#and let my friend storm to the box office to demand his money back

[theliterarywolf]

In the spirit of more people getting into AtLA thanks to Netfllix and more people coming out of the woodwork to join the rest of us in roasting the god-awful live-action film, I’d like to offer up

A look at the movie from three different perspectives on Avatar: 

A super-fan of the series, someone who watched the series and enjoyed it well enough... and someone who, despite working in the animation industry and being all for appreciating good animation, still hasn’t made time to watch it.

But, don’t be alarmed... They all come to the same exact -- CORRECT -- solution of this film being horseshit.

[eryiss]

Chapter Two: ADAPTION

Summary: The Justine's were always a criminal family. The Dreyar's were forced into it due to prohibition. After gaining power and influence in the criminal world, the families were forced into a fragile truce. This was until the recently disowned Freed Justine arrived at Laxus Dreyar's door, demanding a job in exchange for information that could bring his family down. [Fraxus Multi-Chapter]

This was written as part of the Mashima’s Heroes Big Bang, hosted by @ft-ez-bb. I have been paired up with the wonderful @fairiesherefairiesthere​, who's made this great piece of art. Remember to give them lots of love.

You can read this under the cut, on Fanfiction, or on Archive of Our Own. You can find the chapter masterpost here.

Chapter Two – Adaption

~Five Weeks Later~

Being at an opera, sitting beside Freed Justine of all people, was not something Laxus could have expected would happen.

Even though he had been the person to suggest it, he hadn't actually expected Freed to agree. He'd gotten the tickets on a whim, a spur of the moment purchase because of a shockingly persuasive kid standing and yelling at the corner of a nearby building advertising the thing. Even when he had been buying the damn tickets he didn't expect Freed to agree to the suggestion, and yet two days later he found himself in a private box, watching Cleopatra's Night at the Neapolitan Opera with his most recently hired employee and newly appointed criminal consultant beside him.

He was making a conscious effort not to think about why he'd offered the ticket to Freed of all people, and why Freed had agreed so easily. To achieve this, he put all his focus on the show. But that wasn't easy given his lack of passion for opera, and with the intermission looming he only had a vague idea about what was actually happening. There was Cleopatra, obviously, as well as some maids and a lion hunter obsessed with the queen. It was all very… dramatic. And the lion hunter pissed Laxus off; who would let themselves be murdered just so he could sleep with a woman?

Freed seemed to share the opinion, as pretty much every time the hunter walked onto the stage Freed would either roll his eyes, mutter under his breath or shuffle in his seat in apparent boredom.

"He ain't your type, huh?" Laxus whispered, their private box meaning nobody could hear them.

"Obsessive, overdramatic, no sense of boundaries and constantly cruel to a woman for no reason? You might have to hold me back from storming the stage and taking him here and now," Freed murmured sarcastically.

Laxus chuckled. Over the past few weeks he had spent a lot of time with Freed, as he'd turned from just his pianist into his official criminal advisor. The shift from a distrustful antagonism with a hint of teasing to a genuine friendship had been shockingly easy.

Most nights, after Freed had played to his crowd of adoring subjects, he would climb to the office and offer Laxus advice and his expertise on issues Laxus might have faced. Often times this wasn't needed as such – Laxus knew what he was doing most of the time, and Freed's advice more supplemented his actions than guided them completely – but those talks were good. Freed was quick witted and had a morbid droll to him. Teasing the man had been fun, but sharing a joke and balking out a laugh with him was a noticeable improvement.

Freed might have agreed, as he seemed more comfortable in his position now. This new found security in his job had brought out the arrogant man that he'd first been when he'd stormed into Laxus' house that night. He was cocky, and it was fun to spar with him.

"Though the actor does seem familiar," Freed commented, leaning forward slightly as he watched the stage. "I think I may have kissed him in a club a few years back. What's his name?"

"Erm," Laxus looked at the playbill in his hand. "Rufus Lore."

"Yes, that's him. A little annoying really," Freed chuckled. "He tried to convince me I was his first kiss, which might have worked had we not frequented the same clubs. Quite often I'd watch him sneaking into a back room with a man he'd enraptured; he got quite the reputation."

"And you still kissed him?"

"I wanted to see what the fuss was about," Freed shrugged. "I still don't understand, he was average at best. Maybe he's just well-endowed."

