#So clearly there was no need for anyone to pull the bell cord | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

piastrinorris · 2 years

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Feeling Understood

alternate AO3 link

Pairing: Eddie Munson x autistic!Reader (no pronouns/gendered terms)

Genre: fluff

Summary: Life at school being you isn't great, sure, but at least it's consistent and it's not hurting anyone. But maybe having someone to fight your corner would be nice.

Word count: 3722

A/N: Not gonna lie, lads, this one's pure self-service lmao. As an autistic person, I think Eddie's really one of very few characters in any media who would genuinely get what autism is like, especially in the 80s when it was still misdiagnosed as schizophrenia 🙃 and I had a real overwhelming week at work so I needed somewhere to just Be Very Autistic for a bit, and this was a good outlet.

12:29 and 50 seconds. You slowly move your arms up, to avoid detection. Your fingers push into your ears just in time to muffle the noise of the bell. It may be a whole door away, on the other side of that east wall, but the sound it makes, it may as well be right there on your desk. You shrink down in your seat as everyone rushes to leave, practically leapfrogging over each other to get to the cafeteria. You’re certainly in no rush, though the teacher eventually ushering you out of the classroom is.

Taking your trusty Koss Pros out of your backpack, you slip them over your ears and revel in the dampened silence that comes with them. You feel comfortable enough now to step out into the hallway, though there’s still so many people around. You try and keep your head down at just the right angle; far enough to gauge where the best way to walk is, close enough to watch your feet move step by step, definitely in no way potentially looking at anybody in any particular way, even by accident.

But still someone decides to grab you from behind by the shoulders. Why would they do that? How are you supposed to recognise that someone wants you if they’re completely out of your field of vision? They flick your left headphone until it’s clean off your ear. Then you hear, the captain of the basketball team. He sits behind you by one and left by one. Sometimes he throws paper at you. “Aww, looks like we tuned into WFRK, The Freak!”

Why are you talking to me? You clearly don’t like me, so you have no reason to. This is just a waste of your time. That’s what you want to say. But you can’t get the words out. You feel all your limbs get tense on the inside, so you start to slap your left fingers down on your left palm, then your right fingers down on your right, alternating over and over.

“Well? What’s the hot mix today, DJ Freakazoid?” he asks, nudging you again, but still staying out of your field of vision.

One of his teammates tugs at the cord. “It’s not even listening to anything!” He leans in close to your face, in the side that isn’t covered, and laughs a hard laugh, like a machine gun. You can feel his breath, warm and wet, against your cheek. You contort your face to try and make it feel different, but it doesn’t work. You can feel it sitting on your face and it’s awful and you want it off, but your hands are busy and the rest of the team is standing in close enough proximity to you that you don’t feel comfortable moving.

He moves to make way for the captain, who picks up the cable and dangles it in front of you. “What the fuck are you doing, wearing those giant-ass headphones with nothing to listen to?”

You pull your headphones back over both ears and press them in until the foam flattens enough around your ears that you don’t even hear their sneers. They’re saying things to you with mean faces. You press harder and harder until you can feel the plastic through the foam against your skin.

Then their heads turn sharply. A boy you don’t recognise, probably because he isn’t ever in close enough proximity to you to be worth looking at, is looking at the boys around you. His face is very angry.

You let go of your headphones and even shift them away slightly, looking only at the strange boy’s mouth so you can focus on what he’s saying. He's gesturing to you and saying things like, "What is wrong with you?" and "Why can't you leave well alone?" and all manner of expletives. The last thing you see him say is, "Pick on someone your own size."

Then they start crowding him. They start shoving him. Their faces look worse than they did when they were looking at you. They're getting closer to him, and they look scary. The last thing you see of the strange boy before he's blocked out by everyone else's bodies is him swallowing really hard. Leave him alone, you want to say. Just pick on nobody at all, it's not hard. But you still can't say anything. You start punching your chest with your left fist and your thigh with your right. It helps with the tension, a little.

When they eventually disperse, there's a bruise under his eye. It's really very upsetting to see. He jogs over to you and waves, miming taking off invisible headphones and then pointing at you. You mimic what he did with his pretend headphones, with your real ones. He smiles, "How are you holding up?" You still can't answer, and looking at his eye makes you reach into your hair and grip tightly. His face looks sad. "Hey, please don't do that. Can I help?"

You shake your head, finally able to say the only thing that's in your head. "M-my fault."

"Hey," he says again, this time stretching the word out, and he gently holds your wrist. "I promise you it's not. Those jerks have always been jerks, and they always will be. Can you let go?" You shake your head. "Do you want me to?" You nod your head. He lets go. "Alright, but please don't hurt yourself, okay?" You shake your head again. "My name is Eddie, by the way. It's nice to meet you. Would you like me to walk with you to the cafeteria?" You shake your head, and point to the bathroom door. You let go of your hair to mime the walls of the cubicle close to you. He frowns, "You're going to spend your lunch in the bathroom? What about food?" You point to your backpack. He sighs. "Are you really going to -"

"You need the nurse." You tell him.

He laughs one laugh. "Nah, I'm good, I'll just ask the lunch lady for ice and a rag."

"No." You reply. "Nurses help. It's their job."

"Very well. I will go to the nurse's office, but I'll come back and wait for you -"

"Don't. Please. It's not here. I just need… Alone," you wave around you, and he nods, stepping away.

"Alright. Message received. Stay safe out there," he does a little bow as he turns on his heel and walks away.

Now he's finally recognisable. His locker is second from the left, top row of the block right outside your homeroom. He always wears that jacket with the big design on the back.

You sneak away to your one safe space - the out of order bathrooms at the far end of the school. The toilets may not work, but the locks sure do. And nobody else even bothers to come in anyway. It's perfect. You lock yourself in the second cubicle, as always, sit on the closed lid of the toilet, curl up and hug your backpack into your lap and cry into it.

You didn't mean to make Eddie get hurt. They could have hurt you instead, if they were going to hurt anybody. Eddie could have kept quiet, like everyone else always does. Why didn't Eddie keep quiet, like everyone else always does? Maybe he thought he was helping. But that's not how things are done. Everything is always the same and that's the way things are safest, even if it means people make you feel bad, at least it's just a part of your day. People are always going to be mean.

Except Eddie. Eddie was being nice. And whenever you talk to teachers, or your parents, when you're feeling like this, they tell you that the words you say and the way you say them are hurtful. You don't want to be like those basketball bullies. Maybe you were mean to Eddie, too. He didn't deserve that. He was only being nice to you.

You take out one of your notebooks and tear a page out of the back. You write,

I am very sorry if I was rude. I did not mean to be. Sometimes the things I say out loud don't match up with the things I say in my head. I think you were very nice and very brave, and I am sorry I made you get hurt.

You mop your face up, take out your packed lunch and eat in your fortress of solitude. When your watch says 1:20pm, you start walking back to homeroom, but you slip the bit of paper you'd kept folded up in your hand, into one of the gaps in the door of the locker second from the left, on the top row.

~~~

The next day, you're about to go into homeroom when you feel a tap on your arm before you get to the door. You turn around and Eddie's smiling at you, holding your note in his hand. "Hi! You didn't sign this, but I'm sure it was yours. Right?"

You nod, but you’re confused. “You wouldn’t have known even if I did. I didn’t tell you my name.”

“You’re right! You should tell me now,” he says. You tell him. "Cool. You know I meant it when I said this wasn't your fault. And I didn't think you were rude at all." He smiles at you, and it makes you want to smile back, so you do. "You have a very pretty smile," he says.

You're confused. Art is called pretty. People can be called pretty. Flowers are pretty. You've never heard of a smile specifically being pretty. "How do you know that it is?" you ask.

He shrugs, "I dunno, I guess because it makes me want to smile even more, too."

You nod in understanding. "Then yours is very pretty, too."

His cheeks turn pink. "Thank you. Uh, you better get going in, but before that, would you like to join me at lunch? We can go to a room I know nobody uses, it'll be us two and a couple of my friends. Usually people leave us alone when we're a whole group. Is that okay?"

You nod. "I like to plan my day ahead. Routine is safe."

"Okay, so always ask in advance, never just on the spot?" he asks, and you nod again. "Got it." He holds his thumb up. "Well, have a great morning. What class are you in before lunch?" You tell him which classroom and he nods. "Okay, I'll meet you at the door after. Can't wait." He smiles his very pretty smile again, and you smile back at him.

Your day goes much the same, but something has you on the move all the time. Your pen's flapping beneath your fingers, your knees jiggle up and down. You feel… Excited to see Eddie later.

12:29 and 50 seconds. You pre-emptively pull your backpack over your shoulder, stick your fingers in your ears without abandon and, when the bell rings, you rush to be the first one out. You're not even sure why, it's not like Eddie would be - Oh, he's already standing outside the door. "Hi!" he grins. "Two questions: are you okay with me holding your hand, and do you feel up to running?"

"Yes to both," you reply, and Eddie happily takes your hand in his and starts running down the hallway, pulling you with him. You run to keep up with him as he snakes through small hallways barely anybody uses until he finally stops outside of a closed door.

"Sorry," he starts, breathless. "At first I thought it would be better for all of us to walk with you so they don't think to bug everybody at once, but then I thought that might be too many people for you. So I thought we should just get here as quick as possible. Was that okay?"

You nod, still trying to catch your own breath. "It was fun."

"It was, wasn't it?" he smiles widely. "So, my friend Gareth is in there. I thought you might like to play with us sometimes, so I invited him to help teach you, we can make you a character and see where to go from there. Sound good?"

"I'm not good at pretending," you admit.

"Then don't," he shrugs. "Here," he leans back against the wall as he swings his backpack off of him to take out a binder filled with sheets of paper. He shows you the first one, "So this guy here, he's a bard, he's got an instrument just like I've got my guitar. Not a lot of people love what he plays, but those that do, they really do, so he loves his craft," he smiles as he flips the page, "just like me. And then this one, he…" Eddie swallows hard. "He's lost his parents. And he's trying to find his way in the world without them." He turns the page again, much quicker this time. You assume you shouldn’t ask much about that one. "And then this guy right here, he's called a druid, right? And druids can communicate well with animals, so he's better at befriending those than he is humans. So he keeps finding animals everywhere he goes and forming his own little parties with them."

You point at a little doodle on the bottom of that particular sheet. "Six happy geese. One sad one."

Eddie laughs, "Yeah, so I play this character when Gareth takes the lead, right? And one time I summoned seven geese to attack a bad guy twice each, so I had to roll seven dice, two times. With me?" You nod, and he continues, "Anyway, both times six of them passed and one of them failed. So I made the joke that Eric, that’s what I named that one goose, was just having a bad day. So after the battle, the whole party took Eric on a day out to feel better again." You laugh, and he smiles again. "You like that?"

You nod, "I like the one who likes animals more than people."

"Yeah, he's my favourite one to play. Hence the whole Eric thing. You can be a druid too, if you want?"

You shake your head, "I don't think I could be that creative, trying to be a character and its animals all at once."

"That's okay, it's not for everyone, we'll find you something. Are you ready to come in and meet Gareth?" he asks, tilting his head slightly.

"I think so," you nod. "Does he want to meet me?"

"Of course he does! Why wouldn't he?" Eddie frowns.

You mutter, "Because I don't like big sounds and I don't understand a lot of things and I don't like most people touching me and I don't like looking at people's eyes much, and there's so many more things about me. I'm… Strange.”

"Guess what, sweetheart? So am I. And Gareth, and Jeff, and all the other people that meet up here," Eddie smiles down at you.

You shake your head. "Not like me."

"Maybe not, but all in our own ways," he explains softly.

You notice something about the two of you, "You're still holding my hand."

"Did you want me to stop?" he asks, and he loosens his grip a little. He looks and sounds worried. You shake your head. This kind of physical contact feels nice. It feels right. He wraps his fingers back around yours and grins, "Me neither." With a little squeeze of your hand, he pushes the door open.

There's a big table in the middle of the room. Stage lights all over the ceiling. A throne sits at the far end. Eddie finally lets go of your hand to pull out a seat for you, and sits in the one next to it. A boy sits opposite the chair you're sitting in. You assume he's Gareth.

He then introduces himself as Gareth. He explains that he is the DM of their current campaign, and "the very best one in all of Hellfire, according to reviews."

Eddie gasps in a very dramatic way, slipping down his seat and pressing the back of his hand to his forehead. "Lies and slander! In front of an esteemed guest, no less!” He swaps to make the same gesture with his other hand. “Why would you say such treacherous things?!” He swaps arms again.

His overacting makes you laugh, and the happiness that that gives you causes your arms to start tensing up to the point where you start shaking your hands up and down. Your parents always mockingly referred to it as “taking flight”. Eddie smiles slightly. “I like that.” He starts to mirror your motions, then quickly stops. “Sorry, is that - is that just your thing, or…?”

You shrug, “It happens whenever I get excited or really happy. If you want to do it because you’re really happy too, I think it’s safe to say you’re not making fun of me.”

“We’d never do that here,” Gareth reassures you. He even leans in close and beckons you over to ask, “Do you ever need those super-tight hugs when you’re feeling all stressed out? Because Eddie is the best at them.”

Eddie makes a rasping sound with his lips. “Only because they help people who are, like, tripping and stuff.”

You nod, “So they don’t keep falling, smart.” He looks at you with a soft smile, the way that people do in those romantic comedy films your mom loves to watch, and he shakes his head as though in disbelief. “So how do I play this D&D thing?”

Gareth and Eddie spend all lunch break talking through the Player’s Handbook together and starting to make your character. You tell them you want to make people feel better, and they set you up as a cleric. Reading the handbook, you see that clerics usually learn healing spells. “Nurses help,” Eddie adds softly with a smile. “It’s their job.”

You nod in agreement, looking at his face. “Your eye already looks better.”

“I’d get that bruise all over again if I needed to,” Eddie says to you, but you frown, making him promise he won’t get hurt on purpose because of you.

~~~

It becomes part of your daily routine that Eddie picks you up from class, you both run to the Hellfire room together and meet Gareth to formulate your character. The boys are great at helping your character feel like someone you can play. Gareth designs a magic mask for your character that forces other people to look away if your character looks in their eyes. Gareth promises to make that happen when you’re acting as your character, too. You suggest a way to incorporate the need for your headphones sometimes. The three of you bounce ideas off each other until you all make a hood that, when worn over the head, have the same effect as your headphones in real life. They make their own rules for some things, too, they call it homebrewing. A spell that allows one explanation of context clues at a time. A concentration effect that allows for advantage in exchange for losing the ability to speak for as long as you want it to. Every time they incorporate one of your “strange behaviours”, you get your little bursts of energy, which Eddie affectionately calls “happy flapping”. You like that far more than “taking flight”.

One afternoon, once Gareth has left to get his gym clothes ready for next period, much to his own dismay, you and Eddie are packing up your things to get back to your own classes. You have your own binder now, with your character sheet, a sheet of paper detailing your character’s stories, and Gareth’s drawing of your character. He’s really good at that. “You really seem to be liking this,” Eddie smiles. “I’m glad it’s making you so happy.”

“Because you think my smile is very pretty?” you ask plainly, and he laughs nervously.

“Uh, for way more than that, you’re certainly super cool to hang out with, but yes, I do enjoy seeing pretty smiles. Especially yours,” his cheeks turn pink again as he looks away from you and hides his face in his hair.

“Your eyes are very pretty,” you blurt out. He looks at you fleetingly before keeping his eyes off yours again. “Um… Looking at them makes me smile, even if I don’t like when they look back. And you said pretty things are things that make you smile.”

A laugh escapes through Eddie’s exhale through his nose. “In certain ways. People can make you smile, but you might not really think they’re actually pretty, and vice versa. Pretty people make you feel like you want to see them all the time. And you want to be close to them all the time. And you feel safe around them.”

“Then, I’m still right,” you nod, and Eddie smiles widely. You feel your own face warm up as you admit, “In the movies my mom watches, this is probably the part where people kiss.”

Eddie looks at you the same way he did when you first pointed out that neither of you would stop holding each other’s hands. He leans closer to your face, “Do you want me to stop?” he asks again. You shake your head, and he grins again, just like before. “Me neither.”

He presses his lips to yours, holding you close to him by wrapping an arm around your back. His lips are rough, but it still feels good. He smells like cigarette smoke, and coffee he’s already drunk, and generic-fruit-scented soap, all at once. You taste the cigarettes and coffee on him too, two things you’ve never had any inkling to try before, but here they taste… So very good. The feeling that surges through you feels like the beginnings of an intense happy-flapping session, multiplied tenfold.

After a few beats, the most unusual giggle bursts out from your lips. You’ve never heard yourself make such a sound before. You hold your hand up to your mouth as your eyes go wide, and your face gets hot. Eddie points to your hand with an expression like he wants to ask you about it and you move it down slightly. He takes it into his, as always, and moves it away from your face, smiling the biggest smile you’ve ever seen on him. “That was the prettiest sound I’ve ever heard. Can I hear it again?”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x you #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #eddie munson fluff #eddie stranger things #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #*myfics #tism tag

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bagadew · 3 years

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The Great Ace Attorney Playthrough: The Case of the Unbreakable Speckled Band (Part 3b)

Last Time: After being discovered in Miss Pavlova’s cabin, things didn’t go as badly for us as we thought they would. In fact we got to dance around with Herlock Sholmes the Himbo Detective and discovered that Susato (and presumably someone at Capcom) really knows a lot about snakes, Nikolina has a pet kitten called Darka, and Kazuma apparently died by tripping over said kitten in a tragic accident. However, while it would probably be the best explanation for everyone involved, I’m not entirely sure it’s true as it still doesn’t explain the fact the crime scene was clearly tampered with.

Well it seems that, like me, Susato’s not entirely convinced Nikolina’s telling us the truth.

In fact, it looks like she’s sure of it.

You know, I didn’t expect to feel conflicted about finding Kazuma’s killer, but I kind of do...

Like, I came into this fully expecting to feel hatred and anger towards whoever did this. I was expecting to confront some hateful villain on a par with Miss Brett or Manfred Von Karma and to take satisfaction and vengeance in taking them down... but this isn’t that. There’s no conspiracy, no big untouchable threat, there’s just an abused and scared little girl who probably killed Kazuma because she thought he was going to kill her.

I don’t expect to feel good about taking Nikolina down. I think it’ll feel like when we had to go for Adrian Andrews... only this time she’s actually guilty.

I don’t have anything to add to Susato’s speech, other than it feels important to put it up, and it seems like a good show of who Susato is as a person.

You know, I’ve had a little difficulty pinning Susato down until now, but I think I’ve finally got her. Susato Mikotoba is a woman who believes in truth and justice, and will go to great lengths to reveal it... even if it hurts far more than the lie ever did.

Herlock’s been quiet for a while now, and I don’t think he’s still reeling from the snake business. It’s difficult to read his expression with his hat like that, so I can’t tell if he’s running through the crime scene in his mind, or if Susato’s words have struck a cord with him.

Wait WHAT?

Ah, ok. Herlock basically been using this whole thing as a distraction, and was planning to give everything over to Scotland Yard once we arrived home so they could deal with any ‘outstanding issues’.

(Also he’s handcuffed us again)

It hadn’t quite clicked before, but no one’s actually considered what Ryunosuke must be feeling. His best friend has just been murdered, and all almost everyone has done, has been to accuse him of killing him. Even among Hosonaga, and later Susato, Ryunosuke hasn’t got to really talk about his feelings, and I’m not sure if anyone’s actually given him the opportunity to do so.

With the next stop looming ever closer, I know we don’t exactly have the time to talk right now, but I hope Ryunosuke gets the chance once this is all done.

Ok, let’s do this.

Let’s run through what we know doesn’t fit so far:

1) The writing in Russian: not only is it in the wrong language but Kazuma died instantly, meaning that there’s next to no way he wrote this himself, and absolutely no way he did it if he died tripping over a kitten.

2) The ships log has been left blank from after 2am, meaning that who ever was probably in on it.

3) Half of Darka’s bell somehow found it’s way in Nikolina’s bin, meaning someone must have taken it from the crime scene.

4) If someone went into the cabin (which they must have done) they have to have pressed the emergence alarm after they left.

Let’s start with the biggest contradiction shall we? The photographic print.

Oh Nikolina, that’s not the issue here.

Ryunosuke’s got it.

Well done Ryunosuke.

I’m trying to work out what this could be. The bell half perhaps? But that’s something that was taken away surely.

Ok, so just something that proves it wasn’t an accident. Well I’m not too sure if it’s what I’m supposed to be looking for here, but I’ll present the mark on the floor and see what happens.

Oh thank god!

Well, not exactly Hosonaga, while it’s true that the tripped kitten explanation does explain how the bell was broken, it doesn’t explain why half of it made its way out of Kazuma’s room and into Nikolina’s bin.

Exactly Ryunosuke!

So, now that we’ve successfully proved someone was at the crime scene, let’s start working out who could have done it.

(TBH I still think that, while Nikolina killed Kazuma, Stroganoff was the person who tampered with the crime scene. The writing just feels a bit too calculated to be Nikolina, especially if she killed Kazuma out of fear.)

Ah, I was wondering when you’d have enough Stroganoff.

He’s basically saying that we already know I (Ryunosuke) was in the room, and that if what I’m saying is true then it has to be me as the door was bolted from the inside.

However, as I (both Ryunosuke and me) have zero knowledge of Russian, it’s impossible for me to have written the message. What we do have however, is knowledge as to how the door was bolted from the outside, which we must be getting close to revealing.

That’s... a really good question actually. Why didn’t they just take the whole thing?

Ah, I see. I was looking at this from the eyes of someone from the modern era of electric lights, rather than with the eyes of someone who lives with jolly old Victorian lighting. The floor wasn’t visible enough to make out half of a cats bell.

Shit... she’s their kid...

