

“Oh my fu- You’re so unprofessional, Bittle!” Tom, Jack realizes, is the same reporter that gave him trouble last time. 

“Hey, I ain’t the one talkin’ about an offensive speculation.” Eric says breezily, focusing his attention back on Jack. “Alright, Mr. Zimmermann, that game seemed to be rough for you--”

“He didn’t answer my question.” Tom glares at Eric before practically shoving his own microphone in Jack’s face.

“Please don’t interrupt.” Jack suddenly says, eyes flickering to Eric, who had a pleasant and welcoming smile on his face.

“Right, as I was sayin.”

***

Thomas Caswell and Eric Bittle are known for having a feud in the world of social media. Jack couldn’t help look up both reporters, and the first thing that comes up is when Eric first defended Jack during a presser months ago. Thomas was in his early forties, while Eric was in his mid-twenties, basically just starting out. Eric Bittle and Thomas Caswell constantly went back and forth on twitter, and Thomas went as far to even bash Bittle in an article. Thomas is also known for asking the, “hard questions”, which is why he’s so popular. He’s famous for making athletes stumble on their words. Eric Bittle has called him out for that too.

“So, I had to stalk this Eric Bittle guy after what happened last night,” Shitty says, feet propped up on Jack’s coffee table and laptop resting on his naked lap. “The dude actually went to the University of Pennsylvania. That’s an ivy league school, man.”

“I know it’s an ivy league school. What does it matter, anyway?” Jack challenges, his tone a bit annoyed.

“For one, he seems like a fucking genius because he was Valedictorian, which explains how he got a job straight out of college. Second, It’s the reason he only seems to show up when you’re playing the Penguins. They probably picked him up right away.”

Jack doesn’t know why he’s so interested in this guy, but whenever Shitty pries it always piques his curiosity. “Is he with their PR team? I thought he worked for the NHL Network.” 

“He’s brand new, Jack. He was probably assigned to a specific team. He doesn’t typically interview the Penguins, he just interviews the teams they play against.” 

“Has he ever… Defended other players?”

Shitty sighs dramatically and closes his laptop. “It’s what he’s famous for, Jack-O. Why do you think they keep him around? If it were some random reporter that no one really knows, the guy would probably get canned.”

“Wouldn’t that mean he would have been fired already? Like in the beginning, when he first started out, they had no idea he would be famous.”

“He used to run a blog, that’s where they found him.”

Jack can’t help but laugh, and he gives Shitty a pointed look. “You sure know a lot about this guy.”

“I’m a lawyer, Jack.” Shitty pats his arm. “I’m great at stalking people.”

“How do those two things even correlate?”

“You’d be surprised.”

***

The past four games have been a loss for the Providence Falconers, so when Jack and his team lose to Pittsburgh again in overtime after coming so close… He’s in a terrible mood.

However, Jack is the captain and he’s required to give a statement on how hard they worked, and reassure fans that they will keep the spot they currently hold in their division, which will send them to the playoffs.

It’s been about a minute of legitimate questions, ones that are easy to answer because they involve hockey and teamwork. Then, Thomas Caswell (of course), says something so over the top Jack just stared in shock.

“Your performance has been less than usual lately. There has been intense speculation that you might have reverted back to drugs --”

“You have got to be kidding me, Tom.” Jack isn’t surprised it’s Eric Bittle who steps in. “I didn’t hear the word hockey, puck, or overtime once in that sentence.” Eric Bittle’s voice is strained, and Jack is surprised with how angry the man looks on Jack’s behalf.

“Not this again, Bittle.” Tom hisses, his eyes not wavering from Jack’s. “You should be fucking grateful they even let you in here.”

Jack didn’t know what Tom meant by that, but by the look on Eric’s face, he sure did. “You’re a joke. Who let you be a sports reporter, Tom?” Bittle counters, his voice extremely passive aggressive to a point it’s almost scary. “You should work for People magazine with all these rumors you’re tryna spread. I feel like that’s where you belong with this cheap type of reporting--.”

Jack didn’t expect it, and neither did anyone else in the locker room. Eric didn’t expect it either, guessing by his reaction. Jack has never, not even fathomed, a reporter using physical violence on another reporter.

The punch wasn’t meant to break anything, but it wasn’t any less violent. It hit Eric’s nose, so the younger man dropped his microphone as he held a hand over his face.

To no one’s surprise, Thomas Caswell is escorted out as Eric stares after him, still stunned.

“That was rude.” Eric mutters, and Jack is so thrown off by Eric’s dismissive reaction he chuckles a little bit.