Laxus laughed and let out a quiet 'fucks sake.' As they'd developed a friendship of sorts, Laxus had made an effort to show how little he cared for Freed's fondness of men. He sometimes brought it up, mainly in companionable jest, and Freed seemed comfortable to speak of it without care. And in the few instances where the topic would arise with any seriousness, Laxus would be careful with his words and make sure not to cause any offense.

This was mainly to make sure his friend felt comfortable with him; Laxus' grandfather had drilled into him that some laws were pathetically stupid and immoral, and that people were who they were. These were views that Laxus kept close to his heart.

There was also a small hope that being blindly accepting of Freed might plant the seed that Laxus shared his inclination. It was a lot easier than having the conversation.

Laxus hated that conversation.

He pushed that thought to then back of his mind – as he did with the thoughts of Freed's past dalliances with men – and instead, put his focus on the show before him. It was still fairly tedious to watch, and the hunter grated on his nerves. But Freed kept up his murmured commentary, and it made the show a little more bearable.

A little while later, the lights of the opera house raised, signalling the beginning of the intermission. Both men stood and walked from their private box and towards the lobby, where a bar went unused for anything other than soft drinks. Many people were standing around, all of whom seemed to be very wealthy and very interested in the show they had been watching. Laxus would bet a good few dollar that most of them didn't care about the show and only came because they wanted to sound intellectual and well cultured, and that grated on Laxus' nerves slightly. Rich assholes.

"Wanna get a smoke outside?" He offered Freed. "Less cramped than in here?"

"I don't smoke," Freed replied. "But I can join you."

They both left the lobby and walked to the front staircase of the opera house. They leant against the stone wall of the staircase, Laxus making sure he was downwind of Freed so that the smoke from his cigars wouldn't blow into his face. He pulled his cigars from their case, struck a match, and lit it. As he smoked, his eyes lingered to Freed, who stood in the moonlight with a great sense of belonging. He seemed in his element for the first time since Laxus had seen him, other than when he was playing at night.

"You been here before?" He asked.

"What makes you think that? You assume I have friends in the theatre?" Freed smirked, and Laxus chuckled at the reference to the ridiculous analogy used to describe gay men.

"I know you do, you just told me you kissed the star of the show," Laxus chuckled, after making sure nobody was in ear shot of course. "And the reason I was askin' is because you look like you belong in a place like that. High culture, shit like that."

"Most of the people I associated with were in the arts in some capacity. Poets, actors, painters; those sorts mainly. Of course there was the occasional criminal who made things a little interesting, but most of my friends were what you might consider cultured," Freed mused aloud. "Though I think what really grouped them all together was their willingness to leave my life entirely when I lost my money. Shocking, isn't it?"

Laxus chuckled, but didn't speak. He took a drag of his cigar and looked down the busy streets of New York. It was spitting rain, though not heavy enough for him to care, and the flickering street lamps reflected in the puddles starting to form. Laxus had always liked the rain.

"Why did you bring me here tonight?" Freed asked, and Laxus looked to him in surprise.

"Because you've been helpin' me out a lot, and I thought you'd enjoy it," Laxus shrugged, taking another drag of the cigar, and slowly letting the smoke stream from his lips. "And I never had the money to do anythin' like this before, and I wanted to see what it was like. Saw it as an opportunity to get two things done at once."

Freed took a moment before speaking again. "I almost believe you."

"Why almost?"

"Because you're not meeting my eye," Freed supplied. "And you always meet my eye when you're being honest. A habit you really should get out of, given your propensity to make hollow threats, but that's beside the point. Why are we really here?"

Laxus couldn't be fully honest, but he could answer the question somewhat.

"There's been… We never really got into the crime world more than we had to. People thought we did – thought we were blackmailing one half of the police force and pointing guns at the others – but most of the illegal things we did was just getting the booze and selling it. We just made sure never to correct people when they thought we were dangerous" Laxus sighed. "But with your help, we're getting further into it. And it's working out well, so doesn't think I ain't grateful, but there's a lot more to think about. Just had a lot of stress I suppose; wanted to have a break from it all."

"That makes sense," Freed nodded slightly. "And why me? Not that I don't appreciate it, but being alone would be cheaper. And a man such as yourself could have any woman he wanted on his arm, and any other part of his body I dare say. And you're not short of women around you, many of them willing by the looks of it."