You know, while we still don’t know exactly how Nikolina came onboard this ship, I’d kind of assumed that the sailors (or perhaps someone affiliated with them) had found her trying to stow away or hiding down by the docks, and taken pity on her and decided to help her out. Because, I thought, there was no way Nikolina would reach out to strangers for help, given how scared she is. But the answer is that they weren’t strangers. They were family.

That’s why they’ve all been ready to risk everything without hesitation, even if it means covering up a murder. She’s their kid, and I’m about to make them watch it all be for nothing.

Yeah, Ryunosuke... it is...

(I love the way these spirits combine together. Nikolina looks even smaller and younger next to Stroganoff, and her hiding behind him while his fighting stance partly shields her does a good job of showing how things are for them right now. It makes me think of images of cornered animals protecting their young.)

Because he’s lying, but then I think you’ve already figured that out.

My time has come.

Susato, it’s ok. I’ve got this, you don’t need to make us look bad by suggesting things you know aren’t true.

DON’T PASS THE BUCK TO ME!!!

(Again, me an Rynosuke operate on the same wavelength now)

OH MY GOD, THE HIMBO DETECTIVE MADE A PROPER DEDICATION ALL ON HIS OWN!!!

HELL YEAH I DO!!!

Look at him go! He’s even using Susato’s fancy words to explain it!

And there goes the bolt on the door!

Now we’re explaining that the emergency stop button can be pressed at various different points around the ship, including, crucially, just outside these two cabins.

Oh Susato, you know as well as I do that this whole things had Herlock’s fingerprints all over it.

(Important information, along with not being trusted with a pet, do not trust Herlock Sholmes with any machinery or control panels)

To be honest this is the appropriate reaction. We’re at sea Herlock! Don’t mess with the thing that stands between us and drowning!

Herlock ‘But Did You Die’ Sholmes: Now lets not lose sight of the fact I got us evidence.

And the worst part is that he’s right.

Not if you drugged everyone!

I think it’s finally time to bring up the blank ships log.

Ok team, Herlock’s in charge of our excuses from now on!

We’re going through the fact that the log was blank, which with Stroganoff’s meticulous ritual of writing: Nothing to Report, every half hour on the dot, means that there definitely was something to report.

We sure are suggesting that Susato!

Not if you were drugged Hosonaga!

HE MADE ANOTHER PROPER DEDUCTION!!! I’M SO PROUD!!!

Ok, have the drugs finally worn off on Herlock’s brain, because he’s saying really smart things now. Or is it just that he’s taking things seriously rather than using this whole thing as a distraction?

Susato’s got it too!

So, because it’s such a large scale job, it couldn’t have been pulled off by any one person, meaning that the entire crew must have been in on it.

(Poor drugged Hosonaga, they really identified you weren’t one of them the second you set foot on this ship didn’t they?)

Now see, the problem with this strategy, is that while Bif might not be happy about the rest of his crew getting into trouble, I feel like this is a Murder on the Orient Express scenario, in the sense that everyone involved fully acknowledge the risks and came into this prepared to go down if necessary.

Yeah, he’s not happy, but he’s not cracking.

In fact, I’m not sure anything could cause him to crack. He is the one person’s standing between Nikolina and (potentially) death. I can’t see any way he’s going to back down.

I understand now, Herlock wasn’t aiming for him. Because they’re Nikolina’s family too.

It seems to be just like we suspected. Nikolina asked them to help her escape, and so, as one, the crew agreed to help her. They put sleeping drugs in the chicken so no one would notice what was happening, and got one of their comrades on the shore of Shanghai to take her to the ship at midnight.

Here’s the problem we have now though. Now she’s covering for them. Even if I’m wrong about Stroganoff or another member of the crew writing the message, the ships log means that they either knew or found out, and I can’t imagine they would have sat by and done nothing.

Wait a second though. We met Nikolina in her cabin, which means she must have got back inside some way or another. She couldn’t have done that if she was the one who pressed the alarm. I think this could be a way to establish someone must have helped her.

They’re still fighting, and to be honest I didn’t expect anything else. They’re both protecting each other now and it’s going to take nothing but evidence to make them budge.

I’m going to be perfectly honest Herlock, you’ve kind of lost me.

In fact I think you’ve lost most of the room...

ITS TIME FOR DANCE OF DEDUCTION 3: I WAS HOPPING I’D HAVE UNTIL THE NEXT CASE TO THINK UP A NAME!

Ryunosuke, don’t play dumb. We must dance!

(Or observe, that’s good too)

Right, well we’ve worked out Stroganoff was the one who did the fabrication, so we should probably focus on him first.

Got you.

To be honest I’m at a loss as to how he got some of the ink round there. Perhaps he knocked the ink over when he was sorting the crime scene out.

Or perhaps it was on his finger and he accidentally rubbed it over when he held his hands like this?

... I thought so...

So, just after one in the morning, Bif was patrolling the corridor when a scared an pail Nikolina came up to him desperate for help. He followed her to Kazuma’s cabin and found him on the floor. Apparently the event before went on like Nikolina said, only instead of luring Darka through the vent, she went next door because she was worried about the sounds she’d heard through the vent.

... he’s still shielding her isn’t he?

I think Susato knows it too.

The problem is, that Nikolina’s following Bif’s lead. Perhaps if we had the chance to talk to her alone we’d know we were getting the truth, but not with Bif there. And to be honest I’m not sure I can really blame either of them for that.

I’m not 100% sure to be honest. And I don’t think I will be until this case is closed.

I’ll take that as not being done then.

I have no idea...

(His fist was closed, could that be the issue?)

(Thank you god of video games!)

OPEN WITH THAT NEXT TIME HERLOCK!

Yeah, we’re not going to be able to guess!

Nikolina’s earring!

Which he couldn’t have had if he was dead when she came in!

(Stroganoff’s face seems to suggest that we’ve reached the final curtain.)

I don’t think either of them can explain away this.

(Again, lead with the earring next time Herlock)

Things are in the right order now.

He let her in. He thought she was Hosonaga so he let her in.

It’s all going fine right now, but we know how this ends.

Of course he did, just by looking at Nikolina you can see she’s been through a lot, and besides, Kazuma has a secret all of his own.

Here we go. Whatever it might be, the thing that triggered Nikolina’s survival instinct is coming.

Ah shit...

You know, since the moment Darka disappeared through that vent, I’m not sure things were ever going to end differently. Kazuma was always going to open the door, he was always going to help the frightened girl he found there, and being the incredibly quick man that he was, he was always going to recognize her.

And Kazuma was always going to want to look into the situation, and that was always going to tip Nikolina into a panic. And then sooner or later she was going to lash out in what seemed to her to be necessary self defence.

Here it is.

Oh!?

So this wasn’t the trigger. But then what was?

Oh no. He was going to get Ryunosuke from the wardrobe. The wardrobe Nikolina couldn’t possibly grasp the significance of, but that was right next to the bell cord.

(Also didn’t I say the captain was somehow to blame?)

(What do you guys say we chalk it up to him and put this whole business behind us?)

(And yes I do know that I’m stalling again)

... in a panic you struck out... and he stumbled... and hit his head on the way down...

I see, so Darka put him off balance first. And so when you pushed him he he hit his head on the bedpost.

Fear, adrenaline, and a lack of judgment due to stress and trauma. Perhaps if this had happened on any day other than the one where you’d just fled things would have been different, but maybe not. It’s hard to tell.

And we know the rest...

Stroganoff cleared away as much of Nikolina’s presence as he could find, and in doing so found Ryunosuke asleep in the wardrobe. It must have seemed like fate was giving him a stranger who could take the fall instead of his kid.

So Nikolina was the one who ‘cleared away’ the bell. That explain why some of it was left behind, and why it ended up in her bin. Stroganoff would probably have thrown it overboard.

What’s that?

I see, that’s a good question.

What he said about the inspector...

Oh dear.

Hosonaga, you were literally drugged at the time, and I’m still pretty sure you were set up to fail (which does raise the question of what would have happened to Kazuma if Nikolina hadn’t killed him)

Susato?

I see, she’s realized that he was going for Ryunosuke, thus slotting the final piece of this whole tragedy neatly into place.

(These two cases are really going all out in very different ways. The next one better let me relax and have fun Maskqu de Masque style. I’m not sure I can take much more of this.)

Here it comes, the unnecessariness of the whole murder.

Yeah...

:((

Ryunosuke’s best friend has been murdered because of the misunderstandings of a child, and he’s been raked over the coals because of that. While it might not be the kindest thing to say for Nikolina, it’s an important thing to say for Ryunosuke, and I feel he’s justified in saying it.

In fact it would probably be a bad sign if he didn’t say this. He’s as much of a victim in this whole affair as anyone. I’m glad he’s at least getting an apology from Nikolina, even though it’s unfortunately gone past the point where that would be useful.

It’s finally over, and just as I predicted it doesn’t feel good.

HOSONAGA SATURO YOU HEAL LIKE A CHAMP!

‘It’s just a scratch’, you said.

‘Go to a hospital’, we cried.

‘No need, just give me a few hours to click my face back into position and pass me back my glasses lenses and I’ll be fine’

Hosonaga, you are unkillable and this is exactly why you’re superiors had to resort to shipping you out.

Ok, enough fun declaring Hosonaga to be our new god. Let’s go back to the serious and depressing business of Nikolina.

So, it seems like Nikolina will be handed over to Scotland Yard, and Herlock will sort things out with the immigrations office so she doesn’t have to go back to Russia.

Also the way they’re talking about her future means that she’s not going to be executed (thank god), which makes sense given that she committed manslaughter rather than murder. Whether or not she goes to prison will probably depend on the judge as, while she has the fact that she’s a white female child, she is also not English and speaks with a strong accent, and therefore, is going to be subjected to a lot of Xenophobia.

Hm?

Ah.

Again, I’m glad Ryunosuke’s getting these apologies.

Wait, are you sure Stroganoff? Like yeah, you’re not going to get done for murder, and the whole defending a kid thing will play of pretty well in court (plus the man you accused wasn’t English and has a less white skin tone than you). But you are also a Russian man with a strong accent and you won’t be able to fall back on being a child or let the evils of sexism and xenophobia fight each other.

Well at least we’re free again, even if we’re in a worst place than when we started.

You know he will Ryunosuke. And given how well he was defending her till now, I think he might just succeed.

But we have to get to England to make Kazuma’s dream come true!

Herlock, can you come to us again in our hour of need? I know we have a lot of them but...

(I swear to god this game is shooting for my jugular)

We’re holding Kazuma’s sword, aka, his spirit. Please don’t make me let it go game.

Is it too much to ask for them to hug? I think they both need it.

Hold us Hosonaga.

(Though not me (Eleanor). Instinct tells me we must remain two meters apart so our weird lungs don’t accidentally take each other out.)

(I cannot be the person who killed Hosonaga)

(And yes I am trying to lighten the mood with my talk of genetic lung conditions because I’m aware it’s only going to get sadder)

(Told you)

There was nothing you could have done Hosonaga, and it’s become my own private mission now to find a way to prove that to you.

:(((

Game are we going to have to sail to England on Hosonaga’s guilt?

I’m aware that you’ve got a whole fun game lined up over there, but is this really the only way?

Can’t we just go to Japanfornia instead, track down Amy Fey (if she’s even been born yet) and get Kazuma back on our team?

No... ok...

Exactly!

WHAT! WHY AM I BACK IN HANDCUFFS!??

HERLOCK SHOLMES COME OUT HERE RIGHT NOW, THIS IS ONLY A LITTLE BIT FUNNY!

He’s amusing himself at least...

(You know what, I’ve decided right now that this is a family friendly blog, so no, I’m not going to say what I’m thinking. You can’t make me.)

Also read the room Herlock, the three of us were having a moment!

Nice save.

Ryunosuke’s trying to throw himself under the buss and send Susato and Herlock and Hosonaga off to go live out the rest of the game without him.

Sorry Ryunosuke, but you’re the protagonist. We can’t leave without you.

That’s it! Ryunosuke, you’re naturally good at lawyering! It’s time for you to take up Kazuma’s mantle!

Am I chopped liver to you Susato?

Are we doing a studying montage on the ship over?

Yes Ryunosuke!

Training montage Hosonaga!

You can help! Teach me how to be the crime scene thief and not give a damn!

(Actually on second thoughts, maybe you should sit this one out and offer moral support instead)

Said Hosonaga, knowing that I wasn’t.

(*Eye of the tiger starts to play*)

I CAN LEARN ENOUGH TO WING IT HOSONAGA!

HELL YEAH!!!

Oh good, I’d forgotten about Kazuma’s morally ambiguities loose end.

(Probably because every character I fancy has one of them and it’s no longer anything to write home about.)

Let’s do this Susato, me an you all the way!

Hosonaga? You cool too?

Wait, now is not the time to be sensible Hosonaga! Remember when we got Miss Brett? That was against protocol and it meant we got to see her take off via her big hat! (Although we didn’t get justice and it ended with you being shipped out, but let’s not dwell on that.)

Hosonaga normally (while shovelling three tables worth of crockery into his bag): Nothing will get in my way! I’ll lay my life on the line if I have to! I will strait up ignore the rules if I think they are unjust!

Hosonaga when Herlock is present: I have never broken a rule in my life, nor would I ever do so. I am the most sensible and down to earth man you will ever meet, please ignore the way I am dressed right now.

What happened Hosonaga, did you watch me and Herlock doing our dance of deduction and immediately decided someone had to be the adult and it might as well be you?

Or... did watching Herlock roll around on the floor and cling like a limpet to the walls make you wonder that this is how you come across?

Because to be honest you were loudly declaring yourself the Crime Scene Thief just last trial... so I don’t think you’ll ever be able to create too much contrast in our eyes.

Come on Crime Scene Thief!

Herlock’s aiming right for Hosonaga’s canonically shit schooling with those words.

Remember who you are Hosnaga! You’re the badass who lay his life on the line for us!

(I like how much Herlock’s talking Ryunoskue up, I guess this makes up for the fact he handcuffed us again for the asthenic)

Hooray!!! Hosonaga’s taking us to Disneyland England!

“Hello, this is Saturo Hosanaga. Just calling to say that I’ve done it again... yes I understand that my breaking the rules makes you sad, but I simply will not stop... well you see, they’re unfair and heavily biased in your favour. Also we both know if you could have stopped me you would have done so long ago. Goodbye.”

Capcom! Stop trying to make me get to England off of Hosonaga’s guilt!

Allow me to come with you, or at the very least please borrow the KBS (Kazuma’s big sword) for protection.

Goodbye Hosonaga... until we meet again...

But (and I need to make this very clear Capcom gods) not my mentor!

The KBS!

We will guard this with our lives!

(Karuma huh? That name sounds faintly familiar.)

(Ok Google, now play Eye Of The Tiger)

WE ARN’T DOING THIS AGAIN CAPCOM! PUT THOSE DEATH FLAGS DOWN!

Oh thank god, she just wants to be even!

Ryunosuke, are you sure you’re even able to do that?

You heard the lady Ryunosuke. (And no this totally isn’t because I want to see if you’re even able to do it.)

Booo

Herlock, I love you, but...

KICK HIS ASS SUSATO!!!

WHY ME!!!

Poor sweet Ryunosuke...

Ah, I see it’s time to be sad again.

Oh Kazuma, what were you up to?

Anyways, that’s it for The Adventure of the Unbreakable Speckled Band. Join me next time for The Adventure of the Runaway Room!

#tgaa #tgaa spoilers #the great ace attorney #the adventure of the unbreakable speckled band #ryunosuke naruhodo #susato mikotoba #herlock sholmes #satoru hosonaga #and for what is probably the last time:#nikolina pavlova #bif strogenov #and...#kazuma asougi

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crashingmeteorz · 4 years

Text

we will share the weight

a little jetsong freedom fighters au.

title from ezra bell’s “they think we’re stupid”. word count: 1.6k. read on ao3.

The first time Jet sees her, she’s crying.

It happens so quickly he has to do a double-take. One second the girl is openly crying in a steady stream, and the next she looks like she had never been crying at all.

He’d think she was faking, but when she turns her head just the right way, he can see the shine of freshly-shed tears streaking down her cheeks. He watches from a distance as she wipes casually at her face, trying her best to look like everything’s fine, like her whole world isn’t crumbling, and goes about her day.

Jet can recognize a fellow survivor anywhere. She’s pretty young to be out alone, and clearly used to putting on a mask. He doesn’t know if she can fight, but it doesn’t matter. There’s a few young kids in their group, just because they had nowhere else to go. The Freedom Fighters, as he’s recently settled on calling them, take in anyone who needs their help

She disappears in the crowd of the town, and he lets her. He’ll find her the next day.

Sure enough, she’s at the market the following morning, speaking with the vendors. He watches from the shadows as she gets turned away again and again, sometimes with an accompanying shove. But the sellers themselves aren’t the interesting part. What fascinates Jet is the way she changes her face before each stall. This time she’s charming, personable, a wide smile and a tittering laugh. Now she’s a weepy child, begging for a meager handout. He knows it’s tiring, constantly changing faces like that. After all, he does it himself. And despite the rejection she keeps at it, rearranging her features and pushing on.

After what has to be at least a dozen failures, the girl finally receives some scraps. She bows her head, and the exhausted gratitude in her eyes carries all the way over to his thundering heart.

I have to take care of her, he thinks, and he follows her through the crowd of the market.

She moves quickly, but that’s nothing new. Young girls don’t tend to disappear in small villages like this, but you can never be too cautious. And homeless young girls are very rarely missed.

She ducks into an alleyway, and he waits, making certain they’re not being followed, before rounding the corner and -

And she’s got a needle to his neck.

“I don’t want to kill you,” she hisses furiously, but her voice is shaking. “So don’t make me.”

He raises his hands slowly. She’s got the needle held firm, and her hand is still, but he can see how afraid she is, how her free hand trembles. She may not want to kill him, but it’s certainly a possibility if she doesn’t calm down.

Okay. So maybe she doesn’t need to be taken care of. But he’s still going to try to help her.

“I brought you something,” Jet says, nice and slow, trying very hard to channel the calmness he usually has when talking to new kids, but the situation doesn’t really make it easy.

“I don’t want anything from you,” the girl says bitterly, “except for you to stop following me.”

“I’m trying to help you,” Jet snaps. Her eyes narrow and he takes a deep breath.

“Look,” he tries again, “I have food, better than that crap I bet. It’s in my bag, why don’t you take it and I’ll leave you alone?”

The tension stretches between them, a thin cord growing thinner by the second. He notices for the first time, in the silence, how kind her eyes are. Even in her suspicion, even in her anger, they’re warm and welcoming. It knocks him a little off-balance.

“I don’t want you to kill me either,” he says at last, and, embarrassingly, his voice breaks a little.

The girl’s expression softens. She chews at her lip for a few seconds, and finally relents to inspect what’s inside his bag, keeping the needle near his neck. With her left hand, she produces a dumpling, and her face lights up.

“Stole it this morning,” Jet says smirking. “They’re a little cold, but they’re good.”

“You shouldn’t steal,” she says seriously, and then promptly removes her hand from his neck to hold the dumpling to her mouth and chomp down on it. Jet retrieves one for himself and mimics her, sitting down agains the ally wall. She joins him.

Wordlessly, they agree to split the third and final dumpling, and they both pretend very hard not to watch each other.

“I’m sorry,” she says, breaking the silence. “I’m so used to looking over my shoulder all the time, I just assumed -“

“I get it, believe me,” Jet says with a wave of his hand. “I shouldn’t have underestimated you.”

She smiles at him, a real, genuine smile.

“No,” she agrees, eyes crinkling. “You shouldn’t have.”

A witty retort dances on the edge of his tongue, but he feels something like a blush work its way to his cheeks, so he pushes himself off the wall and up to a standing position. He offers her a hand.

“Come on,” he says, pulling her to her feet. “I’m willing to bet you need a place to stay tonight?”

“I don’t want to intrude,” she says cautiously.

“Don’t worry,” he tells her, nodding back towards the market. “It’s not that kind of place.”

“If you say so,” she says, still unsure but following him anyway.

“What do I call you, anyway?” Jet asks her. She’ll be given a new nickname soon enough, but he needs something in the meantime.

“Song. My name is Song.”

She opens up to him quickly, telling him about how the Fire Nation took her father away during a raid, but how the battle was so hard-fought the firebenders suffered greatly.

“They needed healers,” Song says sadly. “My mother’s the best you’ll find, outside of the Water Tribe. She agreed to go, but only if she could heal our people as well.”

“What happened to you?” They’re nearly to the camp, and she has her long dress gathered up around the ankles so as not to trip in the footfalls of the forest.

“She didn’t want me to be a prisoner. A few healers were left behind. They...looked after me for a while,” Song tells him sadly. “But we weren’t safe for long. We got separated a few years later.”

“How long has it been since you saw your parents?” he asks, stopping abruptly. She nearly crashes into him, but manages to stop short as well.

“Seven years,” she answers, and when he turns to look at her, she makes no effort to hide her grief.

“Eight for me,” says Jet, meeting her eyes. “They killed my parents in front of me.” Song gasps.

“I’m so sorry,” Song reaches out to touch his arm. “That’s - oh, Jet, that’s horrible.”

“Dead, imprisoned,” Jet says bitterly. “What difference does it make? The Fire Nation treats them all the same.”

Song looks away.

“Maybe,” she concedes, “but I still hope I’ll see them again. I have to.”

A thousand speeches about the savagery of the Fire Nation die on his tongue. He knows Song’s parents are dead, as sure as he knows his own are, but telling her as much won’t do anything to help her.

“I understand,” he says, even though he doesn’t. She smiles brightly at him.

“So where’s this camp?” Song asks, looking around. “It’d be really disappointing if you brought me all the way out her just to kill me.”

He grins at her.

“Hang on,” he says smugly, moving to hook an arm around her waist. She jumps back.

“M-my leg,” Song stutters. “It’s - it’s sore.” She moves around to Jet’s other side.

Jet raises an eyebrow, but says nothing. He grabs a rope, hidden cleverly among the vines, and then they’re soaring into the treetops.