The whole situation was almost unheard of, but it didn’t take long for the Falconers PR to clean up the situation. Eric Bittle was escorted by the team trainer to get patched up, while the other presser were escorted out of the locker room. 

“Seems like you have fan, Zimmboni.” Tater laughs, slapping a hand on Jack’s back while shaking him a little. “You go make sure he is okay.”

Jack will, but he takes a shower first. He probably smells disgusting and looks it too.

By the time Jack is dressed and his stuff is packed, he checks to see if Eric Bittle is still around. Of course, he prefers that he isn’t because Jack hates this type of confrontation, or just confrontation in general.

Bittle is sitting on the edge of the examination table, swinging his feet back and forth while he scrolls through his phone. Jack clears his throat, because he doesn’t want to say the first word. Eric glances up and a small smile plays on his face. He has a bandage across his nose and it looks a little bruised. “Hello there, Mr. Zimmermann. What brings you in here?” His voice is a slightly nasally from the pressure wrapped around it.

“I wanted to see if you were, uh, doing okay…” Jack leans on the doorframe, watching Eric Bittle’s face go through several different scenarios.

“That’s awfully kind of you. I’m doing alright, though. It’s not even broken.” Eric Bittle hops off the table and walks over to Jack, extending a hand. “Nice to officially meet you.”

Jack glances down at the hand for a few moments before shaking it. It feels small in his, but extremely warm. “It’s nice to finally meet the man who defends me all the time.”

Eric gives him a laugh as he pulls away his hand. “If you look at it from my perspective, I’m here to talk about hockey not about your personal life. That’s your business.”

“You are the only one who seems to think so.” Jack doesn’t mean it to come out bitter, but he can’t help it.

“That’s because I’m the best of the best, Mr. Zimmermann. I only focus on actual news, not that junk I like to call gossip.”

Jack gives him a genuine smile, but he also isn’t reckless. This man was still a reporter afterall, and the presser were sneaky. Parse almost got caught sucking someone off months ago, because a reporter pretended to be a man who knew nothing about hockey.

Eric seems to notice his change in demeanor, but he doesn’t say anything. “I’m really okay, I ain’t gonna go suing your organization or anything. I’ve dealt with bullies all my life, this isn’t the first time something like this has happened.”

Jack can’t help himself but frown, because Eric Bittle didn’t seem like the type of person to piss people off. According to Shitty, he actually has a large fanbase of people relying on his work.

“Wipe that look off your face.” Eric laughs, and the warmth of it genuinely stuns Jack for a moment. There didn’t seem anything condescending about the way Eric spoke to him, and Jack has heard the passive-aggressive Eric Bittle several times. “I figured you knew why he said I was “lucky to be in the locker room”. Which is so a thing a forty year old man would say.”

“Is it because you’re new?” Jack tries, but Eric only shakes his head.

“It’s because I’m gay.” Eric waits for a reaction from Jack, but Jack doesn’t know why. Then he slowly realizes why Eric looked so upset right before Tom punched him. “Listen, Tom asking you about your sexual preferences all the time just so he can make some offensive speculation makes me and a lot of people really angry. He also thinks it’s ‘unprofessional’ for me to be in men’s locker rooms. I’m surprised I haven’t punched him yet, to be honest.”

“You don’t deserve to be treated that way.” Jack says bluntly. He’s never one for subtlety.

Eric falters for a moment, and Jack becomes tense again. He’s a reporter. Be careful. “No one does, really.” Jack adds.

“You’re a good guy, Mr. Zimmermann.” Bittle finally says after a long pause, then pats his chest. “Just remember, the questions we ask don’t always need an answer. You’re a hockey player, not a reality TV star.”

***

Providence doesn’t play Pittsburgh until both teams are fighting for a spot in the final round of the Stanley Cup playoffs. They were playing on Penguins’ home ice, and in the end, Pittsburgh won by two goals.

Jack has been close to winning the cup before, but never this close. His team is usually kicked out in the first or second round, but this is the first time he’s ever held onto hope for a win.

Jack looks for Eric this time, but he’s not there. He must be with Pittsburgh right now, considering how big of a win this was. Jack didn’t like himself searching for the blonde, because he knew what that meant. He’s not as oblivious to his attraction as he used to be.

Before Jack can wallow in self pity after the loss, Tater drags him to a local bar to try and cheer him up. Jack typically doesn’t drink (because once an addict always an addict) or dance, especially during times like these, but Tater’s loud and optimistic attitude always seems to cheer him up just a little bit, so he gives in. Besides, Tater on the dance floor is a form of entertainment all in its own.