Laxus made a conscious effort to ignore the 'man such as yourself' comment.

"You must have realised that, in these circles, there are men who know me. Know of my fondness's as well," Freed continued, and Laxus' eyes flickered to him again. "It's entirely likely that they'll see a man with me, and make assumptions."

"Let 'em think what they think. They'll either not know who I am, and in that case it doesn't matter what they think, or they will know, and they'll probably be shit scared of me," Laxus shrugged.

He watched as Freed's brows tightened slightly, and his eyes flickered over Laxus' face inquisitively. Laxus didn't say anything, because he knew that most men wouldn't be so flippant about being mistaken for a lover of other men. And, as Laxus didn't want to have the conversation about why he didn't bat an eyelid about people making that assumption, he instead let Freed's mind wonder in the hopes he would come to the conclusion himself.

Freed might also understand the other reason they were here together. The reason Laxus wasn't ready to admit to just yet, not even to himself.

"Very well," Freed said, a level of surety in his voice now. "I've had a delightful time, no matter what the reason. You're good company."

"So are you," Laxus parroted, and grinned at Freed over his cigar.

"And by the sounds of it, I seem proficient in distracting you," Freed smirked, and Laxus felt his face flush lightly.

Freed chuckled, patted Laxus' arm with a slightly too firm hand, and said he would see Laxus at their seats. As he turned and walked away, Laxus found it impossible for his eyes to stray from his retreating figure, in the expensive velvet tuxedo that complimented his angular form in the moonlight. Only when the man was back in the building could Laxus look away, and he took another drag of his cigar with a very light quiver in his breath.