When they make it up top, Jet is polite enough not to comment on Song’s dazzled expression.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she says huffily, but her eyes are alight with excitement. “You knew that would be impressive.”

So he can’t keep the smug look off his face, big deal. At this point, it’s just his face.

He’d already informed the others he planned to bring in a new recruit, though he hadn’t mentioned anything about a girl. For the most part, they seem fine with it. Pipsqueak and the Duke welcome her heartily, and Longshot bows his head politely.

Sneers, however, makes his reservations known.

“We can’t spend all our time protecting a girl,” he says roughly.

“We protect the kids all the time,” says Pipsqueak, gesturing to the shelters behind them. “What’s the difference?”

“I don’t need protection!” the Duke yells indignantly.

Seeing as you’re six, you do, actually, Jet thinks.

“Neither does Song,” is what he says instead. “She can handle herself.” He looks pointedly at Sneers.

“But I’m not much of a fighter,” Song admits. Sneers raises his eyebrows.

“It’s not because I’m a girl,” she says quickly, moving to undo the ribbon around her dress. A second ribbon lies beneath it, and sewn onto the silk are several vials.

“I know medicine,” she explains. “I can help, but I’m probably better here at the camp.”

Sneers opens his mouth again, but Song cuts him off.

“And I won’t be doing all the cooking and cleaning, so don’t expect me to,” she adds with a note of finality. Pipsqueak chuckles.

“Don’t worry,” he says in his booming voice, throwing an arm around her shoulder, “I’m the cook around here.”

“Yeah, because no one else can feed your appetite,” Sneers comments. Everyone laughs - even the stoic Longshot cracks a smile.

And just like that, Song’s a Freedom Fighter.

#this was supposed to be a oneshot to get the creative juices going for my other fic #naturally i want to continue #candy when will you learn #my stuff #my fanfic #my writing #jet #song #jetsong #pipsqueak #the duke #longshot #sneers #freedom fighters #atla #avatar the last airbender #ezra bell #fanfiction

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elsb-hrngtons · 4 years

Text

The Seaside Blues Cafe

Hello Lovelies so this was an absolutely gorgeous prompt form Rhythm_Smith

so i received this absolutely gorgeous prompt from Rhythm_Smith for HfBLM:

Several years after cannon (with a s3 divergence where Neil is the one possessed by the mind flayer ) Steve and Billy own a cafe by the beach called The Sea Side Blues Cafe and Billy proposes.

i really hope you like it, its given me all the warm fuzzies writing it!

please call see this wonderful moodboard @gideongrace made for it <3

links to Ao3 in the notes.

June 1995

Somewhere just off of the broadwalk near Santa Monica Pier is a little cafe, inside there are a mismatch of tables and chairs, bean bags and bookshelves that line nearly every wall, fairy lights strung across the ceiling casting the cosy interior in dazzling colour. Chalkboards take up the wall behind the counter, with the daily specials scribbled on in a multi-coloured scrawl, where there are not bookshelves there are posters with sayings like ‘Love is Love” and “respect the rainbow”. Outside under where the awning casts much needed shade from the relentless Californian sun are two sets of tables and chairs, each complete with an ashtray and menus, between them is a black A-board that reads with big fancy letters “ALL ARE WELCOME” “Live Music Every Saturday”. Business was booming.

Billy and Steve have worked hard to get where they are, it hasn’t always been easy, but then they both know more than anyone else things worth having rarely ever are. They’ve been together since Starcourt, when Neil possessed by the mindflayer almost killed them all, and Billy in a blaze of glory risked everything to take him down. When the dust had settled and Billy was left lying on the cold tile floor of the food court, impressive wounds to his sides and chest, miraculously having missed any vital organs, blood pooling around him, Steve couldn’t help but chastise him for risking himself like that.

“I couldn’t let him win pretty boy”

“You’re so stupid Billy, you could have died”

“Not dead, Just hurt, how about you kiss it better?”

And Steve did.

The rest so they say is history, once Billy was released from hospital, with a large pile of NDA’s to sign and an impressive payout of hush money/compensation from the good old US government, he wasted no time in telling Steve exactly how he felt, and for the first time in his godforsaken life, something went his way, because Steve as it happens felt the same way. It’s not long after that they pack up their belongings and drive west, drive home.

The years to follow are filled with so much joy, love and laughter, two boys who’s orbits crashed into each other, inseparable now, unable to live without the other even in the midst of petty arguments.

It was with Billy’s government money they were able to send Steve to culinary school, where he excelled at Pastry, and with Steve’s baking prowess and Billy’s creativity they opened their own business, a little cafe called the Seashore Blues Cafe, just off the broadwalk near Santa Monica Pier.

It’s just another morning in the small corner of the world they’ve built for themselves, the sun is shining high in the sky, breeze rolling off the sea as Billy wanders down from their apartment above the cafe to help Steve open up shop. Steve’s already been up and working for a few hours, lovingly creating all his delicious treats to sell to their customers that day. The cafe smells like freshly brewed coffee with hints of vanilla and cinnamon, and as Billy walks out from their little kitchen out back and through to the front of house he’s struck in awe at just how beautiful Steve really is. He’s sat at table by the window, mid morning sun streaming through shrouding Steve in a halo of light, his soft brown hair flops over his face which has specks of flour dusted on his cheeks, silver wired glasses balance precariously on the bride of his nose, he’s got a pile of their mail on the table and he’s reading something, cute little crease between his brow as he studies the words in front of his face. As Billy approaches closer he notices the letter in question is embossed with gold leaf calligraphy, fancy. Whatever he’s reading it looks to be something important, and Steve doesn’t seem too pleased to be reading it at all.

“What you got there pretty boy?” Billy asks which startles Steve who clearly didn’t hear Billy walk in, he looks up and gives Billy a tight lipped smile as he hands over the offending piece of paper. Billy glances over it and sure enough in big shimmery cursive it reads ‘ Together with their parents Nancy Elizabeth Wheeler and Jonathan Christopher Byers invite you to join them in celebrating their marriage’ so its a wedding invitation that has Steve looking so glum.

“Mazel Tov” Billy deadpans

“Yeah” Steve sighs

“I mean it’s good news right? Wheeler finally making an honest man out of Byers and all” Billy questions as he slides onto the chair next to his boyfriend and gives him a chaste good morning kiss.

“I mean yeah it great, it’s really great, fantastic really” Steve begins to ramble “but..”

“But you’re still sore about Wheeler ditching you for Johnny boy?” Billy asks, it’s not at all mean and Billy is long past being outwardly insecure about Steve’s past relationships, but he can’t help but feel that old familiar pang of jealousy and suspicion make a home in his chest, always worried that this little slice of heaven they’ve carved out of near on a decade of hard work and prejudice will never be enough for Steve, that he will never be enough for Steve.

“No no that’s not it.. It’s just” Steve seems to falter, can’t find the words to say can’t do his feelings justice with the spoken word.

“It’s just what baby?”

“Doesn’t it make you sad?”

“Does what make me sad?”

“You know.. That we can’t have that” Steve snatches the invitation out of Billy’s hand and throws it across the table, Billy watches as it slides straight off and floats gracefully to the floor, gold lettering catching the light, glinting and shining mocking Steve as he begins to wine and tug at his hair, something he started doing whenever he got stressed of worked up. Billy takes hold of Steve’s wrists, makes sure his grip is loose and gentle so Steve can pull away if he wishes to do so, he doesn’t, Billy brings his hands down in front of them both on the table and places both his over Steve’s holding them, rubbing soothing circles onto the backs of Steve’s hands with his thumbs.

“I mean it sucks for sure, but there’s not much we can do about it, no point dwelling on it” Billy tries his best to be gentle to be soft, its what Steve needs in this moment, Steve huffs out a sigh and stands up, brushing the creases out of his apron as he goes.

“Yeah i guess you’re right, c’mon let’s get this place open” Billy watches as Steve disappears into the kitchen, when he’s out of sight he gathers the rest of the mail, stoops down to pick up the discarded invitation, assesses it once more and as he reads the RSVP details he’s struck by inspiration. He places the invitation to the back of the pile and can’t help the smirk on his face as he wanders around the counter to switch on all their lights.

---

“So let me get this straight” Max says down the phone her tone incredulous and honestly Billy can’t blame her, what he’s asked of her is a pretty mean feat “ you want me to somehow gather the party and drag them all the way to California and not tell them why?”

“Exactly” Billy is standing behind the counter of the cafe, his side turned to the hustle and bustle of the dining area, where their patrons sit chatting happily, while Lucy, their waitress goes between tables taking orders and checking in. Billy curls the cord of the wall mounted phone around his finger, he’s antsy Steve’s due back from running errands and could walk through the front door any minute now, he keeps one eye on the door and jumps slightly every time the bell above it jingles.

“And you want me to make sure no one tells Steve we’re coming?”

“Yep.”

“And how please tell me dear brother, do you expect me to do that?” Billy used to flinch whenever anyone referred to him as Max’s brother, but after years of rebuilding a bond that was tinted so long ago by pain and bitterness, all he feels is a warm fondness at the title.

“I dunno! Can’t you get El to do her mind shit or whatever it is she does”

“It doesn’t work like that Billy!” Max all but yells down the phone

“Okay okay, well maybe you can tell the rat pack why.. Actually no. You can tell everyone but Henderson” Billy corrects himself, knows full well if Dustin got wind of his plans, not only would he receive yet another shovel talk from the little gremlin, but there’s a strong chance he could actually blow his big scheme altogether.

“Why not Dustin?”

“Because shitbird. Curls is physically incapable of keeping a secret and I don't want him to spoil it, you hear me?”

“Loud and clear”

“Thank you” Billy breathes a sigh of relief but its short lived as he hears the familiar jingle of the bell above the door and catches sight of a dishevelled and winded Steve come strolling through the door “Shit i gotta go, talk later”

“Yeah okay.. Oh Billy?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m really proud of you, and happy” She hesitates as she says the next part “i love you”

It still takes Billy’s breath away when she says it, it's not something they say very often to each other, but each time they do he knows it’s genuine and that though alone is enough to make his heart rabbit in his chest, he still feels guilt at the way he treated her in the early years, feels her love isn’t deserved at all, nonetheless he has it and he loves her too.

“Yeah Yeah, you too Mad Max” he tries to sound unaffected but his voice wavers at the end, has no time to compose himself though because Steve is right next to him, he slams the phone back into the receiver with a little more force than was strictly necessary and spins round to greet his lover with a toothy grin.

Steve leans in to peck Billy on the cheek, soft lips lips contrasting with rough stubble, he pulls back with a dopey smile.

“Was that Max?”

“Yeah she says Hi by the way”

“Sorry I missed her, what was she calling about?” Steve asks

“Oh you know just checking in” Billy tries for nonchalant, shoves his hands in his pockets to help with his casual facade, Steve isn’t buying it, he raises one eyebrow and fold his arms across his chest, he’s got a dumb smug smirk plastered on his face as he leans his back against the counter.

“Max never calls just to check in”

“Well she was today pretty boy” Billy’s defensive, hates lying to Steve, hates being caught in a lie, but needs must and all. “Anyway shouldn’t you get back in the kitchen? I’m sure Ricky’s dying for a smoke break”

“Fine” Steve huffs, pushes off the counter and makes his way back to the counter, just as he disappears through the door he calls over his shoulder “this conversation isn’t over by the way. I’ll find out why Max called”

Billy can’t help but roll his eyes but it’s all in good humour.

“Sure thing Beautiful”

---

It’s taken a monumental amount of planning and tantrums and narrowly avoiding being the number one suspect in the double homicide of MIke Wheeler and Dustin Henderson, but here he is, it's the big day and he feels like he’s about to throw up.

He’s been pacing the cafe floor, burning a hole in the wood flooring with his anxious back and forth, religiously checking his back pocket to assure himself of the safety of the ring he has stashed away in there, and it hasn’t magically disappeared in the last 10 seconds. The ring he almost had a breakdown over finding, almost threw the towel in and called whole thing off because he needed it to be perfect,needed it to be right, and had it not been for Robin’s intervention and her dragging him to some of the more alternative jewelry stores LA had to offer, he might not have found one at all. He hopes Steve likes it, hopes above all else Steve says yes, because if he doesn’t Billy’s not sure he’ll survive that kind of heartbreak, might have to take a long walk off Santa Monica pier and let the ocean wash him out of existence.

The party have all been helping set up and decorate the cafe which has been closed for the day, as far as Steve is aware the space has been hired for a ‘Private Event’ which are supplying their own catering, giving him the opportunity the spend the day with Robin, who is spending the month in California on a ‘whim’, of course she’s really here for Billy’s big plan, to help distract and misdirect Steve so he’s none the wiser and it truly does remain a surprise.

The place looks beautiful, more so than it usually does, The daily specials board has been wiped clean and in its place are messages of congratulations, love and support for Billy and Steve, somehow Max and El managed to source fresh garlands of various white flowers, all with names Billy doesn’t care to learn, all he knows is they look stunning strung up along the ceiling and across the walls interwoven with the fairy lights that are a permanent fixture of the interior design. Every table is adorned with white table clothes and on each table are vases with the same flowers hung up on the walls, there’s different photos of Billy and Steve throughout the years hung up all over the place, snapshots of the life they built together smiling down on Billy as he impatiently waits for Steve’s arrival. He’s lined the kitchen with hundreds of candles and rose petals carpet every inch of the floor, and he knows once Steve is over the initial shock of it all he might bitch about fire hazards and safety bullshit, but Billy couldn’t care less, it’s romantic and Steve really should appreciate the effort.

The plan is simple, Robin will drop Steve off at the back door, then she’ll sneak round the front and join the rest of their guests in the cafe where they’ll wait silently for the signal, The signal hopefully being a loud and celebratory ‘he said yes’, then the party begins.

Billy’s still pacing, he can’t help it, couldn’t possibly stay still in this moment, he’s supposed to receive a page from Robin any minute now to tell him her and Steve are 5 minutes away, his mouth is dry and his stomach is doing somersaults, he feels like he might forget how to breath.

“Will you stop pacing, you’re making me dizzy!” Max complains from where she's sat sideways on one of the chairs.

“What if he says no Max?”

“He’s not going to say no” she says rolling her eyes

“Yeah as much as I hate to admit it, Steve’s crazy for you, there’s no way he’s gonna say no” Dustin chimes in.

Billy doesn’t get a chance to respond because his beeper sounds from where it’s been left on the front counter by the till, the whole room holds their breath as he rushes over to check and sure enough Robin and Steve are less than 5 minutes away and it’s finally happening. Within seconds the whole room devolves into a frenzy, all the guests rushing to take their place in the crowd, all party members elbowing each other to push their way to the front, Lucas and Will holding up a side of a just engaged banner. It's chaos, but Billy can’t think about that right now, tunes the rest of the world out, knows they’ll be quiet when they need to be.

His heart is in his throat as he walks the small distance between the front of house to the kitchen, double checks all the candles are lit and the rose petals that didn’t make the floor, instead are strategically placed on the counter top to spell out ‘Marry Me’ are all in their right home. He combs through his blonde curls and straightens out his shirt, checks his back pocket one last time just as he hears the sound of Steve’s keys turn the lock, he doesn’t know what to do with himself where to place himself, so instead he just stands there arms to his sides, eyes wide, expression hopeful.

Steve walks in fumbling with the lock, shopping bags in each hand from a day spent getting some well earned retail therapy, he’s in a cheery mood Billy notices, half singing,half mumbling some pop song, bobbing his head with his back turned to the kitchen. He hasn’t noticed Billy’s presence yet, or all the evidence around him of Billy’s devotion to him, but as he turns around he’s struck dumb. Eyes wide, shopping bags fall to the floor as he gasps and clasps one hand over his mouth. He’s tearing up as he tries to find the words to ask what’s going on, but there’s no need as Billy drops down to one knee, the ring he spent painstaking hours choosing, presented in front of him as an offering to the only thing in this universe or any universe he’s ever worshiped. There are tears in his own eyes, but he can’t help the smile as he gazes lovingly at the man he’s loved since he was 18, hope bubbling in his chest threatening to spill over.

“Billy, what’s all this?” Steve asks, still stuck in his place at the door, his voice is wavering and he’s shaking, his legs look about 5 seconds away from buckling from underneath him.

“It’s for you Bambi” Billy says, it's barely a whisper and his voice is breaking from all the emotions he’s been storing in his chest all day, betraying him as they claw up his throat at the most vital moment of his entire life.

“Billy--” Steve begins but Billy cuts him off.

“Will you just shut up for a minute… please”

Billy takes a deep steadying breath as he tries to calm his pounding heart and find the right words to say, he tried beyond hope to write some kind of speech for the occasion, but none of the words he scribbled down felt right, felt like they did the love he had for Steve any justice, it was Max’s suggestion to improvise, to speak from the heart, it’s more authentic that way, and Billy couldn’t help but agree at the time, but now all he wants to do is curse himself, curse Max for ever thinking that going without at least some idea was a good idea.

“From the very moment I laid eyes on you I knew I was in trouble” Billy begins, it’s a strong start but now he’s faced with the dilemma of what goes next.

“Here was this guy, the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, and.. And you had this fierceness to you, never backing down, always looking out for others, even if that meant risking yourself.” His knee is hurting from putting his weight onto it or too long, but in this moment he finds he couldn’t care less, bites through the pain so he can continue his declaration.

“And I wanted to be like that, I wanted to be the kind of person those big Bambi eyes would look at and be proud to call a friend.” He lets out a shaky breath as he recounts their love story, he’s never been a poet but his words are raw and genuine.

“So I built myself, modelled myself after you and sure enough you became my friend, you forgave me, gave me a chance and that made me so happy” The tears are really beginning to fall now, his vision blurs and his eyes sting, still he powers through.

“Then I fell in love and I fell hard, and everyday I’d hate myself because I convinced myself you’d never love me back, and some days it was just too painful, but I knew it would hurt more if you were never in my life at all, that it would tear me apart” Steve still hasn’t moved from his place at the door, he just stands there a full river of tears flowing from his eyes, making them shine and twinkle in the candle light, he;s silent as he listens and if Billy couldn’t see the ride and fall of Steve’s chest he’d swear the man had stopped breathing altogether.

“That’s why I didn’t leave Hawkins straight after graduation, even though I promised myself I would. I just couldn’t stand the thought of leaving you behind.” He has to pause as he gathers up the strength to move onto the next part, as he has to acknowledge a time of his life, he’s torn between never wanting to forget and never wanting to remember.

“And now more than ever I’m so glad I didn’t, because if I did, who the hell knows what would have happened at that mall, all i know is I never would have gotten the chance to say I love you, or have the chance to hear you say it back” They’re both full on sobbing now, he has to continue even between hiccups, he has to finish, has to get to the park where he asks the question.

“And even after all these years, I have to remind myself that this is all real, this life we’ve built together is real, and I thank my lucky stars because you made me the man I am today, you made me the happiest man on earth that day, and have done everyday since, and if I can make you even half as happy as you make me, then I know i’m doing something right for once” Billy composes himself, its now or never, time to ask the most important question of his life.

“So Steve Harrington, will you marry me?”

It’s at that moment Steve’s legs finally give way and he crashes to the ground on his knees, still speechless and sobbing his heart out. The seconds that follow time seems to stand still for Billy, moments passing by excruciatingly slow, and the longer they both kneel there a mess of emotions on the kitchen floor Billy’s heart crawls further and further up his throat preparing itself for a steep and swooping descent of agony or a jubilant explosion of incomparable joy.

Just when Billy thinks there's an actual possibility he’s going to die from the anticipation, Steve finally speaks up.

“Yes. Billy I’ll marry you” his voice is barely audible, its hoarse from all the crying, but it's the answer Billy was hoping for and he’s overcome with an overwhelming sense of relief he feels almost faint from it, luckily Steve is crawling on his hands and knees until Billy collapses forward into him, burying his face into Steve’s neck and holding him tighter than Billy ever remembers doing before.

“Really you mean it?” he has to ask, as to make sure.

“Billy i want nothing more than to marry you” Billy can’t help but laugh with unrestrained joy, he feels his heart soar and his cheeks flush, he feels fit to burst, can’t contain it much longer, needs to shout from the rooftops just how happy he is. Steve lifts them both back to their feet and he holds Billy at arms length so he can look into Billy’s eyes. Honey brown meets ocean blue and there’s so much feeling in both their gazes, a storm of emotion ready to let loose any minute. “I love you Billy Hargrove” he declares a triumphant smile on his face as he leans in to give Billy a chaste kiss.

“I love you too Steve Harrington” Billy can’t help himself, he leans in a kisses Steve with all the passion and all the adoration he possess, its bruising, its fiery and it's oh so sweet as he forces his tongue to part Steve’s lips and licks into his mouth, but before he gets much of a chance to deepen it there’s a shout from out front.

“Has he said yes yet?” It’s the unmistakable and irritating voice of an impatient Mike. Both Billy and Steve break from the kiss and chuckle as they lean in and rest their foreheads against each other’s for a moment, soaking in the quiet glory of their love. Billy leans back and hollers towards the front of the cafe.

“Yeah he said yes!” It's met with a resounding cheer from the group of people gathered to witness this, and now the hard parts over the best part of Billy’s plan can begin.

“C’mon pretty boy, our guests await” he holds out the ring from Steve to slip onto his finger and takes him by the arm so he can guide Steve out to the front. Steve’s breathless for the second time in less than 20 minutes as they open the kitchen door and are greeted by all the faces of the people they love the most, all grinning from ear to ear and celebrating for them.

“You did all this?” Steve asks, awestruck.

“Well I had some help, I couldn’t have done it without these losers that's for sure” Billy laughs as he gestures towards the party, feeling victorious when Mike and Dustin look scandalised by Billy’s comment. “And you can thank Robin for helping pick out the ring,” He continues.

“Billy I don’t know what to say, this is incredible” Steve marvels as his eyes wander around the room, taking in all the decorations and photos and messages of good will.