Nevermind.

Even though there are dozens of people here, they still get recognized. Jack and Tater have only been here for thirty minutes, and people can’t seem to leave them alone. Tater likes the company, because fans keep buying him free alcohol even though he doesn’t have to worry about expenses. A girl slides in their booth to settle herself next to Jack, and even though he admires the boldness of her move, it wasn’t welcomed. The last thing Jack wanted was to get involved with someone right now--

 “Mr. Zimmermann? I didn’t peg you for a party boy.”

Jack has never seen Eric in something other than a suit and perfectly kept personna. But of course, because the universe wants him to die a little, Eric is wearing skin tight jeans and tight white shirt that doesn’t leave much to the imagination. For a reporter, Eric is in pretty good shape. His blonde hair is tousled and he looks a little flushed.

 The girl was gone, and Jack wanted nothing more than for Eric Bittle to replace the empty space next to him. Tater was gone and lost in the crowd, probably dancing and entertaining like he usually does. Jack planned on sitting here the entire night so he could drive him home safely… But Eric Bittle seemed like extremely nice company right now.

“Mind if I take a seat?” Eric raises an eyebrow, and Jack only shrugs as he tries not to stare but Crisse....

God dammit.

“I’d buy you a drink, but I’m assuming you’re the designated driver?” Eric holds his head in his hand, giving Jack his undivided attention.

“You’d be assuming right.” Jack says, but he doesn’t continue. He doesn’t really know what’s going on here, and he feels like the two of them are in an awkward equilibrium of assumptions. Jack knows the wheels were turning inside of Eric Bittle’s head, but in no way was Bittle about to make the first move. 

“You weren’t at the presser today.” Jack says to break the silence.

Eric’s smile becomes more flirtatious and Jack is momentarily distracted, but he lets Eric’s voice bring him back in. “Did you miss me, Mr. Zimmermann?”

Jack really doesn’t know how to answer that. He wants to trust this man, and from Shitty’s research he doesn’t seem like the sneaky reporter that nearly cost Kent his career. “Tom wasn’t there to attack me today.” 

“Yeah, he was fired.” Bittle shrugs absently, like it was no big deal. “Thank god he’s gone. Maybe some gossip magazine will pick him up.” 

Jack can’t help but laugh, and he also can’t help that he notices the way Eric lights up. He really, really wanted to take him back to his hotel room. It was a stupid idea, though. He would be outing himself to a man he hardly knows. Besides, Tater hates Ubers so Jack had to make sure he got back safely.

“I heard you’re a genius.” Jack just wanted something to say, because the same silence settled over them again. His face grew immediately warm, though. He basically just admitted he stalked Bittle online.

Eric doesn’t seem to think that, or he’s just really good at hiding the fact he does. His face grows red too, and he avoids Jack’s eyes. “Not really, I mean, it’s all relative.”

“You shouldn’t downplay your achievements.” Jack points out honestly.

“Neither should you.” Eric retaliates. “I know people compare you to your father all the time, and I know me saying this will probably have no affect on you, but you are your own person, Jack. Just because other people compare you two, doesn’t mean you should too.”

Jack, once again, has no idea how to reply to that. For one, he’s a bit annoyed that Eric has made that assumption. Second, he’s also annoyed that Eric is right about that assumption. He says the first thing that helps him deflect his own feelings. “Are you going to put this in an article?” Jack sounds extremely irritated to his own ears, and he internally cringed at that.

Eric raises an eyebrow that tells Jack he’s surprised by the accusation. “Off the record. Didn’t realize that needed to be said. If you don’t see me with a recorder and a mic, I’m off the job. I’m not always working, Jack.”

Jack opens his mouth to maybe apologize for reacting that way, thinking Bittle is mad at him, but Eric just gives him a soft smile.

“I didn’t mean to be intrusive. I’ll leave you be. I didn’t think you might some alone time, I kind of just sat down--” Bittle gets up from the seat across from Jack, and makes his way to be swallowed up by the crowd, but Jack stops him before he even realizes what he’s doing.

“Wait. I got nervous.” Then Jack makes another decision, one he’s probably going to regret later. Jack slides over in the booth, indicating for Eric to join him. Right now, with Eric Bittle in those tight jeans, he doesn’t care about his stupid decision at the moment.