"You've no fuckin' idea," He muttered as he blew out a final puff of smoke.

~~~

~3 Months Later~

Freed had his eyes closed as his fingers danced across the keys before him. Fairy Tail's piano was a beautiful thing – large, polished, made of mahogany wood, with its mechanisms open for all to see – and Freed had grown to love playing it after months of his new employ.

The entire sensation was indescribable. Before joining Fairy Tail he hadn't played often, given his father's dissatisfaction for him doing anything he deemed to be feminine or artistic. When he first joined the tavern he'd been somewhat stilted while performing, talents rusty from disuse. But as he spent more time playing, refining the art, the more he enjoyed it. The feel of the keys pushing against his fingers, the vibrations of the sounds against his legs, the thrumming effect on his heart. It was an incredible feeling, and one he was addicted to.

Which was why it was perhaps childish to use it to drown out the teasing of his friends.

"We can wait," Bickslow sang over the loud music filling the speakeasy. He was standing beside the piano with his arms crossed, grinning. Freed continued playing, pushing his fingers against the keys with more effort.

"You'll get tired eventually, you know," Evergreen added, leaning on the side of the piano.

The musical stalemate lasted a few moments longer, partly because Freed knew there was an inevitability in the situation and partly because his fingers were starting to cramp. He finished the tune with perhaps more of a flourish than he needed to – it was just the three of them there, after all – and looked at his two friends' amused expressions with boredom. They both grinned at his expectantly.

"What 'cha hiding from us, Freed?" Bickslow began, smiling.

"Nothing," Freed lied.

He really didn't think his secret – if it could be called that – was really anything of note. It was his birthday, something he didn't particularly care about because he wasn't ten years old. He hadn't mentioned it to anyone, mainly because a month prior it had been Erza's birthday, and they had celebrated with a party that was far too loud and obnoxious for Freed's liking. He didn't want something like that for himself, so he had kept the event quiet.

How Bickslow and Evergreen had picked up on the fact Freed was hiding something, he didn't know. He used to pride himself on having an impeccable poker face, but they'd seen through it. Being in Fairy Tail, an environment where lying wasn't commonplace, must have made him complacent. He was slipping.

Or maybe he was just more effected by the day than he'd wanted. It was his first birthday without being with his family and, despite the fact most of them were obnoxious assholes – which was a very kind way to phrase it really – they were still his family. Rather than a lavish, somewhat awkward dinner at an expensive restaurant, he would be working for most of the night and returning to his tiny boarding house simply to sleep. Perhaps the lack of the usual pomp and circumstance was bothering him more than he'd wanted, and it was obvious on his face.

Not that he wanted fuss. He wouldn't be keeping the day a secret if he did. It was just unusual, that was all.

"Then why were you playing while we tried to talk to you?" Evergreen asked, pushing off the piano when Freed moved from the seat and towards the table they often frequented.

"I need to keep myself sharp, I was practicing," Freed shrugged. It wasn't technically untrue. "You too should perhaps try it."

"You know," Bickslow said, and Freed could hear amusement in his voice. "You're right. We should."

Before Freed could say anything, a large hand grabbed his arm. A moment later Bickslow's bodyweight was pushing down on Freed, and his other hand was on the back of Freed's head. His cheek was slammed against the table with a loud and echoing thud, and Freed grunted as his side was pushed roughly against the side of the furniture. He narrowed his eyes as his face was pushed into a puddle of spilled beer, and he struggled to get out of the large man's grasp.

"You tell me what I wanna know or I'll bash your knees in, pretty boy," Bickslow growled into Freed's ear, voice darker and gravellier than normal. The effect was ruined slightly by the giggle that followed.

"Go ahead," Freed grunted, calling Bickslow's bluff as he pushed up against the hand holding him down. He still couldn't move; Bickslow was good at this. "Though I doubt you will, so get off me."

"Fine," Bickslow chuckled, removed his hands from Freed and allowing him to stand upright again. He grinned at the glare he received. "You're right I guess. I mean, what would the boss say if his favourite got hurt and it was because of me? He'd go mad."

Freed gave him a levelled, unimpressed look. The idea that he was in some way Laxus' favourite was something that had spread quickly throughout Fairy Tail, and almost every staff member seemed to enjoy mocking Freed with it. He didn't particularly understand where the idea Laxus preferred him came from, other than perhaps they spent a lot of time together given his position of Laxus' advisor. Just because they talked a lot didn't mean he was treated differently, though.

He'd tried explaining this, but Evergreen brought up the opera tickets. And the letter of recommendation sent to his landlord. And the bi-weekly trips to restaurants so his criminal solicitation wasn't always in the office.

They might have had something of a point…

But Laxus was kind to all of his employees. It was entirely possible that Laxus gave the same level of attention to everyone else, and Freed was mocked because his pride made his reactions entertaining. The excuse was flimsy at best, but Freed decided to believe it.

As he went to say something in argument, the door to the speakeasy opened and light flickered in. All three of them looked over just in case a drunk or criminal walked into the bar unknowingly and needed persuasion to leave. However, when they sat it was Laxus, they removed their hands from their weapons. Freed was quick to give Bickslow a warning glance as he turned back to his drink; Bickslow just grinned back at him widely.

"You three alright?" Laxus asked as he walked towards them.

"We're fine, just taking some time before we start work," Freed spoke first, before either of his companions could bring Laxus into their discussion. "You're not normally hear at this time. Nothing's wrong, I hope."

"Nah, was just getting sick of being at home; Gramps just keeps talking, gets to be too much. Might as well get some work done," Laxus shrugged.