“You don’t need to say anything at all.” Billy says “Listen baby, I know you’re upset that we can’t legally get married, but y’know fuck the law. Let's have our own wedding, right here right now. We don’t need a piece of paper to say we love each other” Billy turns to face Steve takes both his hands in his and stares searchingly into his eyes, looking for signs he may have messed up. “And if they do ever make it legal, and you still want to we can do it proper, just as soon as the laws passed” He rambles on “and there’s no pressure if you don’t like it, we can do something where we plan it together, it doesn’t have to be here and now--”

Steve interrupts Billy mid sentence to peck him quickly on the lips,

“Billy it's perfect.”

“Yeah, you sure?”

“Never been surer of anything in my life”

“Well then pretty boy, let's do this.”

---

Billy’s floating on cloud nine and there’s not a chance in hell he’ll be bought back down any time soon, the day was perfect everything he could ever wish for, a day spent celebrating his love for Steve and Steve’s love for him, a day spent surrounded to the most important people in their lives and nothing in this world could ever beat it.

He’s never seen Steve so happy either, even as he fusses trying to clear away the scattered rose petals and burnt out candles from the kitchen, their guests long gone all retired to their respective hotels giving Billy and Steve all the privacy a newly wed couple deserves.

“Hey Bambi, leave all that we can get in the morning, let’s go to bed” Billy says as he slides up behind Steve and hooks his arms around his waist, kissing and nibbling at his neck.

“Can’t do it tomorrow there’ll be no time to clean and get everything ready to open” Steve mumbles as he brushes more of the rose petals into the trash, Billy places his hand onto Steve’s shoulder so he has more leverage to spin him around so they can face each other.

“What if we just didn’t open tomorrow?” Billy says as he nips at Steve’s jaw and presses against him.

“We can’t not open tomorrow Billy” Steve says riding a moan

“Why not we’re the owners right?” Billy snakes his hand between them and presses his palm against the growing bulge in Steve’s pants.

“Yeah but--”

“Yeah but what? Don’t we get to decide if we open or not? Haven’t we earned a few days off?”

“I guess..”

“So what are you waiting for, let's go to bed” Billy says between kisses. At that Steve sighs and slips out to move away from Billy.

“Fine lets go Tiger” He says over his shoulder as he saunters towards the stairs to their apartment, Billy licks his lips in anticipation, can’t help the extra pep in his step as he follows, flicks the lights off with a flourish and kicks the door closed behind him, feeling lighter than air as he takes the stairs two at a time.

June 30th 2015

20 years to the day Billy proposed to Steve, when he laid his soul bare and proclaimed his undying love. 20 years to the day, that with the only family that ever counted to either of them, playing witness to their mutual promises of forever, they stand with the shore at their feet, the surf lapping at their ankles, brilliant hues of orange and pink as the sunset acts as the backdrop to their declaration of love.

They’re finally here, surrounded by the same family as 20 years prior and a few new, yet fond faces, keeping a promise they made all those years ago to make their marriage ‘official’ to join together legally.

Wicca chairs stand in rows up the sand, filled by guests with joyous expressions watching as Billy and Steve utter their vows to one another, as they pledge a lifetime to one another, Robin stands between them officiating the ceremony, while Dustin stands proudly to Steve's side and Max to Billy’s. The breeze tickles through the congregation, whipping gently at Steve’s salt and pepper mop, as he gazes adoringly into Billy’s eyes, tears threatening to spill despite the dazzling grin on his face.

Robin announces them as Husband and Husband and they receive their standing ovation, Billy grabs Steve and dips him backwards to press a passionate kiss to his soft lips, a kiss filled with all the devotion he’s built up over the last 30 years and promise to continue that devotion for the next 30 and god willing more. The cheers and hollers from the crowd fizzle away into white noise, the sounds of the ocean, the crash of waves, the whistle of the breeze and the call of gulls acts as the song to their first kiss as a proper married couple and just as he did 20 years ago today, Billy feels his heart swell ready to burst straight out of his chest, feels his stomach dip because he’s never been so happy, because even after 30 years kissing Steve still gives him butterflies, because despite all the injustices he faced in his younger years, he stands here with the only person he’s ever loved, his soulmate in his arms and nothing, not the upside down, not the monsters that walk among them, not his dad, could ever compel him to ever let Steve go.

#harringrove for blm #harringrove #Billy Hargrove #steve harrington #my fic #gideongrace #Rhythm_Smith

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braveclxrke · 4 years

Text

The best thing to hold onto in life is each other.

Written for @malexweek 2020.

Day 3 (July 15th) - Prompt “I can explain,”

Read the whole fic under the cut or read on Ao3

preview"

Alex?" Michael asked, sounding breathless.

Alex swallowed, the sound of Michael's voice almost breaking him, it being the best thing he'd heard in 15 months. "Michael," Alex breathed.

"What are you doing here?" Michael asked. Alex opened his mouth but found no words. Michael shook his head, giving a joyless laugh. "Clearly not to see me, you made that pretty clear at the diner so Sanders is that way," Michael pointed to the junkyard, almost pushing past Alex to get to his door.

"Michael-" Alex called turning around to follow Michael, Alex reached out and grabbed Michaels arm, spinning him around to face him, "I can explain," He said, still not sure how he'd explain his feelings when even Alex didn't understand them.

Alex stepped outside the front door, taking in the fresh air. Today had been his first day back at home in 15 months. He'd spent the last few hours with his father and brother, talking about deployment and their time oversea. Alex heard the door open and Greg stepped next to him, "Why don't you go see some friends for the night, I'll hold the fort here," Greg said.

Alex smiled up at his brother, "Thanks, I'll see you later," Alex called as he headed towards his car, stepping in. In reality, Alex had no intentions of seeing anyone, he just wanted to get out of the house for a few precious hours alone. Alex drove into town not sure where he was going, eventually, Alex pulled up next to the Crashdown. Alex got out of the car, walking into the diner. Alex slipped into a booth, running his hand down his face. He heard the bell behind him ringing as people walked in and out. Alex could feel the tiredness starting to take over his body, Alex reached up and rubbed the back of his neck, the tension coursing through his body. Alex looked up and felt the tension in his body increase, paralysing him.

Michael.

Across the diner stood Michael. He looked exactly the same as he did 15months again; same curls that hung in front of his face, the same golden eyes, but they seemed darker now, full of burden. Alex's lungs stopped working, shutting down entirely. Michael locked eyes with Alex, his face giving nothing away. Michael took a few steps forward towards Alex's booth, each step causing the cord around his lungs to tighten. Michael was almost at Alex's table, and Alex could have sworn he saw the smallest smile on his face. Alex pushed himself up from the table, his eyes still clasped on Michael's. Alex spun around almost smashing into someone walking in before crashing out of the door. Alex headed straight to his car pulling the door open and jumping in. Alex reached up and gripped the wheel tight, his hands shaking on the wheel. Alex finally breathed again, his breath coming out in quick succession making Alex feel lightheaded. Alex squeezed his eyes shut tight, trying to calm himself. It was Michael, his Michael- Alex squeezed harder, he wasn't his anymore, Alex wasn't even sure he ever was. Alex reached down and turned the key on, promptly pulling away from the curb and down the road. Alex started heading towards his house unsure where else to go; Liz was gone, Alex hadn't heard from Maria since he'd fled Roswell. Alex was almost at his house when he pulled over to the side of the road. Alex cursed under his breath; what had he done? When Alex was overseas all he thought about was seeing Michael, being with him again. Alex had played their reunion over and over in his mind, working out what he would say, in all the scenario, he'd never run away. Alex let his head fall against the wheel, after a moment Alex flew the car into reverse, turning around in the road. Alex reached the junkyard, his car coming to a harsh stop. Alex opened the car door and stepped out. He walked forward toward the airsteamer, his hands fidgeting in front of him. Alex started up the steps to the streamer when he stopped; what was he going to say? what could he say? He reached out to knock but his hand froze, shaking slightly. Alex shook his head he couldn't do this, what was he thinking? Alex backed away from the door, turning around to head to his car when he saw someone stood by his car.

"Alex?" Michael asked, sounding breathless.

Alex swallowed, the sound of Michael's voice almost breaking him, it being the best thing he'd heard in 15 months. "Michael," Alex breathed.

Michael pulled his arm away, stepping back a few steps. "You don't need to, it's pretty clear-"

Alex walked forward, "I'm sorry Michael," He pleaded, shaking his own head, "I just didn't think I'd see and-and I freaked out," He confessed, realising how weak that excuse was.

Michael didn't say anything for a moment, his face stern and emotionless. Alex felt his heart crumble a little more, what had happened to the bright and joyful kid Alex had left behind? "What are you doing back," Michael coldly asked.

"I'm on leave, for a few weeks," Alex replied.

The emotionless on Michael's face disappeared, it being replaced by a feeling Alex had seen many times in his life; disappointment. "So you're going back," Michael asked.

Alex nodded, unable to say it, "And that's why I left,"

Michael frowned, "What?"

"When I saw you..." Alex took a deep breath, feeling the familiar knot in his stomach, his mouth becoming dry. Alex stepped forward, biting the inside of his cheek, "When I saw you, all these feelings came back and, I knew I wouldn't be able to leave you again and I have to so... " Alex gasped, the emotions getting the better of him for a moment, Alex noticed the rim of his eyes had begun to fill with tears, making the scene blurry. "So I ran," Alex rasped, the words catching in his throat like they were made of thorns.

"Again," Michael said, stepping closer to Alex. "You ran again, like last time." He jabbed, and Alex didn't know what hurt more; the fact Michael said it, or the fact he knows he deserved it. "You left me here!" Michael yelled, letting emotion back into his face.

Alex stepped forward, his arms out in front of him, "You didn't give me a choice Michael!," Alex cried, the tears growing in his eyes, "You...changed, and I didn't know how to deal," Alex admitted, Michael looked away, casting his eyes down to the ground. Alex stepped closer again, the gap between them closing. Alex took in a deep breath, "You're right, I shouldn't have left you here," Michael looked back up at Alex, his face unsure. "I've done a lot of things over the past 15months, but leaving you...that will always be my biggest regret," Alex said, his voice wavering as a tear finally made its way down his face.

It was Michael's turn to take a step forward, "When I saw you in the diner, I was so relieved," He confessed, a small smile on his face, "For the past 15 months I have had that radio on every day just hoping that I didn't hear your name being read out as a casualty of war, that I'd get to see you again" Michael said, his own eyes beginning to well with tears. The smile from his face fell, "Then finally I saw you alive and okay in that diner and you just-left!" Michael yelled, "And what now you're here to say...what?!" Michael asked, the pain clear on his face.

"I'm here to say..." Alex started and then he stopped, he clenched his jaw before blinking a few times to clear his vision. "If I could go back to that day when I left, I'd stop myself and stay with you," Alex revealed, more tears fell from his eyes as he thought about that day. Alex gave a sad shrug, "But I can't go back and I can't change the decisions I've made,"

"No, you can't," Michael quietly said. Alex closed his eyes, looking back up at Michael who had the smallest saddest smile on his face. "I missed you so much and I-I can't watch you leave again Alex," Michael said, the last words getting caught in his throat.

"That's why I ran," Alex explained. "Because I don't know if I can leave you," Alex said.

Michael stepped forward with more determination this time. "Then don't," Michael argued.

This was what Alex was afraid of, Alex frantically shook his head from side to side, "Michael-"

Michael was only a few steps away from Alex, "You never wanted to go to war, you wanted to make music, stay here with me," More tears fell from Michael's face and Alex wanted nothing more than to wipe them away. Alex felt his lower lip trembling,

Alex wanted nothing more than to stay, to live in Roswell with Michael. "My dad...he'd never let me stay," Alex said, "I have to go back, Michael," Alex cried.

Michael looked like he was about to argue again but stopped himself, he shoved his hands into his pocket, nodding his head but not looking at Alex. "Okay," Alex felt what was left of his heart shatter. He heard Michael step forward again, his eyes now back on Alex, "Just because you have to leave..." He started, stopping, seemingly thinking over what he was saying. "Doesn't mean we can't be together,"

Alex felt like someone had taken the pieces of his broken heart and threw them in a blender, turning them to dust. Alex gave a small sob, "It does Michael," Alex clenched his hands, his nails settling into his palms, "I'm going to be gone for 15 months again-"

"So?" Michael said, throwing his arms out to the side, "You were gone for 15 months this time and it didn't change how I feel about you!" Michael closed the gap between them taking Alex's hands, clasping them in front of him. "I never stopped loving you, and I never will," Michael declared.

Alex almost stagged back, feeling like the in his lungs had been turned to ice. Alex managed to take in enough air to speak, "You-you love me?" he quietly asked.

"Yes, and I don't care if we can't be here together, as long as we're together," Michael continued.

Alex just stared at Michael, playing the words over and over in his mind Michael loved him, Alex rubbed Michael's hands in his, looking up at Michael and finally seeing the boy he fell in love with over a year ago. "I don't know when I'll be back-"

Michael smiled, "That's okay, we can write and-and call," Michael reached up and placed his hand on Alex's cheek, causing Alex to lean into it. "We can do this," He quietly said.

Alex smiled back, he stepped forward. Alex slowly reached up and ran his hand through Michael's hair, his hand coming to rest on the back of Michael's neck. "I never stopped loving you either you know?" Alex said, "Those days where everything was just...hopeless and bleak, you got me through it," Alex said. Michael gave a thoughtful smile. Michael let his hand reach around and come to rest on the back of Alex's neck pulling him forward gently. Alex let Michael pull him forward, a smile on his face as the pair finally reached each other, lips crashing together. Alex moved his hand back up to tug Michael's hair as they kissed, the boys swaying on their feet. Michael dropped his hands to Alex's hips, pulling him tighter to his body.

Eventually, Michael pulled back, resting his head against Alex, both boys breathing hard. "You got some free time?" Michael panted.

"What you thinking?" Alex asked, his eyes still closed.

Michael stepped back for a moment, nodding his head towards the trailer, "Well, you haven't seen my new digs," He entwined his fingers with Alex's, a playful smile on his face. "How about I give you the grand tour," Michael teased. Alex gave a small laugh at Michael's attempts to flirt, he always was so smooth. Alex and Michael walked hand and hand into the trailer, the door closing behind them.

Alex rested his head against Michael's bare chest, just listening to his heartbeat, his hand twisted in Michael's hair playing with it. Michael looked down at him, his hands stroking Alex's arms.

Alex looked up at Michael, reaching up to place a tender kiss on Michael's lips, pulling back to see a smile on Michael's face. "Was it worth the wait?" Alex breathed.

Michael moved his hand to caress Alex's cheek, "You'll always be worth the wait," He said. Alex gave Michael another kiss before lying back down in the bed with him. They only had a week before Alex had to leave again, Alex tried not to think about it but the thought was still there and always would be; it was their reality. Whatever their reality was though, it didn't matter, he knew it wouldn't be easy and there would be struggles but Michael was worth it.

"I love you," Alex said against Michael's chest, wanting to say it as many times as he could before he was gone, wanting to make sure Michael knew.

"I love you too," Michael said back, his grip on Alex tightening a little. Whatever time they had left, Alex was going to make the most of it.

"I'm glad I came to explain," Alex said.

Michael gave a small laugh, "So am I," He said. Alex settled down against Michael's chest, closing his eyes. Alex had many regrets in his life, some that would stay with him forever, but coming to see Michael to explain; Alex was sure it was one of the best decisions he'd ever made.

#malex20 #malexweek20 #malex #malex fic #alex manes

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cryxmercy · 4 years

Text

Hot Cash {Flashback}

Sometimes shit gets blown up.

When: Following this conversation. A couple of weeks before the fire at Erin’s. Where: A deli in the Bend. Who: Mercy and some bad guys. And a sandwich.

TW: blood (non-medical), gore, death (NPC), guns, gun violence, assault, body horror (broken bones), fire, non-con (for Fury powers)

Since regaining her sight, Mercy felt an unshakeable need to get back the feeling of invulnerability that had been taken from her when she’d been in limbo for those few hours after being drowned. Something about her existence felt… off. Stretched-thin. Out of balance. Like she needed to retie the cords that bound her to this life. And feed the chaos that kept her strong. So what better way to do that than helping out a friend? Erin had a problem that needed taking care of. A problem that consisted of shitty people doing even shittier things. To make it worse, they were doing these things out of a place that Mercy enjoyed. The bastards. So as she approached the deli she’d scoped out over the last couple of weeks - dressed in dark jeans, boots, leather jacket over a black t-shirt, and her mass of hair pulled back from her face - Mercy was more than ready to get this done.

The bell over the door jingled as Mercy entered. “Evening,” she said, startling the man behind the counter who was cleaning up and preparing to close.

“We’re closed, come back tomorrow,” she was told before being summarily dismissed.

Mercy sighed and pulled something from the depths of her jacket. A small flick of her hand and something thin and metallic hit the floor right in front of the man’s broom. He frowned and reached down to pick it up. Mercy waited for realization to sink in, and when he finally turned towards her, a look of horror on his face as he held up the grenade pin she’d tossed at his feet, only then did Mercy speak again. “Now that we understand each other,” she showed him the grenade still held safely (for now) in her grasp. “Tell me, is there another way out of your little secret clubhouse?”

The man’s brows wrinkled, but he seemed to realize Mercy wasn’t joking. He swallowed. “Through the freezer. Just there.” A shaking hand indicated which one.

Mercy raised an eyebrow, but cracked open the indicated appliance. Sure enough, there was a staircase. “Perfect.” She tossed the grenade down the stairs - it made a ping, ping, ping sound - and shut the freezer. “You should leave.” It wasn’t a request as Mercy reached out and took the grenade pin back, but not before grasping the man’s hand, her skin firmly pressed against his. “You didn’t want to be here anyway, did you? They don’t pay you near enough. You deserve better, don’t you?” The air hummed with static, and the man’s eyes widened slightly. “You want to forget you were ever here, because it’s better that way. Don’t you?”

The man nodded - “Yes…” - just as the grenade exploded down below. The entire building shuddered. Dust floated down from overhead, and glass shattered. Mercy didn’t even blink. Just watched the man turn and leave as quickly as his legs would carry him. Mercy followed, but turned down the alley behind the deli instead, pulling up her hood to conceal her face.

She was here because Erin had asked for her help. And the people using the deli as a cover deserved what was coming for them. On her way, she picked up a piece of pipe that lay beside the overflowing dumpster. One swing took out the camera above the back door. It wouldn’t do to be on anyone’s security footage.

She waited after that, checking her watch and spinning the length of pipe absently. When the muffled sound of raised voices came from the other side of the door, Mercy grinned. It was only a moment before there was a heavy clicking sound, and the door inevitably opened. A large, sweaty man in dirty slacks and undershirt stumbled out of the smoke and into the alley. And right into the end of Mercy’s lead pipe. It cracked him across the jaw, and he tumbled backwards into the hazy red light of the hallway. Mercy followed, pulling the door shut behind her.

“You’ve been a bad boy, haven’t you?” Mercy said as the dazed man looked up. “And you know what happens to bad boys?”

The man reached for the pistol tucked in his slacks. He was quick for someone with a concussion and a fractured jaw. Mercy would give him that. But she was faster. The second blow of the pipe shattered the man’s forearm as he raised the gun, but not before he managed to squeeze the trigger. The sting of a bullet grazing her shoulder made Mercy wince. “OW! You fucking-” The third blow of the pipe was across the back of the man’s skull. He went down in a heap.

Mercy rolled her shoulder, frowning at the hole in her sleeve. “That was a new jacket.” Taking the dead man’s gun and tucking it in her jeans, Mercy kicked him hard, out of simple spite, before moving further into the fray. Raised voices could be heard somewhere in the depths of the underground halls, and she even heard the clatter of gunfire, muffled through concrete, as someone started shooting at shadows.

Good. Let them be afraid. It only made this easier.

She didn’t bother to pull the gun from where it was tucked in her jeans. Guns were so… boring. Then again, bullets did nothing but piss Mercy off. One to the head might put her out of commission for a few minutes as her body reset - depending on the caliber, the range, and the accuracy of the shooter - but otherwise - Mercy wasn’t too worried. Her pipe worked just fine. Now the grenade had been a nice touch, if she did say so herself. Maximum damage in a pocket-sized package.

The smoke from the explosion and resulting fires was thick and acrid, and Mercy covered her mouth and nose with the back of her hand as she peered around the doorjamb. The devastation was glorious. Whoever the bits and pieces that scattered the floor belonged to, they weren’t going anywhere. Bloody, scorched money littered the floor, and floated through the air like confetti. Broken and charred tables and chairs lay in piles where they had been blasted against the walls. The entire place had a look (or would have, if it wasn’t currently being burned to the ground) of something that had been running long-term. Mercy wondered just how long that was as she stepped around the puddles of gore and one or two piles of dust that practically screamed ‘dead vampire.’

Whatever the case, they were dead. And by the time she was finished, there would be nothing left of this operation but a smoking, charred husk. And a message would be clearly sent to the man responsible. But first…

From a second hallway that led off into the darkness, voices could be heard approaching. At least two, maybe three more. Mercy grinned and turned down the hallway before they could reach the main room, spinning her pipe. The smoke wasn’t as thick here, so when the figures - a man and a woman who looked like they might be related - turned the corner, there was no way they could miss Mercy standing in the hall. She held her hands up. “Don’t shoot!” The pair was so taken aback that they paused and glanced at each other, clearly about to do just that if the shotgun and pistol they carried were any indication. Mercy took the opportunity to bring the pipe down on the man’s hand, knocking the pistol free. The woman was faster than her brother. She turned the shotgun on Mercy and pulled the trigger.

Mercy hated getting shot. It hurt. Especially at close range. And especially when it was a sawed-off shotgun full of buckshot. FUCK. She dodged the worst of the blast, but it still caught her across the side and hip, knocking her off balance. She caught herself against the wall, fire lacing up her injured side as blood soaked through her jeans and shirt. But she kept moving, immediately dropping to a crouch when she heard the gun rack for a second shot. It exploded the concrete wall right above her head, spraying her with flack. OW.