Eric is discreet when he slides in next to Jack. He’s not too close, just in case someone snaps a picture, but he presses his foot against Jack’s calf under the table. When Jack doesn’t move it away, Eric takes that as encouragement.

“Some of those rumors aren’t just rumors.” Jack says quietly, leaning his head slightly towards Eric. “They just aren’t people’s business.”

“Hmm.” Eric hums, trying to read Jack’s face. “That kind of makes me not want to stay here.”

Jack raises an eyebrow in confusion, not quite understanding what he was saying.

Eric pulls away and stands up, and just as Jack’s stomach drops, he turns towards him with a small smirk on his face. “I think we should leave.” 

***

Jack is the first to wake up, and as the sun filters in, he expects Eric’s place beside him to be empty. It’s not, though. His eyes are closed and he looks peaceful, and the sun that hits his blonde hair makes Eric Bittle look impossibly warm.

Jack waited for the wave of regret to hit him, but it never came. Especially when Eric’s eyes fluttered open and a small smile stretched across his face. “You look happy this morning.” 

Jack laughs a little. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Eric just yawns as he does a half-hearted shrug. “It wouldn’t be the first time I was promptly told to leave. I’m kind of used to it by now.”

That kind of ruins Jack’s mood, because Eric Bittle didn’t deserve that kind of treatment. He tells him as much, too.

“I know.” Eric smiles as his eyes roam over Jack’s bare chest and back up towards his face again. His eyes must catch something he doesn’t like, because now a frown is on Eric’s face. “Oh lord, I didn’t mean to do that.”

Jack isn’t aware what he’s even talking about until Eric reaches over and places two fingers on Jack’s neck. The pressure causes Jack to wince a little.

“You have concealer?” Eric gives him a playful look, and Jack can’t help but return the same look.

“No, but I’ll wear a scarf.” Jack jokes without realizing it.

Eric laughs at that, which mon dieu, is that a wonderful sound to hear first thing in the morning. He glances at the clock over Jack’s shoulder, and the joy is gone as his face fills with disappointment. “Ugh. I need to get to work in two hours.” He pauses, contemplating something, before he asks, “You want to join me in the shower?”

And that’s a “Yes.” without hesitation. In the shower, Jack felt a stinging pain on his back and discovered several scratch marks that broke his skin.

“Sorry.” Eric’s face was really red and Jack couldn’t help but laugh.

They get off one more time in the shower, even though Jack protests when Eric drops to his knees.

“That’s going to hurt later--”

And Eric had replied before Jack even finished speaking, “Shut up, Zimmermann.”

Eric waits at the door in the clothes he wore last night, and gives Jack a sad look. “I’m gonna miss you, Zimmermann.”

Jack feels his stomach drop. “Why? Are you moving or something?”

Eric raises an eyebrow as he places a soft hand on Jack’s cheek. “I was under the impression this was a one time thing.”

“No way.” Jack can’t help but laugh at Eric’s surprised expression. “I’ll text you.”

“But--” Eric frowns. “I don’t see you that often and you have your career and I’m certainly not worth a career like yours and technically you are my job which is unprofessional--”

Jack cuts off his rambling with a quick kiss, but Bittle deepens it anyway so they are making out for a full five minutes before Jack finishes his thought. “If you don’t want to, I’ll leave you alone--”

“Yeah, no chance I’m giving up this prime opportunity.” Eric’s smile is so bright, Jack can’t help but mirror it. “You better text me, Zimmermann.”

“Oh, I will.”

***

There will probably be a part 2 if ya’ll want one. Or if you wanna send me other jobs you wanna see Bitty with I’ll do that too lol

[deepfriedtwinkie]

Kingsman: A Trainee’s Mission (Pt. IX)

PREQUEL FIC, this section ~3,500w, ****THE BIG FINALE**** (choreographed violence set to 80s music ahead)

pt. I  | pt. II  | pt. III  | pt. IV  | pt. V  | pt. VI  | pt. VII  | pt. VIII

.

.

No one ever told them whereabouts in England the compound was located, despite how long it’s been their address. It was always shuttle here, shuttle there. Clearly it’s far enough from London to justify a plane ride, albeit a very short one.

They forfeit their altitude just as Harry emerges from the quarters in the back, clad tie-to-toe in Simons’s finished product. Every seam is flawless, as if he were born in it. His chest swells as he examines the mirror. Not only does he look his new part, but feels every bit of it, too.

Except for one thing. “Here,” Martin says, approaching with a small case in hand. “Put these on. And don’t ever be without them. They cost the devil’s own fucking ransom to replace.”