Mercy pulled a shard of concrete out of her cheek and tossed it aside. Alright… that was enough bullshit for one night. The man was still on the ground, cradling his broken arm… pistol lying nearby. The woman was desperately trying to reload the shotgun as Mercy approached. Mercy took the gun from her, and hit her across the temple, hard. She went down like a sack of bricks. Her companion reached for the pistol. Mercy knocked him out too. Let the fire have them.

Let the fire have them all.

Let their greed and hatred be the death of them.

A third figured suddenly darted out of the smoke, something sharp and smoldering raised at Mercy. The Fury merely stepped to the side and swung her pipe once, and then a second time for good measure, crushing the figure’s skull. She stepped to the side as they fell over, and wiped a spatter of blood from her cheek.

She watched for another few moments as the fire grew larger, consuming everything in it’s path. But Mercy wasn’t worried. Fire didn’t bother her. It never had. It reminded her of why she chose this life... chose immortality. She wiped any prints off the shotgun with a handful of singed bills, and then tossed the weapon and the money onto the burning pile. Making her way back up the stairs, Mercy stopped to snag herself a sandwich from the fridge. It was the last delicious, hand-made deli sandwich she would ever eat, after all. And by the time the firetrucks finally arrived to try and save what was already a lost cause, Mercy was long gone.

#wickedswriting #solo #p: hot cash #assault tw #flashback #//this was originally a dual effort but I had to retcon into a solo so it's definitely not as action packed as before : D

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sweets-r-cool · 4 years

Text

My Hero

(Kirishima x Reader)

In which the girl who’s been cheering him on since middle school and Kirishima himself meet once again...

“C’mon, Bakugo! You know this is for charity, please?” Kirishima pleaded, he really didn’t want to go to this fashion show alone. Generally, all the fundraiser events were for good cause, but they were also incredibly boring. Of course, on occasion they were cool.

“No way, Shitty Hair! Now leave me the fuck alone!’ Bakugo scoffed, stalking away from the red head. At the moment, they were technically Ground Zero and Red Riot, since they were on patrol. That didn’t stop Kirishima from begging Bakugo right at this moment.

“You’re publicist probably wants you to go anyways,” Kirishima pressed on despite the ash blonde’s complaints, “This one might not be as boring as the others! There’s gonna be food and-”

With one final mix of a growl and a groan, Bakugo gave in, “Fine! Just shut the fuck up about it!”

Kirishima smiled, “Okay!” Kirishima stayed true to his word for a while until their break time. On the walk to find food, Kirishima noticed a shop that struck a cord somewhere deep inside him.

The store was called Fairly Sweet, it was a candy store, but to Kirishima, it wasn’t just a candy store.

It was the store you and him had used to go to all of the time in middle school. It was a place for the two of you to just hang out, he really missed those days,but in reality, he really just missed you.

...

The school bell had rung and the teacher dismissed all of you.Today, you felt weaker than normal, and by default, slower as well. You’d forgotten to bring candy with you today and now your body was facing the consequences. You felt dizzy, and as a result you’d dropped your house key but began walking away without noticing.

Luckily, Kirishima was there and he noticed. He cleared his throat and spoke up right as he watched you step out the door, “L-L/n-san!” he called out.

You paused, looking back to where you heard your name, “Hmm?”

Kirishima walked up to you, “You dropped your key-” he explained, but before he could finish your body gave out. Kirishima’s eyes widened before he went to catch you before you hit the floor. “A-Are y-you okay?!” he stuttered, flushed from the fact a pretty girl was resting in his arms. Well, not really, considering he was just holding you up from falling on your face by your shoulders- but still.

You let out a quiet laugh, “Y-Yeah, I’m sorry, Kirishima. You can just leave me here, I’ll be fine,” you weakly brought up a hand in an attempt to wave the issue off.

Kirishima was mildly dumbfounded, he had to process what you said before any words came from his mouth,” W-What?!” He couldn’t just leave you here, on the floor no less! That wouldn’t be very manly or humane of him!

“You’re probably busy, right? I just forgot to bring candy with me today, but I can make it home on my own if I rest a little,” you explained, sitting up on your own.

Kirishima still couldn’t believe what he was hearing, you, the girl everyone idolized, was sitting on the floor telling a loser like him he was probably too busy to care about her and to just leave her there... What?

“L/n-san, I can’t just leave you here,” he began to panic, and then remembered two things. Your quirk was one that made it so you required more sugar than normal to function, and also that he had candy in his bag. “Y-You need candy, right?”

You smiled sheepishly, “Y-Yeah... but like I said I-” you began, panicking yourself but were interrupted when Kirishima held out the pieces of candy to you.

“Take them,” he grinned.You opened your mouth to speak, but he didn’t let you speak, “It’s just candy.”

You nodded, a blush forming on your cheeks, “Thank you...”

The next day, you came to school with what looked like (50) fifty or so cookies in a large bag, a determined look on your face as you plopped them down on Kirishima’s desk.

His jaw dropped.

“I didn’t know what type of cookie was good, so I made different kinds!” You smiled, and thus began the series of you both giving each other sweets until you both ended up just hanging out at the candy shop.

You always knew how to cheer him up.

Around the time he really felt like he couldn’t make it as a hero, all it took was you saying, “You’re my hero!” and Kirishima felt a hell of a lot better when you explained all the times you’d managed to keep track of when he’d saved you in the most simplest ways. He swore you’d stockpile them in the back of your mind, from times you forgot homework, nearly tripped on the stairs because you were distracted, and back to the first day you both actually interacted.

You’d always convince him his quirk was really cool too, as if your quirk wasn’t.

It was literally called Fairy, and it made you look like one. Sure, you’d bruise easily and needed sugar, but the fact you could shrink yourself was cool too! You’d try countering him with, “Yeah, but my wings don’t even actually carry me unless I shrink!” you’d say, referring to the translucent pair of wings on your back that only made you even more popular, not to your knowledge- of course.

...

Now that it’d been years, since he saw you last, he wondered what you were up to now. You ended up moving away before Kirishima started training as hard as he did, but if he ever heard of a Y/n L/n again, he wouldn’t hesitate to reconnect with you.

“Hey, Shitty Hair! I’m not waiting for you if you’re lagging,” Bakugo scoffed. Kirishima snapped out of it and ran after the impatient blonde.

A number of days passed, and it was finally time to go to the fashion show, Kirishima would’ve dread; however, he did manage to get the rest of the ‘bakusquad’ to come along anyways, so he was sure it wouldn’t be as boring as normal. Besides, it was a fashion show, emphasis on the show. Kirishima hoped he’d be somewhat entertained with the clothing.

He’d heard the theme was mystical, so he supposed that was cool.

Mina was ranting about it, she was clearly excited for the outfits. Bakugo was already grumbling about how he had better thing to do. Kaminari just came to see the ‘hot babes,’ of course, so as expected, the electric blonde was now going on about them as they pulled up to the place it was to be held at. Sero was just here because the rest of them were.

There was a long line to the inside of the place, Kirishima noted. It seemed like a lot of heroes were going, and that meant tons of paparazzi were here too. He didn’t even need common sense to know that though, there were already flashing lights from cameras left and right. Along with people holding mics pushing and fighting to get to the front of the ropes that held them back from the heroes.

Right as the group made past the security point, they heard a series of curses from behind them.

Mina turned around first to see the girl who the curses came from.

“Hi, Brad,” she chimed, throwing what looked like an ID badge at him, “Scan that for me, okay? Bye, Brad!” she said as she ran through smiling as she looked at the annoyed security guard.

When the h/c haired girl turned, she ran straight into Kirishima’s back with a quiet ‘oof.’

Rubbing your nose, you backed up, the red hair of the man you ran into catching your eye over all.

The man turned around, disoriented and slightly surprised.

“I’m sorry!” you quickly apologized, making eye contact with the man.

Kirishima’s eyes widened in disbelief. “No way!” he shouted, making you flinch as he grabbed your shoulders, bringing your face closer to him as if that would help him see if it was really you better.

Your face had matured a little, as your cheeks were still slightly chubby but also not at the same time. Your hair had grown longer- well, he was pretty sure it had, but the way it was done up into a messy bun made it harder to tell. Yet, you still had the same dazzling deep e/c eyes and the same flowing h/c hair.

“Y/n?!” Kirishima shouted.

You smiled sheepishly, and Kirishima’s grin widened it was you.

Meanwhile, you were very confused. This man was very familiar, too familiar to be a fan, but not enough to where you could place it. You were sure you don’t know anyone with such bright red hair, and especially not paired up with such a built body. The dude basically towered over you, he was at least a head taller than you even, yet the way he smiled at you like puppy made him a lot less intimidating.

Smile like a puppy-?

You visibly stiffened upon your realization, “Eiji?!” When you realized it was him, you waved your hand behind you, signalling to Brad you were fine and this wasn’t just an over obsessed fan. You backed up to get a better look at the tall man. “When did you get so tall?! What the heck?” you couldn’t help the way your smile became so wide it hurt your cheeks.

You also couldn’t help but give into the temptation of hugging him before he even got to answer, Your chest hit his as you gave him a tight hug, trying to make up for all the lost time, and Kirishima’s face almost turned the same color as his hair.

Meanwhile, the rest of the bakusquad silently teased the poor redhead as he struggled to return the hug, awkwardly patting you on the back just before you parted again.

Happily, you intertwined your hand behind you back with a smile. You began, “It’s been so-”

You began when a lady wearing a pencil skirt, blouse, and loud clicking heels came, interrupting you. “Y/n! You’ve barely made it! We need you, right now!”

You flinched as she grabbed your wrist, forcefully dragging you away. You turned sheepishly laughing and waved, “I’ll find you later, okay?!” you shouted, and turned to face forward.

Kirishima was left standing, a blush covering his face ear to ear as he took in all that happened.

After being bombarded with countless questions about you and who you were from mainly Mina and Kaminari, they’d finally settled down and found their seats.

Somehow, they’d managed to snatch ones right up at the front row. No one knew how, they really had no idea, but soon enough, the lights dimmed while the cat walk lights went even bright than they already were as upbeat music played.

Kirishima couldn’t even be bothered by the first model that walked, he was too busy thinking about you.

God, he was really happy.

What part did you play in this fashion show? That lady seemed pretty mad you came late, though the show wasn’t to start for another hour and a half when he watched you get dragged away.

He didn’t remember you saying anything about modeling or fashion in general. Though on the days you went out for fun on a day off from school, Kirishima did know you had a good sense of style, so he wouldn’t be surprised if you were one of the designers. Kirishima was very curious, but at the same time, he just wanted this all to be over so he could see you again and talk to you, if he was being completely honest.

Suddenly, the music and lighting changed once more. The music got quieter and the lights focused at the back where the models came from.

Mina was buzzing in her seat, smacking Kirishima in the arm, “This is it! This is the main piece!” she excitedly whisper shouted.

When you came onto the stage, Kirishima’s breath felt like it was kicked out of him. Goosebumps ran up his arms as his face deepened into a crimson blush the second time today. Kirishima tended to have a clean vocabulary, but holy fuck, out of all the women Kirishima had seen since all this time, you were still the prettiest- still drop dead gorgeous.

When Kirishima’s jaw dropped, he was sure it would fall off if Mina didn’t push it up for him.

The lights followed you down the stage you walked down with such confidence the air and entire mood of the room changed. There wasn’t a peep... until the ceiling creaked.

You didn’t react at first, as you reached the end you paused to pose but then it creak a lot louder and everyone looked up.

“Ah-” was all you said when the air conditioning unit began to fall and your face morphed into one of fear.

Everyone stood up, scared for your life but Kirishima was the only one who moved. Jumping over the tall ledge just in time to tackle you as he activated his quirk. Luckily, he was able to push you and himself far enough to when the unit reached the stage, neither you or him was effected by it.

That didn’t change the fact that what was effected were you and Kirishima’s heart beats, both ready to beat out of your chests from the adrenaline of a near-death experience and also the distance between your faces being close to none.

As you were both out of breath, you could feel his breath on your lips when things began sinking in.

Surprisingly, despite the fact every cell in your body wanted to cry, you laughed. Smiling, you spoke, “Once a hero,but it always a hero now huh, Eiji?” Kirishima pushed off of you. You both sat on your legs looking at each other, still disoriented from the previous amount. “That would’ve left a hell of a bruise, huh?”

Kirishima looked behind him at the air-con unit that surely would’ve crushed you. “I think more than that-”

You moved so you were on all fours as your crawled over the redhead. Kissing him on the cheek, “Thanks, my hero,” the way your words rolled of your tongue stunned him, the blush on his face never wavering, “Dinner?” you suggested.

Kirishima swallowed, “U-Uh- y-yeah, okay.”

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therainroguefanfiction · 4 years

Text

📱 Find Me (Tooru Oikawa) #13; Detention, part 1

📑 Table of Contents | ◂p r e v i o u s

Author’s Note: I’m seriously considering offering an alternate ending to this story where the read can choose to be with Watari instead because I’m really falling in love with him doing this story <3 Thoughts?

━━━━━━༻📱༺━━━━━━

You stifled a yawn with your hand as you dragged yourself into the school on Monday. To be honest, you were feeling a bit nervous about how Oikawa would treat you now. Surely he wouldn’t approach you in front of the other students, knowing how his fans watch him like a hawk… right? No, he would never do something so selfish.

You pulled open the door to your classroom, only to come to a stop, the color draining from your face. The man in question was sitting at your desk, surrounded by girls who were laughing at whatever he had just told them. ‘Yup, definitely transferring to Nekoma.’ Just as he glanced over, catching your eyes, you turned on your heel and speed walked away from the room.

“Y/N!” Oikawa scowled, jumping up from his desk and rushing after you, despite the disappointed cries of his fans. “You get back here!”

“No thanks,” you responded blankly, attempting to head down the stairs but he grabbed your arm, tugging you back toward him. You returned his scowl. “You have no sense.”

“Hah? What is that supposed to mean?” His brow furrowed, free hand resting against his hip. “And why didn’t you respond to me this morning?”

“I didn’t even get anything,” you muttered, pressing your back against the wall as students slowed down to stare at the school’s heart throb, but he didn’t even notice their looks, far too used to the attention.

“I sent you five messages.”

“Well, I didn’t get them.” You dug your phone from your bag to prove your point, but the phone wouldn’t power on. Your scowl was quickly replaced by a blank expression.

“You didn’t charge your phone, did you?”

You pursed your lips, shoving your phone back into your bag.

Oikawa started giggling, his arms covering his stomach. If he didn’t have everyone’s attention before, he certainly did now. “I can’t believe you, Geek-chan!”

Your cheeks burned at the nickname. “Don’t call me that!”

“But why not~?” He pouted, wiping away the tears from his eyes as his laughter finally died down. “It’s a cute name. Most people would be honored to receive a nickname from me, you know.”

“I’m not most people.” Your eyes narrowed at him. “Can we get this over with so we can go back to our lives?”

His head tilted to the side, bangs brushing across his eyes as his lips tugged down. “You make it sound as if we’re not going to be friends after this.”

“Because we’re not.”

“What?”

“Look,” you did your best to ignore the prying eyes of the other students as you pushed away from the wall, turning your body to face him. “I don’t know what you want from me or what you think you’re going to gain by being my friend, but I want no part of it. You’re the most popular kid in school, you can be friends with anyone you want, so instead of chasing after someone that isn’t interested, maybe you should try one of them? If you’ll excuse me.” You tried to brush past him, but he took hold of your upper arm, rooting you in place. With a sigh, you turned your head toward him. “Oikawa-san, I -”

The intensity within his brown eyes shocked you, snatching the words from your throat. It was the exact same look he had when he was battling for the final few points in the game and it sent a chill down your spine.

“You’re right. I can be friends with anyone I want in this school, yet here I am, chasing after you like a fool. Is it really so hard to believe that I want to be your friend?” He sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes shifting away from you for a moment as he collected his thoughts. When he finally looked back at you, his gaze was much softer. “You know, I was really hurt when you stopped responding. I wondered…” ‘…if I wasn’t good enough for you.’ He couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud. It was too intimate to bare his soul to you like that. A smirk suddenly sprung to his lips. “…if you had already fallen in love with me~”

Your eye twitched at the arrogant response and you smacked his hand away, heading to class without a word. Despite the urge to stop you, he remained still, his smirk slowly dropping as the warning bell chimed throughout the school. Why did he feel the need to say idiotic things when he started to feel vulnerable?

You returned to your class, thankful that the fangirls had dispersed by the time you got there, and you fell into your seat with a huff, turning your attention to the window. The sky was slowly darkening as gray clouds began to roll in, the chance of rain increasing as the time ticked by.

Watari chewed on his bottom lip as he glanced over at you, wondering if he should say something to you. He had messaged you after the game, asking if the two of you could talk because he knew that you believed that he betrayed you and he felt the need to stress that he hadn’t, but you never responded to him. Just as he worked up the nerve to approach you, the teacher entered the room, ordering everyone to take their seats. His explanation would have to wait.

━━━━━━༻📱༺━━━━━━

Watari glanced at the clock, determined to talk to you during lunch break. The bell chimed and he stood up, his chair scraping across the linoleum floor, but it was drowned out by the chatter of the students as they did the same. You paused your reading, glancing up at him.

“Y/N-san, can we -”

SLAM.

“Geek-chan!” Oikawa beamed brightly when his eyes landed on you, his body glowing like a spotlight made just for him were shining down on him. He stopped beside your desk, sending Watari a smile before turning to you. “Let’s have a chat over lunch, shall we?”

You glanced between the two boys, a bead of nervous sweat rolling down your cheek as you felt a dozen pairs of eyes looking in your direction. Granted, they were most likely focused on Oikawa, but that didn’t help to ease the uncomfortable mood that had settled over you. Honestly, you didn’t want to talk to either of them, you just wanted to spend your lunch break alone and in peace, but life clearly had other plans for you.

Before you could answer, Oikawa’s long fingers wrapped around your wrist, tugging you from your seat. Watari could only watch with a frown. You barely managed to keep your hold on the manga as he pulled you from the room, people parting as they stopped to stare at who was lucky enough to be getting his full attention. A sense of dread settled in the pit of your stomach and you didn’t like it, swallowing the lump that had formed in your throat.

Was this going to turn out like one of those shoujou anime where his fans get jealous and start bullying the object of his affection? ‘No, no,’ you scolded yourself with a shake of your head. ‘This isn’t an anime, Y/N, this is real life. Even though real life has really begun to feel like some poorly written fanfiction written by a sadistic author that likes to see people suffer… I should really stop reading those before bed.’

Oikawa led you to an unused club room on the third floor, where his bento was sitting on the table in the center of the room, waiting to be eaten. Sitting beside the bento were two pairs of chopsticks and a phone cord.

He slid the door closed behind you before extending his hand to you. “Give me your phone.”

“It’s dead.”

“Yes, I know that.” He rolled his eyes, flexing his fingers. “That’s why I borrowed a charger.”

Hesitantly, you pulled the phone from your pocket, setting it against his palm and watching as he plugged the cord into the outlet beneath the window. He took one of the chairs at the desk and began to unwrap the cloth around the bento box, sending you a look.

“Are you going to sit down?”

“Do I have to?” You questioned, rubbing the back of your neck as you turned your gaze to the window. It hadn’t gotten quite darker and you figured it would start pouring in the next hour or so.

He huffed, narrowing his eyes at you. “Stop being so complicated, Geek-chan.”

“Complicated is my middle name.” You sat across from him anyway, trying to get your thoughts in order. It was finally time for him to confront you about why you ghosted him and, you knew, he wouldn’t accept no as an answer. “If I tell you why I deleted the app, will you leave me alone?”

“Of course not.” He pointed his chopsticks at you and your eyes focused on the piece of omelette between them, feeling your hunger growing. Your stomach started to growl, reminding you that you had skipped breakfast to avoid being late. With a chuckle, he pushed the bento closer to you. “Eat.”

“It’s yours,” you stated, swallowing the saliva that had begun to form in your mouth, your fingers twitching as they inched closer to the second set of chopsticks.

“Yes, and I’m sharing it with you.” He rolled his eyes. “Are you done stating the obvious?”

For a moment, you debated on whether or not you should ask what the catch was, but your hunger was stronger than your paranoia and you picked up the chopsticks, grabbing a large chunk of omelette. It tasted like heaven, easily the best dish you had ever tasted. With a squee, you dug into the meal, scarfing it down as if manners didn’t exist.

At first, Oikawa was surprised and, if it were anyone else, he probably would have been a bit disgusted or annoyed, but with you, he couldn’t help but giggle, bringing his hand to cover his mouth. “So cute~”

You stopped dead at the compliment, cheeks warming up as you cleared your throat. Cute was a word only your mother had used to describe you and you refused to believe that he meant it. Even if he did, he was most definitely the type to compliment everyone he met, just trying to elicit a reaction from them. “Thank you for the meal. Did you make it?”

“Of course n -” He suddenly paused, eyes shifting to the side in thought before returning to you, a smile on his lips. “Yup! I made it just for you~”

“Y-You did?” You questioned in surprise, eyes widening a fraction as they met his. “You really didn’t have to…”

“I don’t mind at all!” He clapped his hands before cleaning up the now empty bento. “Let’s make this a new tradition, just you and me eating lunch.”

A bead of nervous sweat rolled down your cheek as you tried to think of a way to reject the idea. As nice as it seemed, and as nice as the food tasted, you preferred to spend your lunch alone reading manga. “I’d really rather not -”

The shrill sound of the warning bell signaled the end of lunch and popped up from the chair, offering you a bright smile and a wave. “I’ll see you after school, bai bai~!” And he was out of the room before you could say a word.

‘Wait… after school??’ You groaned, letting your head fall to the desk. ‘How the hell do I get out of this?’ With a heavy sigh, you grabbed your phone from the floor and left the room, pulling the door closed behind you. As you walked down the hall, you booted up the phone. It was only at thirty-percent, but it was better than nothing. ‘Oh, I never responded to Watari-san. Oops.’

You pulled up his message, scanning the words.

You winced as you recalled the expression he had given you in class. ‘Maybe he really didn’t betray me…’ The shrill chime of the bell rang again and you cursed, rushing down the hall for your homeroom, bursting through the door with heavy breath.

Sasaki-sensei raised a brow at you, hand on her hip. “You certainly took your time, Y/N-san.”

“I apologize, sensei,” you murmured, offering her a bow and hoping she was in a good mood, but she wasn’t.

“You can apologize during detention while writing a letter of apology.” Though she was smiling, you could practically see the dark aura around her, sending a shiver down your spine. “Now sit down.”

A bead of nervous sweat rolled down your cheek. “Yes, sensei…”

━━━━━━༻📱༺━━━━━━

▸n e x t

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eirian-houpe · 4 years

Text

Disparate Pathways

Read previous chapters on AO3

Chapter 15 - Trust No One

They didn’t travel far. Jefferson turned the purloined Bureau vehicle back toward Boston. He figured that would be the last thing anyone would expect him to do, and besides, he had a call to make and since he’d tossed the ‘borrowed’ phone almost as soon as he’d finished with it, he had to find another way than using his cell, which he was certain they’d be watching for; pinging.

He had no way to know if any kind of alert had been put out, but he figured as soon as the downed agents got picked up by EMS, there would be something, and he cursed inwardly that Gold hadn’t gotten back to him sooner, and no way to check that he had since. Jefferson wasn’t to know that even as he was thinking ill of the man, Gold was securing his home against danger.

He took the exit to a business district, another run down, abandoned sign of the times. The roads were concrete and were riddled with spider-web cracks that made the ride less than smooth. Each jolt and bump increased the ache in his shoulder. Downplaying the wound to Belle was one thing, but if he didn’t do something to deal with it soon he risked infection, and that would just be the icing on the day’s shit-cake.

A particularly large rut in the road roused Belle from her doze, and he turned an apologetic half-smile her way.

“Where are we?” she asked, and he glanced at her again to see her peering out of the window.

“Middle of nowhere business district,” he answered wryly, and when she looked back at him, he gave her an almost boyish smile and nodded to the run down building alongside which he had just pulled up. “Need to make a call.”

He watched her face crinkle in confusion, before she said, “You have your cell phone.”

He reached into his inside jacket pocket and brought out the various parts of his phone, separated from its battery.

“Safer this way,” he said, and killed the engine.

“But you made a call back there.” She gestured vaguely in a backward direction, and he got her meaning right away.

“Wasn’t mine,” he admitted. “Belonged to one of the other agents, and I ditched it right after the call.”

She didn’t answer, just looked down at her hands and sighed, and even before she spoke again, softly and with a good deal of sadness in her voice, he felt guilt creeping up to wrap around his throat, beneath his ruined scarf. He fought the urge to rub a hands over the scars on sides of his neck.

“I don’t…” she began softly, “I don’t understand how you can claim to be one of the good guys but—”

He cut her off equally as softly. “Listen, I’ve done what I have to keep us safe, to keep you safe, and yes, to use the phone I’m going to break in to that building. I’m going to check in with my handler. Let him know I got you out, and then we’re going to get a Ryde, collect my car, and I’ll take you to a… friend. He’ll keep you safe.”

“But you said you’re keeping me safe.”

“For now, yes,” he said. “But I have to get back. I have a job to finish… a lot of other people to keep safe as best I can.”

“You’re going back there?” Belle’s voice rose in pitch, clearly alarmed. “They’ll kill you! You’re insane!”

He shook his head. “Sane person in an insane world,” he said. “I have to see this through, Belle. I won’t��make the last eight years of my life be for nothing.”

For a moment he closed his eyes, as if that act would shut out the endless march of cruelty he’d witnessed and mostly managed to avoid being a part of, the ceaseless parade of faces, tear stained and bloodied. The cacophony of cries, that haunted his sleep and woke him in a cold sweat more often than not, when he managed to catch more than a couple of hours at a time.

Far worse than all of that was the time he’d lost with Grace; his Grace. His… and he had to keep reminding himself of that - believing that - otherwise he feared he’d lose sight of why he was doing what he was doing; Lose hope.

“Jefferson?”

Belle’s gentle call of his name, and the hesitant touch on his arm brought him back, and he swallowed hard.

“Come on,” he said by way of an answer, and unclipped both their seat belts, coming around the car to help Belle out before heading to the trunk to retrieve the first aid kit, and spare ammunition for the weapon he carried, slipping everything into the messenger bag he found there. At the last minute he also snatched up a blanket that was in the trunk, and brought it over to wrap around Belle. The wind was cutting, and he didn’t want her to catch a chill on top of everything else.

“Thank you,” she said as he tucked it around her, before steering her into the doorway of the building, only letting go when he needed both hands to operate the lock picks.

It had been a while since he’d had to use them. As a supposed hard ass criminal, his regular M.O. was simply to introduce his boot to any door he wanted open, so it took him a while and several muttered curses under his breath as the uncooperative tumblers slipped and refused his tender ministrations. Just as he was beginning to think he’d have to resort to the less refined manner of entry, the tumblers clicked into place, and the lock opened.

“Not quite ‘open sesame’,” he offered over his shoulder to Belle, “but it’ll do.”

He pulled open the door, allowing her to precede him, then led her, by feel alone, to the nearest office along the hallway. He flicked on the light as they entered, and he was somewhat gratified to discover the office lighting was sub par. A light blazing at that time of the night was more likely to attract the attention of any random, passing law enforcement, but a dim glow - that could be easily overlooked.

He quickly rolled the over-sized office chair from behind the desk, and nodding to offer it to Belle, suggested, “Take a seat. I shouldn’t be too long.” Then, as he picked up the receiver from the desk phone muttered, “I hope,” to himself.

The call was answered within three rings, and he could just imagine his handler stabbing at the button to take the call.

“Rab,” he said after a deep breath, intending to say more in greeting, but was cut off by the angry relief in the man’s voice.

“Milnor, what the fuck…!”

“Well, hello to you too.” He tried to sound nonchalant, but knew that he hadn’t quite pulled it off.

“Where the hell are you?” Rab demanded.

“Oh no,” he said, his voice turning cold in reflection of his handler’s attitude. “You don’t get to know that. Not after what you pulled!”

“My hands were tied, Jefferson, Rab said, and he could almost see the man spreading his hands as though he were helpless.

“Bullshit!”

”They were, I—”

“Bull. Shit,” Jefferson repeated. “There’s no fucking way you were kept out of the loop on that raid. Thirty minutes, you promised. Thirty god damned minutes, and you couldn’t even give me that. This whole thing has been a complete shit show from the off.”

”You’re wrong. The raid was a success.”

“She wasn’t there.” Jefferson scoffed.

”We picked up some of her people,” Rab said. “Plus there’s one in the hospital, apparently took a nosedive from an upstairs balcony…”

Jefferson glanced over to where Belle was sitting, her lip between her teeth, obviously tense; worried, and wondered if he should tell her, until Rab continued speaking, and then all thought of easing her conscience flew to the four winds.

“One of them will spill,” Rab finished.

It was all Jefferson could do not to laugh, bitterly, as tears sprang unexpectedly to his eyes. “You think any one of them is going to talk, you’re a fool.” His voice cracked on the edge of a whine.

”We’ll cut ‘em a deal. Make them an offer they can’t—”

“They won’t. Don’t you get it?”

”They will. They—”

“They’re terrified of her, Rab. Jesus Christ!” Jefferson ran his hand through his hair in exasperation. “A word from her… a breath - a look, and they’re dead, their family is dead… everything… everyone… wiped out!”

”Jefferson…”

“You think you can offer them anything worth that?”

”There’s witness protectio—”

“Oh, fuck you!” Jefferson exclaimed, and began to pace as far as the phone cord would allow him to. “You think she couldn’t find them? She’s everywhere man!”

”Sound like you’re afraid of her.”

“And so would you be if you ever listened to a word I said.” He paced across the floor again, repeating for good measure. “Ever.”

”You need to come in, Jefferson,” Rab said, “Decompress. Debrief - tell us what you know.”

“The hell I do.”

”We need your intel.”

“You had my intel,” he spat. “You chose to ignore it; made promises you had no intention of keeping just to try and keep me sweet.” He felt the tremor in his arm as he gripped the phone, his knuckles white as he held the receiver to his ear. “Well, fuck you, McNeal, and fuck the bureau.”

“We can help you.”

“You can kiss my ass!” he growled. “I have the daughter. I’m taking her somewhere safe.”

”You need to bring her home, Milnor,” Rab argued. “Her father—”

“—is as dirty as they are. Complicit.” He finished Rab’s sentence. “Look, this was just a courtesy call to let you know I’m alive. Don’t try and find me. I’ll come in if and when I’m ready.”

”Jefferson…” He ignored the warning tone in Rab’s voice. “If you do this, I can’t protect you.”

“Be in touch,” he said by way of an answer… hearing the man calling his name over and over again as he hung up the phone.

#rumbelle #implied torture #implied drug use #implied noncon #angst #hurt/comfort #Emotional Hurt/Comfort #UST #eventual smut #violence #gun violence #character death #disparate pathways #i will always write jefferson

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fericita-s · 4 years

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Vanished (part 2)

Vanished on AO3

Part One

Thank you @the-spastic-fantastic for beta-ing this, making the moodboard, and general and specific obsessive talk about this story, these two, and how best to kill you all with the angst.

Part Two

Iduna barely knew her husband when they married. She barely knew herself. Often upon waking she could recall the edges of things – an idea of sunlight on a stream, reindeer grazing nearby, the smell of smoke from a campfire and singing voices that joined with hers. But before she could see faces or hear names or make sense of where, it was gone.

Despite not knowing her husband well or her own memories at all, she felt quite safe with him. He was a kind man and he was devoted to her. His kindness was not only for her. When he had taken her to the cobbler’s shop, he asked after the man’s children by name and left castle-made sweets for them when he settled the bill. On a tour of wheat fields, he rolled up his sleeves to examine the planting, complimenting the farmers on their use of fertilizer and asking about planned crop rotations.

She found him endearing, so willing was he to share his deficiencies as he saw them. When he showed her the inner workings of the clock tower he had haltingly confessed it was his favorite place to escape his father’s ire or tutor’s schedules, the many flights of stairs a deterrent to both. He pointed to his favorite reading spot and told her his favorite tales and histories, promising to send his volumes to the Calders’ if she wished to read them too.

And yet he could be the commanding King when necessary. Shortly after their wedding, she accompanied him to the trial of the men accused of dragging Northuldra traders out of their Arendellian homes and killing them in retaliation for a skirmish in the north that had happened around the time she was rescued from sea. She listened in the Byrett, rapt, as Agnarr extolled the importance of welcoming all people to their port kingdom, letting justice prevail over vengeance, and calm over anger. He spoke of the Northuldra people as peace-loving, and the battle at the border as a confusing chaos where the magical elements had attacked Arendellian and Northuldra without discrimination. He stated that he saw his father fall to his death, but not by whose hand. He declared that both the Northuldra spears and Arendellian swords had been directed at the attacking Earth Giants and gusts of fire. She wondered at the mist that closed over all of them now, and knew it weighed heavily on him, though he did not want to talk about it with her.

Sometimes their bodies spoke without any words needed. She thought they were best at understanding each other through touch, though it made her blush to think of it. She couldn’t have told him her birthday or her mother’s name or the color of her eyes unless she looked in the mirror yet she seemed to know how to kiss the curve of his neck, stroke the plane of his back, admire the cords of muscle along his arm and encourage the tickle of his mustache on her stomach. Her favorite evenings were the two of them in their wide bed, exploring each other and needing no words to do so. In their bed, it was just the two of them, and figuring out what they liked wasn't frustrating like learning the names of all the monarchs of Europe or the rank of each council member. His pleasure and hers were a delicious goal to seek, an assignment she enjoyed as much as he clearly did.

It became easier to look forward instead of back once she was expecting. Agnarr had nearly wept at the news, solemnly promising to love her and the baby more than his duty to his kingdom. Linnea had begged to be named godmother. Thea helped her let out dresses, confessing that she hoped to be doing the same for herself in a year or so, if only her parents would let her and Elias set the wedding date. Elias had come to congratulate Agnarr, but left in anger. She supposed it had to do with his own delayed wedding plans and the frustrations that went along with that.

The Arendelle dishes she learned to like became unbearable in the first few months, and all she could eat for a while was fjellbrød and pepperkaker, the ginger soothing her riotous stomach. Just walking through Market Square and smelling the fish market was enough to send her to gutters, adding the contents of her stomach to the waste there. She had to excuse herself from a state dinner when the delegation from Finland presented a tray of lutefisk, the graying mass of it taking up residence in her nose.

Then, suddenly, at four months she was ravenous. Agnarr delighted in feeding her, making a game of it. The kitchen staff made meals of every nation they knew, and each dinner was a tasting course to see what the queen liked and what she politely declined. She felt her happiness swell with her growing baby, and thought Agnarr’s was too. She felt powerful in their lovemaking, her round middle and full breasts proof that her body and his had communion. Look what our bodies can do, look what we did. Look at the family we are making, look at this life I am building.

***

Iduna had few memories. And she was eager to make more. She walked in the Market Square, sometimes with Agnarr, sometimes with just her guard, and learned the names of the shopkeepers and shoeshiners and the merchants setting up carts with blocks of ice or fresh produce from the outlying farms.

She walked along the docks, giving out food to the women there whose fate she might have had if the Calders had not intervened, and learned the names of the boats and their crews. She learned the time of day that school let out for lunch and met the children with treats on Fridays, and when she learned one of the teachers was feeling ill, she sent her home and read the children stories until the end of the day. Later, the queen’s physician came to call on the woman with a basketful of food and medicine, packed by Iduna.

She judged the Harvest Festival Pumpkin Carving Contest and then gamely wore the pumpkin crown that was carved by her husband in one of the most popular events of the day. She and Agnarr stayed for the length of the festivities, and when she showed him how swollen her feet became after standing for most of the day, he carried her back home to the castle.

The people of Arendelle watched as the queen grew and shouted name suggestions for the baby when they saw her. Some gave her gifts – a carved reindeer, a cornhusk doll, a crown of entwined crocus stems and petals. She cherished them all and felt the hard plane of the wood, the rough and delicate husk, the velvety softness of the petals as she thought These are my people now. I belong here.

***

In November, Iduna and Thea picked flowers from the castle greenhouse for Thea’s bridal bouquet. Thea confessed to feeling nervous about the act of consummating the marriage, even though it had been difficult to wait through such a long engagement.

“Will it hurt? Will it be awkward? Will we just laugh and not be able to?”

“I thought it would be awkward, us not knowing each other well.” Iduna blushed, but continued. “But for a time it was all we could do well, without awkwardness. He was always hesitating before speaking, or starting to say something but then stopping. Perhaps that's the royal way? To be so guarded?” She blushed again. “But alone in our bedchamber, there is no hesitation.” She sighed, turning her head away from Thea, fingering the petals of a tulip. “I suppose he is a king. And was a young, eligible prince for a long time. I'm sure he had many opportunities to woo the ladies and learn.”

Thea selected a crocus and then reached for a rose. “I've lived here my whole life but there's never even been a hint of him courting anyone. Elias never mentioned anything either.” She shrugged. “But I suppose there are other ways of learning.”

Iduna cut the stem of the tulip she had inspected and handed it to Thea. “When you know each other as well as you and Elias do, it is sure to be wonderful.” She smiled, feeling mischievous. “Or it’ll become wonderful after the first few tries.”

***

Agnarr had one arm on the rope, and one around Iduna. The castle courtyard was packed with citizens eager to celebrate the start of the season. As Agnarr pulled on the rope and rung the bell, the crowd erupted in cheers and whistles.

“You’ve done this, Agnarr. You’ve turned their mourning into joy.”

He leaned down to kiss her, and the crowds cheered even louder. “No, you have.”

***

When Elsa was born later that month, it coincided with a blizzard that shut down the ports for a month. The fjord was frozen over, which no one could remember happening ever before. Agnarr was secretly delighted. He leaned Iduna against his chest as she held Elsa to hers, and the soft hair on Elsa’s head, so white it seemed invisible until touched. “What a boon! To have more time with our daughter and with you.”

The council carried out Agnarr’s orders to pay the workers usually dependent on trade and the sea their usual wage, even though they could not work. “Call it a gift to the kingdom to celebrate the arrival of our princess!” When Lord Hannesel protested, Agnarr was firm. “My father levied taxes that were overmuch. We can give back to the people this way, in their time of need.”

Iduna tried to wrap the baby tightly and sit close to the fire. But for all that baby Elsa seemed cold, with hands like icicles and layers of frost on her blanket in the morning despite the roaring fire in her nursery, she was a happy baby. When she smiled at six weeks of age, Agnarr stroked her cheek and said “Just like your Mama! A smile fit for a queen!”

Iduna felt the familiar sensation of tears in her eyes, something that had been happening frequently during the pregnancy and still now in these early stages of motherhood and little sleep. She thought Here is a person who looks like me. And she will always know where she belongs and who she is. She closed her eyes and made it a promise, a vow, a hope, a prayer.

***

“It’s so dark in here.” Iduna said as she walked past Agnarr, pushing a sleeping Elsa in a pram, and drew back the curtains. Dust fell lightly from them, making her cough, and she shielded Elsa’s face from it. Agnarr was still standing in the doorway. When she saw him, frozen by the open door, she walked back to him and gently took his hand. “It’s time. You want to do this.”

He squeezed her hand and shook his head, looking down at the wooden floors. “I don’t really want to. But I should do it. It’s been a year. I should look through his desk and his belongings and see if anything should be archived or shared with the council.”

“Has no one been here since he died?”

“No one. I told the servants to seal it off. I wish I could have just forgotten about him entirely. It would be easier to sort out my emotions that way.” Agnarr’s head jerked up quickly, a stricken look on his face. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

“It sounds like he was a hard man. I can see how your feelings for him would be complicated.”

Agnarr sighed and walked further into the room. He hesitated behind the large cherry wood writing desk. Iduna walked behind him and picked up a portrait in a gilded frame and ran her finger over the woman’s face. “I see you in her. Is this your mother?”

“Yes.” Agnarr smiled. “She died when I was a small child and I don’t remember her much. My father always wanted to tell me about her, but I never wanted to hear it. I thought knowing her would make me miss her more.” He paused. “Is – is it better, do you think? To not know what you’re missing? Is that how it is for you?”

Iduna leaned down to kiss Elsa’s head and then straightened to answer. “I think I would rather know who my mother is and miss her. The feeling of loss is still there. I would like to have a name for it.” She put the picture back on the desk and picked up a stack of papers. “Now. Let’s get to work.”

***

They sorted the letters from the receipts and council notes, read aloud correspondence from a fussy Duke of Weselton, and laughed over a series of portraits that Iduna found of a ten-year-old Agnarr, chest puffed out with pride and hair neatly combed back. When cooing issued from the pram Iduna picked up Elsa and nursed, sitting in the large chair behind the desk. Agnarr smiled at her and started in on the next stack. Iduna let her eyes close as Elsa nursed, enjoying the sense of accomplishment that nourishing her baby gave her. She might not be able to give Elsa portraits of herself as a child or a family home steeped in tradition and riches, but she would be her mother, she would give her what she needed, and she could give her as many memories as she could hold.

She heard the soft rustle of papers stop and opened her eyes. “Did you find anything?”

Agnarr was squinting and reading the document again. “Listen to this. My King, The troops are readied for our trek to the North, though they do not as of yet know the orders you plan to give. We will be armed and ready to attack at your direction. The soldiers have not attacked civilians, have been trained never to do so unless it’s life or death, so you may have trouble with compliance on that. I will do my best to ensure that bloodshed is minimal and that we are victorious in annexation. – General Sorensen.”

“Your father planned the attack? The one that killed him?”

Agnarr looked at the letter again. “So he started the battle. He was killed in retaliation, not in ambush.”

Iduna watched as several different emotions passed over his face: anger, sadness, and then – was that hope?

“I’ll show this to the council. We’ll organize a day of lamentation for our kingdom’s plot and the soldiers we lost to the mist as a result. We will pray and seek forgiveness and atone.” He looked up from the letter and into her eyes, the intensity of his feelings clear. “Perhaps it will be enough to begin talks for peace among the council. And perhaps – maybe – it is what will bring down the mist.”

***

The bishop bowed his head and those in the chapel followed suit. “We ask for mercy and we ask for forgiveness.”

“Oh Lord, hear our prayer.” The many voices of a full congregation – Agnarr and Iduna, the families of missing soldiers, the Council members, the leaders of industry, the farmers, and the working men and women of the kingdom echoed in reply. Crowded into the pews, they all hoped for a change in the mist.

“Our nation has sought its own glory and not yours, we have sought to conquer the land rather than steward it, we have sought to rule over our fellow man instead of treat him as an equal. We ask for mercy and we ask for forgiveness.”

“Oh Lord, hear our prayer.”

“Friends, hear the promise of the gospel. In Jesus Christ, you are forgiven. Amen”

Agnarr bowed his head with the rest, but prayed also to the spirits, that the Air, Earth, Wind and Fire would see fit to release the Enchanted Forest from the grip of the mist it had sealed it with. He prayed that his daughter would grow up knowing the two halves of her identity, and that Iduna’s identity would be restored to her. He prayed for his soldiers, for his kingdom, and for his family, and he wasn’t sure who he trusted to answer the prayer.

***

Spring came late and the castle still felt cold. There were drafts of icy air as late as May and Agnarr asked the servants to seal up wherever the cold was coming from, not wanting his wife or child to catch a chill.

Then on a warm day in June while the royal family sat on a blanket in the sun, baby Elsa propped into a seated position between them, they watched as her hands that had been empty only a moment ago were suddenly holding a ball of ice.