Harry takes the case, opening it carefully. Inside is a pair of glasses, these in dark tortoiseshell, in same style he’s seen all the agents wearing. Up to now, he’s just assumed they all had cataract problems.

A monumentally stupid assumption, he realizes, the moment he slides them on.

The whole world is enhanced. He’d thought his vision was already twenty-twenty, but through these eyes, he second-guesses everything he knows. The picture is sharper than any television—or reality, for that matter—is capable of. When he faces Martin, a green mess of boxy digits appears, framing him in binary code that rearranges into statistics. MARTIN TURNER. ALIAS: LAMORAK. 54. FRIENDLY. He blinks, and they pixelate, then disappear.

“These are the new model,” Martin says. “They’ll identify anyone they recognize, mark the rest as possible hostiles, and broadcast video directly to the control room. Calendar and calculator functions, too. And a crap version of Pac-Man. Engineers had a bit of a laugh with that one, I think.”

The cabin lights dim, signaling descent. Pulled from his astonishment, Harry pounces on one of the windows. There’s nowhere to land, nothing but city below, full of teeming crowds and police barriers. Every Englishman knows what day it is, except, apparently, for the pilot.

“Should we be concerned?” he asks Lamorak. It’s dialed back a bit, at that.

A good call on his part. Lamorak smiles. “You’ll see.”

Flying low, the plane does a loop, away from the path of the paparazzi’s helicopters. Half a mile away from the chaos in general, if not more. They make a pass above a dead-end road, blocked off to all traffic, between two commercial buildings with ‘CLOSED’ in nearly every window. ‘FOR LEASE’ in some.

When they pass again, the street itself opens like a mailing box.

Harry watches, enrapt, as they ease down the ‘runway’ and into the earth, then gives his mentor an impressed eyebrow. “No, I wouldn’t say concern is necessary.”

“I didn’t think so.”

They disembark into an underground hangar, identified only by a single circle-K beneath the plane. Markings on the mildewed walls identify this place as a now-defunct bomb shelter, left over from the second World War. It’s a long, continuous tunnel toward the center of the city, running directly parallel to the route the royal motorcade’s soon to take. Several more branch off down the way.

“You’d think there ought to be a police presence down here,” Harry remarks.

“There would be, I’m sure, if anyone knew about it. You’d be amazed the schematics you can vanish from city records with a little ingenuity.”

“And gadgetry.”

“That too.”

It’s a long walk ahead, and they keep up the pace. Lamorak stops only once, a minute or so in, leaning one-handed against a wall to pull something from the heel of his shoe. A spiral cord follows. It’s a phone. A fucking phone, for God’s sake. He’d left that one out on the tour.

“The glasses are a two-way radio as well, but there’s fuck-all reception down here,” he explains as it rings. Then someone picks up. “This is Lamorak. Landing secured. Approaching target now. Is the way clear?”

Harry knows the answer without needing to overhear it.

Largely because it’s speeding toward them on motorcycles.

“Oh, fucking bollocks.” The phone clatters to the cement as Lamorak grips his umbrella. “Shield up, Galahad!”

He’s on it before the words have even left his mentor’s mouth, raising the cane like a rifle and deploying the canopy. A greenish disc displays their assailants as if in night vision, slaloming to dodge the spray of bullets from Lamorak’s weapon. Harry joins the fire, and the motorists deflect that too.

“Don’t turn your back to them!”

It’s impossible; the three bikes fan out before they can take any cover, circling like vultures, making caged birds of the Kingsman. Lamorak only manages to take out one before another yells in Russian, and whirling his spent shotgun, catches Lamorak upside the head. He drops like a sack of flour.

“Shit!”

A second biker skids into the wall before Harry knows it was his bullet’s doing. The third, he catches on the next go, blasting him clean away from the beast he rode in on.

He drops to his knees beside Agent Lamorak, pressing two fingers beneath the left side of his collar. Then he scrambles for the dropped phone.

“Is anyone there?” Fuck’s sake, tell me someone’s there. Now would be a wonderful time for someone to be there! “This is Galahad; can anyone hear me? Lamorak’s been decommissioned, but he’s alive. We’ve been ambushed by hostiles, three of them, of unconfirmed origin, though one of them spoke Russian. Hello?”

If anything, he expects to hear Arthur. Or static, if he’s particularly unlucky.

What he hears instead is Hamish, panicked.

“Galahad, we’ve got a problem.”

Oh, have we? Do tell! I was just hoping for a problem!