“Where did that come from? That bit of ice she has?” Iduna reached for it, feeling the coldness of it and her daughter’s hands, checking for frostbite on her fingers.

They watched as Elsa clapped her hands together and snowflakes fell between them.

“Is she – is she making that? Is she making snow? Is she making ice?” Agnarr’s voice was incredulous. “I’ve never heard of a child doing that. Here or in any kingdom, even those with more magic.”

Iduna picked Elsa up quickly and laid her in her lap, checking her feet, her arms, her legs. “Is this my fault? Is this something common where I am from? Have I cursed our daughter with magic that will be dangerous to her?” Her questions had become frantic, the words pushed against each other as she said them.

“No!” Agnarr’s answer was quick and she looked over at him. He reached for Elsa and picked her up under her arms, lifting her high in the air. “No. Elsa is a gift. Her magic is a gift. And we will work to make the kingdom safe for a magical queen.”

“People were lynched less than a year ago for being associated with the spirits of the Enchanted Forest. The day of lamentation might have swayed some hearts on the Northuldra, but not all. And mothers tell their children stories about the terrible trolls who kidnap little ones with glowing crystals that tell the future. People don’t trust magic. How can you keep her safe? She’ll be in danger every day if people find out!”

Agnarr brought Elsa down to his chest, holding her with one arm, and put his other around Iduna. “No, we’ll protect her. She can learn to control it I’m sure. ‘Til then we’ll lock the gates. Reduce the staff. We will limit her contact with people. We’ll keep her powers hidden from everyone.”

Iduna shook her head, reaching to hold Elsa’s hand. “Won’t that raise suspicion? Suddenly changing staff and access to the castle?”

“Not for a new royal family who wants their privacy. I can explain it simply, believably.”

Iduna breathed in deeply, leaning into his side. Elsa blew bubbles, and as they dribbled out of her mouth, they turned to wisps of snow, floating away but never melting in the heat of the June sun.

That night in their bedchamber, he reassured her with kisses, nuzzling into her neck and laying her down on the crisp linen sheets. They grasped and pulled at each other, desperation and worry dissipating into the pleasure of his hands on her thighs and her legs wrapped around him. As they rocked into each other, their steady rhythm and the press of their bodies was soothing, like a cry for mercy or a prayer of hope.

***

“I won’t sign this.” Lord Hannesel crossed his arms and sat back in his chair. “This is not good for our kingdom.”

“Our kingdom wrongfully attacked another, with no provocation. We must sign this declaration of peace and post it – on the docks, in the Byrett, near the stones where the mist begins. It will serve as a sign of our intention to keep to our own borders and to respect the lands and resources of the Northuldra as a distinct sovereign power from our own.”

“It will serve as a sign of our weakness!” Lord Hannesel spat out his words, derision in them. “A sign of a young king who is afraid of battle. Your father was not afraid.”

“My father committed war crimes.” Agnarr pushed the paper across his desk, pointing to the inkwell. “All of the other council members have signed. Willingly and happily. You will sign too or you will resign your position on my council.”

Lord Hannesel stood, pushing the document away. “Your father was right about you. You’re too soft. And he was right to not tell you of his plans for annexation. You wouldn’t have understood the need to display military might then and you aren’t making the right choice for your kingdom now.”

Agnarr stayed seated and calm, mustering as much command into his voice as he could. “I am making the right choice for my kingdom. You are no longer welcome in my council or in my confidence.”

Lord Hannesel turned to leave, the edge of his coat knocking the inkwell over and it looked to Agnarr like a seeping wound on the desk, soaking and sprawling, spreading its stain.

***

For Elsa’s first birthday, every child in Arendelle was given a book of fairy tales and fireworks lit the cloudy sky. The castle gates were opened for a celebration in the courtyard and Iduna hoped any signs of snow or ice could be blamed on the December weather.

After having the gates closed for half of the year, it felt disorienting to have them opened again. There were too many eager faces and curious looks, and all Iduna could think about was a mob hurting her baby like the rioters had done to the Northuldra traders not even two years before.

Iduna rocked Elsa long after she had fallen asleep, needing to feel the motion of it and the crush of her daughter’s body against hers. Agnarr came into the nursery at midnight and found Elsa asleep in her crib and Iduna asleep in the rocking chair, their hands linked through the slats of the crib.

He ran his hand along Iduna’s cheek and then scooped her into his arms, tucking her head against his chest and walking them back to their bedroom. She awoke as he settled her into their bed.

“I have a gift for you as well. It’s not complete yet, but it will be by summer. By the time we need to keep Elsa’s powers more hidden.” He curled his body around hers and spoke into her hair. She sighed and settled into him, feeling safe and warm. “It’s a cottage on our border, near the Enchanted Forest. The architects are calling it the Royal Sommerhus. A barn and attached guesthouse for servants if you want some there.” He nuzzled against her neck under her ear, giving it a small kiss. “We can go when the weather is warm to keep her from suspicion. Open the gates here again, stay at the castle only in winter. The Sommerhus will be our refuge in the warm months.”

Iduna turned so she was facing him and placed a hand on his cheek. “That’s good. Thank you..” She kissed him, grateful. “Did you give out the fairy tale books so that some in the kingdom might long for magic instead of fear it?”

Agnarr smiled and she saw hope in his eyes. The promise of a better future. “I did. And it might. We can hope.”

Iduna touched her nose to his. “We can.”

***

Iduna hoped but she also researched. She bought books on enchantments and spells, hunted down by a broker in town who thought they were being bought by a royal dressmaker looking for unique ideas. She asked Captain Calder to tell her about the various ports of call he had seen while still sailing, paying particular attention to those with fantastical or magical elements. She learned about undead pirates who were cursed to sail forever, mermaids who sang so beautifully it drove men mad, princes who transformed into beasts. But nothing about ice or snow. She used a room next to the library, not exactly a secret from Agnarr, but not something she shared with him. Because she was beginning to suspect that she had brought this to Arendelle. That wherever she was from was central to the mystery of understanding their daughter.

She was coming to believe that Agnarr might think so too. Though they had been married for almost two years now, he still seemed closed off, unwilling to tell her certain things. He wouldn’t talk about the day that made him king, or about what the conflicts with his father were about. He had been silent to her teasing questions about how he learned to be so skilled at the movement of their bodies together. Could her past be poisoning their marriage, even though she didn’t know what it was?

After months of this, the answer came quite suddenly. Iduna and a maid were giving Elsa a bath. As Iduna wrapped her in a warm towel, she hummed a tune under her breath.

“What’s that, You Highness? What’s that you’re singing?”

Iduna stopped and thought about it. “I don’t know. It just came to me. I suppose I’ve heard it in the Market Square?” She sang a few more notes of it and stopped when the maid tilted her head.

“Pardon me for saying, Your Highness, but that’s a Northuldra lullaby. How do you know it?”

Iduna shook her head, fear rising in her chest. “I…I don’t know.”

She handed Elsa to the maid, directing her to dress her and walked quickly down the hall to the library. She thumbed through the books until she came to the section on foreign kingdoms, her fingers shaking as she felt on the spines and squinted her eyes to read the dusty titles. No one used this section, but she knew there were some books in the Northuldra language here. She found one and pulled it down, opening it up, and immediately dropping it.

It was written in Northuldra runes.

And she understood it perfectly.

***

“I need to tell you about my past. And where I’m from.” His fingers touched her hair and she nestled her cheek against his palm.

“I’m listening.”

It was always easiest to talk to him when they were touching. She thought about how safe he always made her feel, how he had promised that he would keep his vows to her even if she was a pirate. But wasn’t it worse if she was Northuldra, at least for most in Arendelle? He might be trying to change that perception with apologies and justice, but would he really want his wife to be from the tribe that murdered his father? Where Arendellian soldiers were still stranded in the mist or killed in battle? She shivered and leaned closer to him, the words barely above a whisper. “I think I’m Northuldra.”

He stiffened, but didn’t pull away, so she continued. “I can read their runes and I know one of their songs. I know the language.” She looked up to his eyes, but she wasn’t sure what they held. They were glassy and shone with something she couldn’t comprehend. She swallowed hard and drove on, praying he would believe her. “I didn’t realize until today -” With a shock she realized that he was crying. His tears were running down his face and falling to her arm. He leaned his forehead against hers and let out a deep sigh. He was silent for a long moment.

“You are. You’re Northuldra. We escaped the battle with the spirits, the North Wind helped us flee, and I brought you out of the wood before it closed.” He gripped her tightly against him and gently rubbed his thumb over her cheek. “You were injured. Somehow, you had hit your head. You were unconscious - barely breathing. I didn’t know how to help you. So I took you to the trolls. They could save your life, save your mind, but it came at the cost of your memory. They warned me it might - but I couldn’t live without you, Iduna.”

Iduna drew back, tensing, her heart pounding and her breath coming in gasps. It was too much, all at once. He had said it so quickly, like it was a relief to say the words, but there was no feeling of relief for her. “You’ve known? You’ve known me and not told me who I am?”

She pulled away from him and he reached for her, palms up, arms outstretched. “I wanted to keep you safe! I was worried you’d be killed if people knew!”

“But to keep it from me? You could keep it from others, Agnarr, but you should still have told me! Do you trust me so little? I am your wife!” She continued to back away from him, hugging herself tightly and focusing on her anger to keep the tears out of her voice.

“Please, Iduna, I just wanted to keep you safe!”

“No!” She began to cry, choking on her words as she did. “You didn’t trust me! You didn’t trust me with the truth. Or is it that you don’t trust any Northuldra? That you wanted me to stay ignorant about my past so I would be the perfect queen, no wild ways or savage impulses?”

Agnarr took a step back, his hands still reaching for her. “No! No, of course not! I love you and I love the ways of the Northuldra! I want peace between our people!”

She scoffed. “So I’m a token, a way to gain their trust if the mist ever opens? Queen Iduna, the Northuldra bride?” Her voice cracked on the last word. “How could you use me like that?”

“Iduna, I love you!” He said desperately. “I loved you before any of that happened. We were handfast to one another a year before the battle, before any of this. I was wrong to lie, but it was to keep you safe! Please, believe me!”

She swallowed, her voice a whisper. “Do I have a mother? Father? Brothers or sisters?”

He spoke gently, still trying to touch her but she stepped away again and he stopped moving. His hands dropped uselessly to his sides. “Yes. Your mother and father and three older brothers loved you very much and you loved them. But...the battle was so chaotic, and you and I were away from where it started. I don’t know who else besides my father was killed.”

She backed up until she hit the doorknob of their room. “I’m leaving. Elsa and I. I’m taking her. I can’t - I can’t look at you.” She reached behind her, gripped the doorknob with white knuckles, turned and ran until she got to Elsa’s nursery. Iduna collapsed next to the crib, silently weeping so as not to wake their child.

#agduna #vanished #king agnarr #queen iduna #baby elsa #amnesia AU #part 2 #agnarr #iduna #mama and papa arendelle

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holdthosebees · 5 years

Text

La Belle Dame

Rating: T Pairing: John/Martin, pre-slashish. Background Melanie/Georgie. Summary: No powers, drag queen AU. In which John’s ex-girlfriend drags him to a charity show, and he has an awkward encounter with one of the queens.

A/N: A procrastination oneshot that I wrote while not working on any of my many, many WIPs. Shoutout to @jinxedlucky, who helped me workshop this idea and then told me not to work on it until I finish something else, and who was right. Also--Martin’s drag name, and the title, both come from the Keats poem La Belle Dame Sans Merci.

The drag queen on stage had glitter in her beard and the most impressive biceps John had ever seen. The red sequins on her skintight dress shimmered as she walked up and down the edge of the crowd, mic cord trailing behind her, as she reached out to regulars, all winks. Georgie tapped John’s shoulder; he had to lean in to hear her, her hair brushing against his ear.

“That’s Sasha’s friend,” she said. “Tim. The one I was telling you about.”

John nodded. He’d been struggling to keep track of all of people in Georgie’s new social circle, her girlfriend’s friends and their friends who were all supposed to be his friends by some sort of mathematical transference. The drag queen on stage tapped the mic, and grinned. Her lips were very red.

“Ladies, gentlemen, monsters, everyone else,” she said, pitching her voice low. “Welcome... to Eastbenders!”

There were a few half-hearted cheers.

“Oh, come on, you can do better than that. Anyway, for the virgins in the audience, all our queens are local and all our proceeds will go to providing shelter and services to trans youth.” Another pause for cheers, more enthusiastic this time. “If you have any questions, ask comrade Sasha over there in the booth. Wave to the people, Sasha!”

John had met Sasha a few times over drinks. She seemed a very sensible person, unlike Georgie’s new girlfriend Melanie, who hated him on sight. He resolved to go and find her after the event, and maybe donate a bit. That was why he was here, after all; the charity.

“And the rest of you old slags, go say hello anyway. I promise you she’s very friendly.” The queen punctuated her sentence with a slow roll of her hips and a leer. John scowled down at his ginger ale, and ignored Georgie’s knowing look. She wasn’t going to tell him to lighten up, because she knew that he’d just roll his eyes in response, and she didn’t need to, because he knews she was thinking it.

It was just that this, the lewd jokes for the sake of lewd jokes, the self-conscious decadence, it was very much not John’s scene. He didn’t have anything against it, exactly; he just found it childish, and strange, and there was something profoundly alienating about it besides. If it were up to him he’d be at home, reading, or putting a few more hours in on the project he was supposed to have in by Monday, somehow, although Elias clearly didn’t understand how long database work actually took.

But it was for charity, Georgie had said, and it had been ages since he’d been out and around, and he wasn’t going to meet anyone new if he just sat around moping. To which he had responded that he didn't feel the need to meet anyone new, and she’d looked at him with her eyes so knowingly sad, tinged with an insufferable pity. And so here he was, crammed into an uncomfortable booth in a dim bar, watching a man in a dress with a wig as tall as his head and heels you could punch through metal sheeting with croon into a cheap microphone.

“I am your host for the evening, Kinky Spice--” someone in the back booed. The queen sighed exaggeratedly. “Fine, you caught me. I’m your host, Kim Morningwoodburn--” More booing, and scattered laughter. “Tough crowd! I’ll deal with you later, you naughty audience members you. I am, cross my heart, your host, Diana Explosion, and I’m here to ask you to welcome in our first performer, the bizarre, the incomparable Honey Wilde!”

The lights dimmed, and turned blue. The crowd applauded as flog began to slip in from the corner of the stage, creeping across the floor. The music started, something slow and electronic. John was intrigued despite himself.

Honey Wilde slunk slowly out of the shadows. Her shoulders were hunched, and she moved with a slow lurch. Her straight black wig hung in front of her face, like a creature from a Japanese horror movie. The lights flickered out.

When they turned back on, she was standing at the edge of the stage, arms spread wide. She was tall, even without the heels; with them, she towered. Her hair was back, revealing a beautifully painted face; even John, who didn’t see the point of this sort of thing, had to admire the artistry. She was wearing a black gown of some sort of matte material, and black opera gloves. And on them, marching up her arms and around the curve of her bodice, curled around her throat--spiders. Huge, plastic spiders. And in her right hand, which she stretched out to the audience, slowly walking across her palm--

“Don’t worry,” she said, in a husky stage whisper. She stroked the back of the tarantula with one finger. “She won’t bite. Unless you ask nicely.” She snapped her teeth, and then smiled, looking suddenly self-conscious. Diana Explosion wolf-whistled. John shuddered. He looked around, plotting an escape route. When he looked back at the stage, Honey’s eyes were on him.

“If one of you could please do me a favor,” she said. “Tell the silver fox in the back row that I bite, too.”

John’s face burned. Georgie jostled him with her shoulder.

“He’s twenty-five,” she yelled back. The crowd laughed. Honey Wild ducked her head, and when she looked back, her smile was crooked.

“I suppose being with you has aged him prematurely, has it?” she said. Georgie laughed. John didn’t. The tarantula walked slowly along Honey Wilde’s palm.

“Only a joke,” she said. “Don’t let it... eat at you.”

Diana Explosion jeered. Honey shrugged. The gesture was strangely sheepish; it didn’t belong to the person in the gown and the dark red lipstick. Then the music shifted abruptly, pitched eerily up, and the performance began.

It seemed to be some sort of performance art, with slow techno interspersed with half-song stanzas of Keats’ Ode to a Nightingale. What that had to do with spiders, John couldn’t say. He stopped paying attention. As the queen lurched and undulated across the stage, John stared down at his drink and thought angry, vague thoughts about pointless, fatuous entertainment and pretentious artists and men who thought that having a cock counted as a political statement. The next number featured a queen in a ridiculous harlequin costume and some kind of calliope remix, and John ignored Georgie’s worried glances and insistent nudges and pulled out his phone.

When the break came, he slid past her and went out the side for a cigarette. It was a cool night; he stood with his back to the brick wall and looked up a the sliver of orange-grey sky above the buildings. He breathed in, felt nicotine fill his lungs, allowed himself a moment to relax.

The door swung open. The man who emerged was tall and trying not to be. He had unruly brown hair that seemed pressed down on one side, and was wearing a jumper, ripped shorts, and fishnets. There was a grey smudge of hastily removed eyeliner around his eyes. “Oh,” he said. “Sorry. Hello. Mind if I share the alley for a bit?”

John shrugged. He offered the man his pack of cigarettes--might as well be polite--but was turned down.

“It’s just--need to get some air, you know? Decompress. I always get a bit jittery after a number. Can barely hold my hands straight, ha.”

“Hm,” John said.

“I don’t know how Tim does it. Of course, can’t hurt that he’s just like that all the time, I mean. It’s not really work for him, he just puts on a dress and goes out there, does his thing. Stuff really comes natural to him, you know?”

“I suppose,” John said.

“Sorry--you’re probably trying to relax, and here I am, talking your ear off.” The man ran his fingers through his hair, making it even more untidy, and looked down. There was a flush creeping up the side of his neck. “I, um. I’ll be out of your hair in a second, I promise. Just, while I’m here, I wanted to apologize.”

John raised an eyebrow.

“If I crossed some sort of line,” the man went on, as though that explained something. “I mean, it’s what most people are here for, to be honest, someone to flirt with and be mean to them, but you seemed sort of uncomfortable? So. Sorry about that. It’s just, I don’t really do this that often anymore, I’m only here because Tim made me, and for the charity. So I’m out of practice with the back and forth, is all.”

John squinted at him. The lighting was different; so was his posture, the shape of his face without makeup. But no, he recognized him now.

“You’re Honey Wilde,” he said. “The one with the tarantula.”

“Oh! Yes. Sorry. Not right now, I mean, right now I’m Martin. But yeah, that’s me.” Martin gave an awkward little wave. John took a deep drag on his cigarette and let the smoke out slowly.

“It’s fine,” he said. “Are you sure? You seem sort of...”

“It’s fine,” John said again, more firmly. Martin’s smile was pained. He had dimples, John noticed; they were slightly asymmetrical, the right one deeper than the left.

“Well that’s--good. I’m glad.” They stood in awkward silence for a moment. Martin kept looking at John, and then away; after a moment, John realized that he was being checked out.

He considered this. Martin wasn’t bad looking, as far as John could tell. He seemed nice enough. The apology had seemed genuine. And there was a part of John, a vicious, petty corner of his heart, that enjoyed the thought of leaving Georgie in the bar to go home with a virtual stranger.

“I’m sorry if it’s a step,” Martin said slowly, “but you don’t really seem to be enjoying yourself? Did your girlfriend drag you along, or something?”

“Ex girlfriend,” John said shortly. Martin’s eyes went wide.

“Oh,” he said. “Oh, I’m--that makes it worse, doesn’t it. I’m sorry.”

Of course, there were the negatives. Sex with someone he knew well was just as likely to be uncomfortable and awkward as it was pleasurable; with a stranger, the risk was doubled. Martin seemed courteous, but he still might take it personally when John asked him not to touch him, or have weird kinks, or just expect John to be more into it than he could possibly be and come to his own conclusions when John inevitably wasn’t.

John watched Martin run a broad hand through his hair again, and decided that it wasn’t worth it.

“It’s--it’s fine,” he said, shrugging. “It was a long time ago. She has a girlfriend now, actually, who’s working behind the bar.”

“That’s--Oh, you mean Melanie? That’s Melanie’s Georgie?” Martin smiled, more genuinely this time. “Melanie won’t shut up about her. They seem sweet.”

“I don’t know if sweet is the word I would use to describe Melanie King,” John said. “But yes. They do seem to suit each other, don’t they.”

“Yeah.” There was something wistful in the way Martin said it, and a little sad. They looked at each other. John felt an unpleasant roll of anxiety; this was it, this was the moment when Martin would make a move, and John would say no, and they’d both go back inside feeling uncomfortable and awkward.

But Martin just pushed off from the wall and looked back at the door and said, strangely tentative, “Well, it was good to meet you. I should get back in. I’m not performing any more, thank god, but I don’t want to miss the second act. I’ll, uh, see you around, yeah?”

John blinked at him.

“Right,” he said. Martin flashed him a quick smile, and then opened the door. Through it, John could hear Diana Explosion, calling out, “--your seats, my lovely monsters, let’s get this show back on the road.” Then Martin was gone, the door closed behind him, and John was alone.

He took another deep drag on his cigarette. His phone buzzed, a text from Georgie, asking him where he was. He muted his phone and put it back in his pocket. Not yet. Soon, but not yet.

#the magnus archives #tma #my fic #jonmartin #jo(h)n sims #martin blackwood #JM

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haledamage · 5 years

Text

Rhicember 12/22

I got you something… - Kira/Mason

“I got you something.”

Kira held a small black box out to Mason. He stared at it suspiciously.

“Why?” He managed to fit a remarkable amount of contempt in that single word.

She sighed and shook the box in his direction, insistent. “Just take it.”

“Hope you aren’t expecting a gift in return, sweetheart,” he said, though he still didn’t make any move toward the box.

“I’m not stupid.” She rolled her eyes. She took a step closer to him, ready to attempt to force him to take the gift if she had to. “Fucking take it, Mason. It’s not going to bite you.”

He finally relented, though he clearly didn’t believe it to not be dangerous, eyeing it and her warily. He opened the box and wariness gave away to confusion as he pulled out a simple door key. “The fuck is this?”

“It’s a key.” He just kept glaring at her, so she sighed and added, “Follow me.”

Surprisingly, he did. She led him out of the apartment and up the stairs, all the way up to the top. She took the key from him to unlock the door leading up onto the roof and into the cold night air. Kira stopped just past the doorway and watched Mason as he slowly walked past her, some of the tension draining from his shoulders as he looked around.

It was a simple, flat roof of stone and concrete, a waist-high wall around the outside edge, pretty barren except for a few service units and air vents scattered about. Near the middle was a bell tent, barely more than just a pole draped in canvas, with an electric lantern, a space heater, and a clear, waterproof plastic case filled with books. It was a chilly winter night, but the roof was clear of snow and somehow it never felt as cold up here as it should.

“Even as small as Wayhaven is, sometimes it’s just… too much,” Kira said quietly, not wanting to break the calm she always felt in this place. “So I come up here. No one else does, or at least I’ve never seen them. In the middle of the night, it can feel like I’m the only person awake in the whole world.”

“It’s quiet,” Mason said, and there was something almost gentle and awed in his tone. He stood at the edge of the roof, staring down at the street far below them. “Why did you show me this?”

“Because I knew you’d get it. I…” she tried to decide how best to answer. After a moment of consideration, she decided to just tell him the truth. “I had no idea what to get you for Christmas. It didn’t seem right to not get you anything, since I got something for everyone else, especially considering… well, considering. But you don’t strike me as the type that likes sentimental knick knacks.”

He scoffed in clear agreement, but even that was softer, less hostile than she was used to hearing from him.

“I wanted to give you…” she paused. Everything she wanted to say sounded too cheesy. This is a piece of me I’ve never shared with anyone else, she wanted to tell him. Please just take it. She finally settled on saying, “Peace. At least a little bit of it. With that key, you can come up here anytime you want. I come up a lot, but if you don’t want company, just let me know you’re here and I’ll make sure to leave you alone. The tent blocks the worst of the wind, and for really cold nights there’s a heater if you--”

“Kira,” he said, and her rambling stopped abruptly at the unfamiliar sound of her name from his lips. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” she said softly. “Happy Christmas, Mason.”

“Yeah. You too.” He held her gaze for a long moment, his stormy gray eyes unreadable, before he looked away abruptly, shoving his fingers through his hair. “I hope you’re still not expecting a fucking gift.”

“I don’t need one. That isn’t what this is about.”

Mason walked over to a corner of the waist-high wall along the edge of the roof and leaned against it, fishing a cigarette out of his pocket. He stared out over the sleeping town, smoke curling lazily around him in the cold dark. Kira watched him, unable to look away; she’d never seen him so at ease, shoulders relaxed and a small smile on his lips that on anyone else she would have called sweet. Not for the first time, it made her wish she were an artist, so she could immortalize this moment. She settled for burning it into her memory instead.

He shifted a little under her stare, tensing for just a second, and then he surprised her by holding an arm out, beckoning her closer. She didn’t even hesitate.

She fit against his side like she was meant to be there, like they were made to fit together. Stupid, sentimental, but she didn’t fight the feeling this time or the strange warmth that settled in her chest at his proximity. Blame it on Christmas, on the twinkling fairy lights far below them, on the cold winter air that never quite intruded on their hideaway enough to force them back inside her apartment.

Leave it to Mason to ruin the moment. “I bet that tent’s big enough for two,” he said, voice low and sultry, close enough that his lips brushed the shell of her ear.

Kira blushed, her face going much redder than could be blamed on the cold. “We should probably go back inside,” she said, keeping her voice strong but unable to look him in the eye.

“Bed in there’s big enough for two as well.” He chuckled, and she knew the shiver down her spine couldn’t be blamed on the cold either. His arm, which had been casually wrapped around her waist, slid lower until his hand settled firmly on her hip. “Come on.”

Despite the flush on her cheeks, she followed him willingly toward the door, his arm still snugly around her. “I’m a bit disappointed in you, Mason,” she said, and though she could nowhere near match the kind of teasing tone he was capable of, she did a decent job of it.

His smirk said he agreed. “In what way?”

“No jokes about unwrapping my gift? About you being my Christmas present? Really.” She opened the door back into the warm apartment building. “I left the door wide open, but you never stepped through.”

-------

Three days later, Kira walked into her room at the warehouse to find a box on her pillow. It wasn’t wrapped; it wasn’t even a fancy box, just a simple brown box about the size of a pack of playing cards.

She opened it with a strange sense of trepidation and poured the contents into her hand. Inside was a plain gold ring on an equally plain black leather cord. She stared at it in confusion for several long moments before she realized what it was she was looking at. When she did, she collapsed onto the edge of her bed, her legs no longer able to support her weight.

She wasn’t surprised when she heard Mason’s voice from the door, but she didn’t look away from the ring. Couldn’t look away from the ring. “I found it after the fight with Murphy. After the medics took you away. Had it fixed and cleaned up. Thought you might want it back.”

“It,” her voice broke and she cleared her throat before she tried again. “It was my dad’s wedding ring.” She turned it slowly between her fingers, watching the light play off the warm gold band. “I thought I’d lost it. Mason…” she didn’t know what else she intended to say, so she just looked at him.

“You did. Lucky you’ve got me around to pick up after you.” He scowled at whatever he saw on her face. “If you start crying, I’m fucking leaving.”

Kira blinked hard, forcing the tears back before they could fall. When that didn’t work well enough, she crossed the room in three quick steps and wrapped Mason in a hug. She expected him to push her away, but he didn’t. Instead, he pulled her flush against him, one hand sliding into her hair and cupping the back of her head in an almost protective way. They stayed that way for a long time, just clinging silently to each other in the open doorway.

“Thank you,” she said softly when she thought she could trust her voice. “I’m--I can’t--I--”

“Shh,” Mason said, barely more than a whisper, just enough to interrupt her. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

#rhicember #kira/mason #I've been looking forward to posting this one for weeks now #I just really love the dynamic between kira and mason I love writing them #I think they're my favorite wayhaven pairing to write #kira and mason: I'm not gonna spend money on you for xmas that would imply I have FEELINGS for you #also kira and mason: I got you something really sweet and thoughtful even though I didn't spend any money because I have FEELINGS for you #but don't read too much into it or anything #no matter which route kira always loses her dad's ring during the murphy stuff and mason always finds it and returns it #but obviously it means more on his route

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itsanerdlife · 5 years

Text

Chasing The Dream 2/10

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader (High School/College AU)

Warning: Angst. Underage drinking. Jealousy. Language. Heartbreak and arguing.

A/N: This is the series, the prequel of Chasing Dreams One Shot. They do overlap so if you need to read it I can link it when time comes.

Your father always warned you about musicians. They’re never good news, but Peter Parker is everything you could want. The other half to your groupie, rocker baby soul. Peter and the guys have big dreams to be rock stars, you couldn’t be a bigger fan of theirs. But your dad’s got a different path for your future, one that doesn’t include Peter and his band. But can Fame and dreams coming true really keep the two of you apart? Is this just a high school love? Or will you make it through the struggle of chasing your dreams?

Tag List Is Open!!

High School –

Peter (There’s Always a Wild Side to An Innocent Face)

He sat in the desk across from her and one back. The class was discussing the book they’d been assigned to read. They were supposed to take note on the topic for the next test. Peter’s notebook sat open, the pen in his hand, and the page blank. The one thing he was noting was Y/N, the way her waves laid across her shoulders, that her hand shot up more often than it was down, she clearly did the homework and was scribbling notes in her black notebook.

Every so often she would glance in his direction, she’d roll her eyes and shake her head slowly before going back to her writing. She wasn’t what he expected, from the drunk girl in the sober ride with him. She was a straight A student, her father was a musician, but she was polite and sweet, never truant. She put up the good girl front, but underneath that, her notebooks were covered in lyrics, she had chipped grey nail polish on her fingers, and under the little dark red cardigan she wore she rocked an old school black, Ozzy Osborn T-shirt and jean shorts.

When the bell rings, she rips something from her notebook, picking up her books she stops next to him. She places a few folded pieces of notebook paper on top of his books. Looking up his brow connects, she laughs.

“I assume if you got any notes, it wasn’t on the book.” She smirks.

“I have a few notes.” He grins at her.

“On me or the book?” She was bold. He stood up shrugging, his books hung at his side in his hand. He leans in closer to her, taller than her she glances up at him.

“That’s a good girl front you have Y/N.” He smiles walking backwards away from her, she stares at him. “Thanks for the notes by the way.” He chuckles, turning leaving the class room.

---------

They stood in the garage, the massive barn style doors cracked open for a breeze. Steve was bitching about Sam staying in key. They heard someone laughing outside, the four of them look around at each other.

“Fine I’ll do it.” She was bold, he grins as the door pulls open and she’s standing in his garage grinning at him. A tight black tank top on, cut off white jean shorts and those sneakers.

“Told you.” Nat laughs looking at Wanda.

“Ladies.” Buck grins, leaning forward on the crate he sat on.

“Keep it to yourself.” Y/N smirks at him.

“Damn.” Buck winks at her.

“Wanda’s parents are leaving for the weekend. We’re throwing a party.” Nat nods.

“Is that so?” Peter chuckles.

“What?” Wanda’s eyes grow wide. “I can do that.” She nods.

“You look terrified.” Steve chuckles.

“Well I’m not. I’ve had parties before.” She folds her arms over her chest.

“So what has you looking like you’re about to run from this garage screaming?” Peter laughs.

“I’m not.” She swallows, blinking rapidly. Nat laughs into Buck’s shoulder. Sam strums on his guitar, Steve groans.

“I don’t hear the difference.” Sam defends himself.

“It’s not the same.” Steve strums the exact same cords, it’s slightly different from Sam’s.

“I don’t hear it!” Sam was trying to not laugh.

“Here.” Y/N puts out her hand, everyone looks at her. “What? Because I’m a girl?” She rolls her eyes walking over to Sam she takes his guitar.

That isn’t what shocks Peter, it’s when she places herself right in his lap. She’s right there suddenly, guitar in hand, as she tunes it, Peter freezes confused. Suddenly unaware of what he’s supposed to do with his hands. She pauses, looking up for a second, his hands go from the side of his legs, to his hips, and to the edge of the chair. Steve’s grinning, trying to not laugh, Sam looks confused, Wanda looks on in Aw and slight jealousy.

“It’s off by a hair, don’t move.” Y/N glances back at him. He nods, watching as she tips her head, the ponytail her waves are tied up in flips over her head. She smells like mangos and peaches, he could see the defined tan lines across her skin. “Here you go.” She leans over handing the guitar back to Sam, who strums it looking at Steve.

“Maybe we should add her to the band.” Steve and Bucky laugh.

“Ask.” She hisses at Wanda. Whose eyes grow wide again. Y/N gives her a stern look, Wanda gives her head a curt shake.

“Chicken.” Nat hisses.

“Fine.” Y/N shrugs. She turns in Peter’s lap, facing Sam.

“Y/N.” Wanda hisses with fear.

“Sammy.” Y/N tips her head, grinning at Sam.

“Y/N.” He chuckles.

“I’ll kill you.” Wanda stomps her foot.

“I need like a huge favor from you.” Y/N laughs, as Wanda moves towards her, Nat jumps up from Buck’s lap, grabbing Wanda.

“Is this like risk having Pietro beat my ass, or be the get away driver?” Sam laughs.

“A little of both?” Y/N shrugs.

“Fair enough.” Sam nods. “What do you need?”

“Well Nat got a bunch of alcohol and a couple kegs.” Y/N waves her hand. “So would you be willing to use your truck to help us get it?” She smiles sweetly. Peter grins, shaking his head watching her.

“Yeah I can do that. Friday after school?” Sam looks around.

“Great Wanda will meet you in the parking lot.” Nat jumps in, Wanda looks a little like she might pass out or throw up.

“And we’ll see the rest of you boys at the party.” Y/N suddenly stands up bounding over to her friends.

“We’ll be there.” Steve laughs, patting Peter on the shoulder.

“What’s so funny Parker?” She wiggles ever so slightly as she moves backwards toward the doors.

“Told you that good girl front.” He shrugs, still grinning.

“Hasn’t anyone told you Peter Parker?” She stops, her teeth raking over her bottom lip.

“What’s that?” He leans forward resting his elbows on his knees.

“Good girls are just bad girls who haven’t been caught.” She shrugs, spinning on her toes she walks out, hips swaying and waves bouncing behind her.

“No, no apparently they haven’t been.” His voice low, and only the guys in the garage heard him, as he chuckles, shaking his head.

“School just started and it’s already getting interesting.” Buck laughs, watching Peter.

“This school year might be one for the books.” He grins.

--------

He was shoving his books into his bag, standing in front of his locker. She was suddenly leaning on the locker next to him. Her lips are pushed together, eyes watching him, but there’s that mischievous glint in them.

“Need me to walk you out?” He chuckles zipping his bag and shutting the locker.

“Answer me something.” She skips next to him. She wore a plain white T-shirt and a black floral printed skirt; the black cardigan was three sizes too big for her.

“Ask me something.” He grins, ushering her out the doors of the school he held open for her.

“How did you know I had a good girl front?” She walks in step with him.

“A few things gave it away.” He laughs.

“Like what?” She looks up at him curiosity in her eyes.

“Like the lyrics on your notebooks, they aren’t girly ass pop music and they sure as fuck aren’t bible quotes.” He chuckles, moving behind her as they walk. Her back to his chest, his hand pulls out the notes she’d given him. “Your notebook pages have old ass, Ozzy, Kurt, and Jimmy quotes on them.” He holds the pages in front of her. “I also don’t know many good girls who listen to Ozzy, get wasted on the weekends and wear dark nail polish and like when it chips.” He had leaned down closer to her ear.

“You think you have me all figured out, don’t you Parker?” She pauses at the curb but doesn’t move to put any space between them.

“Your comment about your dad warning you about Musicians says you know you should stay away from me, but instead you place yourself right in my lap and your excuse for it all is. Good girls are just bad girls who haven’t been caught. But see I caught you, you’re not a good girl at least when adult supervision is away.” He chuckles. She turns on him, grinning up at him.

“So does this mean I don’t have to be a good girl around you? I mean you already see through the front.” She grins, Nat honks making the two of them look over.

“Have you been a good girl? I haven’t seen much of it outside of class.” He winks at her. She laughs, shrugging and skipping off the curb and into the parking lot.

“Let’s find out Parker.” She calls over her shoulder as she reaches Nat’s car.

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#Marvel #Peter Parker x Reader #Avengers #Peter x Reader #Chasing The Dream #Marvel Fanfiction #Peter Parker AU Series #Avengers Fanfiction #Peter AU Series

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lousimusician · 6 years

Text

Losing Innocence -- Chapter 5

Pairing: Mob!Tom x Reader

Summary: It was astounding how much you didn't know about your best friend, and how much her past could affect your future.

Warning: Language

A/N: oh my god, Idk why this chapter was so hard for me to write, but I had to rewrite it like five times. So I'm sorry for the wait. I'm also sorry if this chapter is a bit confusing.

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Tom took a sip of his drink, feeling the whiskey burn down his throat. It was late, 12pm to be exact, and Tom was stressed. So, he did the only thing he usually did when he was stressed.

He went to one of the many strip clubs he owned, drank, and picked up some willing stripper for the night.

Tom placed the glass down with a loud clunk as he continued to watch the strippers dance.

Harrison, who sat across from Tom, cleared his throat, catching his attention. "I know this is how you usually handle these kind of situations, but don't you think you should be focusing on finding Belle's father right now?"

"What do you think I've been doing all day, mate?" He scoffed. "I swear I'm losing my mind over this. I just needed a break."

Harrison rolled his eyes, "Fine. What did you find out then?" He asked taking a sip from his own drink.

"That William Taylor's been busy." Harrison raised and eyebrow, waiting for Tom to continue. "His numbers have tripled in the last five years and he's making more money than he ever has."

"Why haven't we heard about this. A mob like Taylor's gaining all this power doesn't seem like something we'd miss."

"Yeah, I was confused about that too, so I read into the files a bit more. Found out all they did was clean up their act." Tom said clearly frustrated.

"Really? They've always been sloppy though."

"I know, but they've gotten better at covering their traces and getting rid of anyone that stood in their way." Tom said as a certain blonde caught his eye in the dim lights of the club.

Haz sighed. "Well that's fuckin' great. What're you gonna do with Belle now?" He asked the question he had been wondering about all day.

"I'm gonna kill William Taylor and Belle can do whatever the fuck she wants to after." Tom said looking back at Harrison.

Harrison scoffed, "Kill him? That could take months- years even. Especially now that we have no way of tracing them."

"I'll figure something out." Tom muttered. "It'll be hard though. We don't know where they are but now that Belle is gone they sure as hell can figure out where she is."

"Well, that's bloody fantastic. But why kill him, you could just set Belle up in another city."

"And you saw how great that turned out." He said sarcastically. "Killing him will be the easiest way. Alex Jacobs is dead, he basically ran the mob more than Taylor does. So by killing Taylor the entire mob will fall apart and Belle can live the normal life she's always wanted."

"I suppose that makes sense. His men aren't very smart. With Jacobs already dead and when we kill Taylor the rest of his men will probably find themselves in jail within 24 hours." Harrison said while Tom finished his drink.

The young blonde woman that worked in the club approached their table. "Can I get you another drink, Mr.Holland?" She said, smiling flirtily at him.

Tom smirked, "Yes, thank you darling."

The woman giggled at the nickname, taking his glass and leaving the table.

Harrison rolled his eyes as Tom's eyes trailed after her. "Y'know it wouldn't be a bad idea if you finally decided to settle down."

Tom snapped his attention back to his friend. "I don't need to settle down."

Haz scoffed, "What? Are you just going to continue sleeping with strippers the rest of your life? You're 26 Tom, plus maybe if you found someone you wouldn't be so bitter."

Tom narrowed his eyes at Harrison. "I don't need to find anyone, and I'm not bitter."

"Oh please. Ever since your family-"

"I dare you to finish that fucking sentence." Tom spit out venomously.

Harrison cleared his throat, "Fine... Then what about Belle?"

"What about her?"

"You seem to care a lot about her and she's a nice girl."

"Belle is nothing more than a friend that I owe. Now drop the subject." He said sternly.

Harrison sighed, taking a sip from his glass. "Alright, I'll drop it... How's her friend , (Y/N), I think?"

"Quiet. Thankfully she hasn't left her room all day and I've been having the maids check on her. She isn't eating though."

The waitress had come back with Tom's drink. Another flirty smile on her pink lips. "There you go Mr. Holland." She said placing the drink in front of him. "Anything else I can do for you?"

Tom smirked again, "Maybe there is. What time does your shift end, darling?"

The blonde woman's cheeks lit up, "It ends at one. Would you like to escort me out?"

"Yes I would, sweetheart."

The woman giggled again. "Alright, I'll see you then." The woman walked away.

Tom turned his attention back to Harrison again. Haz shook his head at Tom before returning to the conversation, "If the girl isn't eating, it could become a problem in the future."

Tom took a drink of whiskey, "Whatever, It's her fucking funeral."

Haz furrowed his eyebrows, "You really couldn't care less if she dropped dead."

"Honestly, I couldn't. She's a liability... plus she cries too much."

Harrison scoffed, "Of course she's crying. She's a normal girl, I think she should be allowed to be upset."

"And that's my point. She's a normal girl, so she doesn't know how this business works and that could get us killed if she somehow finds a way to contact anyone outside of the mansion."

"You know showing a little hospitality never hurt, maybe she'll calm down and you won't have to worry about her screwing us over. Plus if Belle likes her, I'm sure you could learn to get along with her."

Tom raised the glass to his lips again, "It's not my job to learn to get along with people." He took a sip, "If I don't like someone I have them killed."

Harrison rolled his eyes, "Whatever, I'm getting out if here. I figure you're gonna wait up for that girl."

"Yeah, you can leave, see if you can find any more of Taylor's contacts.'

Harrison nodded before leaving Tom by himself.

It was a bad habit, coming to a strip club almost every night to get shitfaced and get laid. He knew that. Harrison knew that. Hell, even his men knew that. But the momentary relief he got from his job made it feel worth it.

He hated his job but he'd never leave. No, at this point it was apart of him. He killed, he tortured, he threatened lives all for money, and there was no way out now. He was a criminal.

Your words the previous night struck a cord within him. You had called them all criminals. Tom knew it was true but when you're in this business others don't go around calling themselves criminals.

He was a monster and any relief he could get, he would take.

So now as the clock struck 1, he stood up out of his seat to find the blonde he didn't even know the name of, so he could keep forgetting.

Spotting the blonde, he walked up behind her and spoke in her ear, "Hello, love."

The woman turned around, smiling seductively, and leaned into him "Hello, I just finished up, ready to go?"

"Of course, darling."

The car ride back to his mansion was filled with heavy breaths and soft moans. The driver all to familiar with this scene was thankful that there was a privacy barrier separating him from the sinful things his boss did in the back.

Making it back to the mansion, Tom stumbled in tipsy, with the blonde woman kissing his neck. The front door slammed shut and he locked it.

Tom's eyes closed for a second, until the woman stopped. He opened his eyes to see her looking down a hallway.

"Is someone else here?" She asked.

He looked down the same hallway, seeing a light coming from... his office. There were light shuffling sounds putting Tom on edge. His hand instantly went to his gun

"Darling, go upstairs, turn left, my bedroom is at the last one at the end of the hallway."

The blonde nodded before going upstairs.

Tom pulled his gun out and quietly walked down the hallway. Many things were running through his head, if it was Taylor's men he'd be utterly screwed. Tom cocked the gun approaching the large mahogany doors.

He pushed the door open and raised his gun.

--------

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