“What’s going on?” Harry barks, eyes vigilant around the tunnel. “How the hell did Arthur miss those incomings?”

“He’s unconscious, that’s how.”

Oh, wonderful, that’s it, keep them coming! One isn’t near exciting enough! “What do you mean ‘he’s unconscious?’ Has someone infiltrated us?”

“No, there’s no breach. I found him on the ground when I got here. When I checked his pulse I found a medical ID. He’s fucking diabetic. I’ve called for help but Lancelot’s just left on assignment, I don’t think there’s anyone left in the whole wing but me.”

Well, then that’s going to have to be enough, isn’t it? I could do far worse.

Wish me luck, mother.

“We’re going to have to do this alone.” Harry fleetingly evaluates the three crashed motorbikes and picks the one least damaged—so not the one in flames, then—tilting it upright by the handlebars, swinging a leg over the side. There’s a gun holster on the panel that he co-opts for his umbrella. Meantime, in keeping the phone to his ear, he’s taken Lamorak’s shoe with him. He’d like a word with whomever depicted this job to be glamorous.

He tests the engine with a few revs over Hamish’s protests, partly because there’s little time, and partly because his friend sounds like this is the worst idea he’s ever heard, and that sort of negativity isn’t helpful at the moment. “You don’t even know the objective, Galahad. You don’t know who you’re looking for. And I’m not authorized to make any call yet without Arthur’s consent. We’ve got to stand down and wait for a senior agent.”

‘Stand down’ translates to ‘kickstand up.’ His hearing’s always been peculiar that way. “There isn’t time. Are you going to help me or not?”

The wait is under half a second, ended by the sound of some material object in motion. Harry knows it marks the donning of Merlin’s headset.

“Go.”

He’s off. The bike swerves beneath him as he rockets through the tunnel, unused to its carriage, making him hunch against inertia. His attempt to change the gear turns on the radio instead.

The winner takes it all The loser has to fall It’s simple and it’s plain Why should I complain?

“I’m in, I’ve found Agent Lamorak’s file,” Merlin shouts over the noise. “Take a right! Now!”

Harry barely manages to bank over without becoming a fascinating stain on the concrete.

“Two ahead, incoming!”

Up goes the Rainmaker. Four one-handed shots pick off the hostiles, sending vehicles tumbling. He rides an S curve around the wreckage.

“In case it’s on the agenda, a hint as to what the devil I’m doing would be marvelous about now!”

“It’s Margaret Thatcher.”

“I sincerely hope that came out wrong!”

“No—I mean, yes. She’s a guest at the wedding. Some vigilante offshoot of the KGB’s got plans to kill her the moment she arrives. They’re trying to start a war proper.”

He can’t spare the energy to hold his tongue at the moment. “By assassinating Margaret Thatcher? Wouldn’t Charles and Diana make more sense as targets, considering they’re actually liked?”

“They’re more heavily protected—look, the next time I take afternoon tea with Soviet renegades, I’ll ask, all right? Take a left!”

This time the bike curves obediently. It’s a relief he’s got the hang of it, at least until he sees what’s ahead.

Double doors of solid steel.

“Merlin, I can’t get through.” He races to scan. There’s no padlock, no keypad, no access point. “Open the doors. You can do that, right?”

“Hang on, I’ve got to unscramble the access code.”

Harry tries everything, but can’t get the bike to brake. There’s no room to either side to turn around. “Merlin, nothing’s happening. I can’t possibly oversell the urgency of the situation.”

“Will you give me a fucking minute?”

“I haven’t got a fucking minute to give!” he panics. “For the love of God, you have to–”

The doors pull apart just in time to slide unscathed through the opening.

“You’ve reached your destination.”

Now the brakes work. He unsticks them with a slam of his heel, pivoting to a clean stop, and turns down the kickstand, clearing his throat. “Fine timing, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“And I’d just like to say you’re doing wonderfully so far, by the way.”

“Save it for headquarters, get a move on.”

“Right.”

The sound of ABBA recedes in his wake as Harry moves away from the motorbike, expanding the Rainmaker again, Lamorak’s shoe-phone wedged between his ear and shoulder. He moves ahead with caution, eyes shifting to all sides.

“Switch the glasses to thermal. There’s a setting for that,” Merlin says. “Turn the dial in the frame below the right lens. Two clicks counter-clockwise.”

One click paints his vision all in technicolor. The next reveals sketchy red blobs of humanoid shape around the upcoming corner. Four of them. In poses that give away machine guns.

“Do you need an alternate route?”

This, he can handle without question. “Ask me again in a moment.”

Digging into his pocket, he comes up with a gold lighter. His thumb flicks the cap. Rearing his arm back, he pitches.

The explosion from the next room is a cluster of crimson through his lenses. When it dissipates, there’s none left whatsoever.

“Nicely done,” Merlin commends as Harry switches modes back.

“All in the written test.”

There’s no point in asking where to go from here. It’s obvious. The only way out of this room is a lift, just ahead at his ten o’clock. Harry hurries for it, closing his umbrella, praying to no particular god that he’s still on Lamorak’s schedule. Or, if not, that at least no one will be dead by the time he catches up. Lamorak and Arthur included.

“Is there any code?”

“Not that I’m seeing, no. It should op–”

It opens with a fist to Harry’s jaw. His glasses skew; Lamorak’s phone goes scattering across the floor. He stumbles backward. A second hit draws blood.

It’s the moment he’s grabbed by the lapels that his reflex decides he’s through with this.

Bashing the Rainmaker upward breaks his attacker’s hold. Then it breaks his teeth in. Both of them grappling for it, they stagger into the lift, closing the doors. It starts to move.

A sudden hefty twist of the cane rips at his arms; his back goes slamming into the wall, feet wrenched from under him. The ringing in his ears picks up tin music from the overhead speaker.

Crack that whip Give the past the slip Step on a crack Break your momma’s back

He’s up in time to dodge a kick to the abdomen, rounding on his attacker as the steel-toed boot gongs into the baseboard. A clutch of the man’s ear threatens to tear it off as he throws him to the floor. A leg sweep brings Harry down alongside.

“Harry!” It comes from his glasses. They must be aboveground.

Answering would spend the breath he needs; it goes to a snap-roll instead. On his feet, he digs the Rainmaker’s point into the enemy’s chest, opening to keep him down, then firing. A burst of blood fills the umbrella’s screen just in time for a gentle ding from the lift’s floor indicator.

“Just a bit of trouble,” he says to Merlin, heart pounding. “Hardly worth mentioning.”

“No time to rest,” Merlin warns. “I count five on the rooftop. Lamorak’s intel says they’ll be dressed like Scotland Yard, but that’s them. They’re the snipers.”

Five of them, Jesus Christ. He fights his breathing into check. “Anything you can do to level the playing field?”

“Not from here.” Then, just as quickly, he corrects himself, rapid clacking filling the background. “There’s one thing I can try, but I dunno if it’ll work. There’s a powered circulation vent on the roof.”

“What can you do with that?”

A few more clacks come over the line, the last more decisive than the rest. From outside the lift, Harry hears the erratic zapping noise of an electrical surge, accompanied by the very distinct screams of two men. Then two whumps of collapse.

“Oh, not much.” The smirk in Merlin’s voice is plain to hear. “How’s three against one sound?”

His jaw aches behind the smile that’s drawing on.

“Manageable.”

The lift doors slide open. One more time, Harry raises the Rainmaker to aim level, deployed at the ready. He creeps with careful sideways steps around the cover of a rooftop heating unit. Sounds of celebration float up from the streets below, hollering, whooping and cheering, and his peripheral vision catches the flutter of multicolored confetti. The crowd begins to sing “God Save the Queen.”

“Oh, shit—Galahad, the car’s approaching now.” The alarm has returned to Merlin’s voice. “I’m looking at the paparazzi’s video feed right now; that’s her license plate. She’s in that car. You’ve got no time at all.”

The thermal function of his glasses re-activates with the touch of a thumb. He’s not sure how it happened, but every bone in his body is perfectly calm.

“Harry, it’s got to be now!”

The red shapes that had flocked to their electrocuted friends begin to fan out. Two headed for the street-facing corners of the rooftop. The third moving backward, posing himself as a lookout.

No one notices when the third man disappears, dragged from the top of the unit with Harry’s tie around his throat. A twist of his chin, and his dead weight drops to the asphalt.

“They’re in position!”

Harry edges his way silently around the heating unit, sights set. His first shot lands square in the back of the nearest gunman, crumpling him in place.

He turns to take aim at the second.

Who’s nowhere to be found.

The crack of a rifle butt comes down across the back of his head. All at once his body gives out underneath him. He collapses like a ragdoll.

“Who the fuck have we here?”

The words filter blearily into Harry’s throbbing head. Another gruff Russian accent.

“Harry? Harry! What’s going on?”

Blinking away spots, he manages to turn himself over, glaring murder at the man with a rifle now pointed at his skull. He’s squinting down at him from under a portly brow, leaning slightly forward, inspecting him like a maggot in a pile of shit.

“Looks like some kind of dandy to me.”

The throngs still sing. “Oh, Lord, our God, arise;”

Below, the sound of engines is a block away, if that.

“Scatter her enemies;”

“How come you choose today to die, dandy-boy?”

“And make them fall…”

Bloody-lipped, Harry peels into a wicked grin.

“Actually, if it’s all the same to you, I was hoping you’d tell me.”

A flip of his ankles, one over the other, catches the man off-balance. He goes pitching to the side, arms pinwheeling in midair for a grasp that never comes, aim forgotten. Then a swift final kick sends him toppling over the rooftop’s edge, his short scream ending with a crack and a bang in the alleyway below.

Almost frantically, Harry crawls to the edge, peering over. The limp Russian lies at the bottom of a rusted dumpster, eyes open, blood pooled beneath his bloated head.

He looks left toward the motorcade route in time to see Margaret Thatcher, accompanied by aides, wave her way into St. Paul’s Cathedral.

Only then does he flatten to his back, heaving a sigh to end them all.

“Fucking spectacular!” Harry chuffs out a haggard laugh. He’d almost forgotten Hamish was on the line. “Well done, Harry! Well done Galahad.”

It’s incredibly likely he’s not catching his breath for weeks after this. “And you,” he tells his friend, wiping blood away from his lip. “Anything on Arthur?”

“The medics are here to help him now. He’s gonna be all right. And we’ve got transport on the way for Lamorak as well.”

All’s well that ends well.

“My turn to ask you a question?” Hamish queries.

He’s exhausted enough to let fair play win. “I don’t see why not.”

“How fucking hard is that head of yours?”

This time, there’s considerably more strength in Harry’s laugh.

“Very, I’ve been told.”

Simons redundantly proves his worth as headtailor when Harry finds a box waiting for him upon return. It’s a second tie, a clone of the one he’d garroted the Russian with.

Let’s do hope this one lasts longer than a day, sir, says the note enclosed. Fondly, -S.

Harry smiles. He’s not sure he can promise it won’t be a habit.

Then again, he’ll be here quite long enough to find out.

Debriefs, so they’re told, typically take place in the dining room. Today, in deference to Arthur’s health, they report to the infirmary instead. An unconscious Lamorak nurses his concussion in the bed adjacent, monitors beeping steadily that all else is well, while Arthur sits upright in his own, setting aside an empty cup of applesauce on his bedside tray.

“Two bloody hours,” he says. “Two bloody hours, and the two of you have already managed to completely defy every convention of order upon which the Kingsman operation depends.”

Standing at attention before him, arms folded behind their backs, Harry and Hamish trade a glance. This can’t possibly be a reprimand, don’t you think?

Arthur smiles. “Bravo.”

Ah, there, you see? I didn’t think so either.

Their new boss looks to Hamish first. “Merlin.” Harry is aware without looking of his friend’s immediate snap in posture, no matter how straight it already was. “I am quite impressed with your conduct this morning. Both in my own assistance and the navigation of Galahad’s mission. Three people are alive today because of your quick work. That’s something to be very proud of.”

He is. Harry can tell. He steals a peek, and the quiet way it radiates from him is unmistakable. It might be the most chuffed he’s been in his lifetime. It’s good to see.

“Thank you, sir.”

Your aunt would be proud as well, he thinks, making a mental note to tell him later.

Then Arthur’s focus is on him. “Agent Galahad.” He straightens extra in the same way, defiant of his injuries with pride. “You saw to the completion of your fellow agent’s objective, despite all reason to the contrary, and eliminated no fewer than a dozen immediate threats to not only national security, but the continued peace of the developed world. I had a feeling you were going to be a pain in my arse, frankly, and that you may yet turn out to be… But you should know that you have proven yourself more a Kingsman than any who’ve come before you.”

It’s more than he anticipated. More than he ever could’ve dreamt. He hopes the brimming of his eyes won’t be held against him.

“Thank you, sir,” he somehow manages at an audible volume. “I’m honored.”

You can’t possibly know how much.

Arthur levels his best authoritative gaze on them both. “Now. Since you’ve proven yourselves so capable, rest up. Tomorrow you’re to meet me in the dining room at oh-nine-hundred sharp. We will discuss your next assignment.”

Breaking into an insuppressible grin, Harry looks at Hamish, finding him returning the same.

Here goes the rest of our lives.

“Fall out.”

.