He went on to keep walking, but as he looked at Freed he frowned and stopped. The two men looked at one another, Freed confused as to why Laxus' eyes were flickering over his face.

He watched wordlessly as Laxus took a step forward and slowly, gently brought his finger to Freed's cheek and stroked it with a knuckle.

Freed froze, Bickslow sniggered, Evergreen muttered a quiet 'oh my god', and Laxus brought his slight wet finger to his nose to sniff; he winced a little at the scent of harsh booze.

"Why've you got the cheap shit on your cheek?" He asked, looking to Freed.

"Well," Freed forced out, blinking away whatever emotion Laxus' gentle touch had stirred up inside him. "Your employee decided to test out his intimidation techniques on me. Apparently coating me with my spilled drink is part of that."

"You're still drinking this?" Laxus asked, flicking the cheap alcohol off his finger. "You know you can have whatever you want, right? I ain't gonna get pissed if you take the top shelf stuff."

"I like the moonshine," Freed shrugged, slightly lying.

Laxus rolled his eyes, walked from the table that the three were sitting at and leant over the bar. Freed watched Laxus as he pulled out a single, unopened bottle of what seemed to be port, purposefully ignoring the chuckling coming from Evergreen and the leg nudges from Bickslow below the table. Laxus walked back, placing the large bottle of high-end port onto the table in front of Freed, either unaware or uncaring to the teasing Freed was forced to endure.

"This is yours," Laxus informed Freed, and the pianist frowned towards the bottle. "I know you're a port drinker, and this is a good label, so don't act like you don't want it. Leave the crap for the cheaper customers."

"You needn't do that," Freed began, tensing at the barely held giggles from his friends. "I'm perfectly fine with-"

"It's a gift," Laxus shrugged, grinning. "It's what you give people on their birthday, isn't it?"

Freed paused, then blinked. "How did you-"

"It's my job to know," Laxus shrugged. "Now, yer gonna make the most of your present and have a good drink before you get to work. You're not gonna share it with these freeloading asshats who look like they're having some kind of fit for some fucking reason," Freed glanced to Bickslow and Evergreen, who were red with restrained laughter. "And I doubt you wanted a party but tough shit. Mirajane's baking a cake and once we're done for the night we're gonna toast ya and your just gonna have to deal with it. That a problem?"

"Would it matter if it was?" Freed asked, resignedly amused.

"Not a bit," Laxus laughed. He began to walk towards his office, but paused and looked back. "Oh, and I'm pretty sure that half the customers come here 'cause the pianist has a pretty face. So wash up; boss's orders."

He walked away before anyone at the table could speak.

Freed watched him go, before turning and looking at the bottle of port that remained untouched. As had often happened with Laxus, Freed found himself looking back on a conversation to understand what had actually been said. The blonde was like a whirlwind in many ways, and Freed seemed to be captured in his draw very often.

Had he stroked Freed's cheek? And how had he known that it was Freed's birthday? And had he just called Freed pretty? It had all been so nonchalant, as if it were second nature for Laxus, and Freed almost thought he might have imagined it all.

"Oh yeah," Bickslow laughed after a moment. "We're all the same to him. No favourites here."

That was how the rest of the day went for Freed, with Bickslow and Evergreen teasing him; a few other members of the bar also joined in when the opportunity arose. He took the jokes as well as he could, which was somewhat difficult given that both the bottle of port and the slight flushing on his cheeks acted as constant reminders of what Laxus had done.

Once his night of playing was over and the bar closed to the public, a cake was presented to him. Nobody sang, and the party was on a much smaller scale than it had been for everyone else, but enough of a fuss was made of Freed for him to almost forget Laxus' actions. Almost.

As he walked to his boarding house, he found himself replaying the moments through his head again and again. The gentle touch of Laxus' shockingly soft knuckles against his skin was tantalising, and the ease with which he complimented Freed was so… unusual.

Laxus presented himself to be a man's man, always in control and a symbol of strength for those who needed it. Freed had known men like that, he'd been with men like that, and they'd always seen compliments as a sign of weakness. Laxus clearly didn't see it like that, and although Freed considered himself more handsome than pretty, having a man like Laxus compliment him so unabashedly was thrilling.

Freed would posture that anything Laxus did would be thrilling; Laxus was that type of man.

And he had to believe that Laxus wouldn't mind. Because, as much as Freed denied it, Laxus' treatment of him was hardly platonic. Platonic men didn't take other men to the opera. Platonic men didn't stroke other men's cheeks for no reason. Platonic men didn't flip their opinions on other men so quickly. If he were a romantic, he might say Laxus was treating him like he'd treat someone during courtship.

He might say he'd enjoy it, were he more honest with himself.

Before he could fixate on that thought, he pushed open the door to his boarding house, locking it behind him and was met by a glare form his landlady: Porlyusica.

"You're late," The old woman grunted. "I nearly locked you out."

"And I'm grateful that you didn't," Freed said placatingly. The small room he rented was the best he could get, and he couldn't risk alienating her. "I assume I will be paying you a little more rent this month as to not encourage this behaviour."

"You will," She agreed. She stood up from her rocking chair, picking something up from a sideboard and offering it to Freed. It was an envelope with his name written on it in cursive. "For you."

"Thank you," Freed smiled. "Goodnight Porlyusica."

The woman grunted in response, and Freed climbed the staircase to get to his rented room. He closed the door behind him and bolted it, looking around the small living room and bedroom combination, before collapsing into the armchair.

He relaxed for a moment before glancing to the envelope he'd been given. His stomach dropped as he looked at it, dread filling him. The handwriting was instantly recognisable to him.

It was his father's writing.

Any glimmer of optimism that had grown during his time in Fairy Tail died instantly.

Dread rushed through him, hands shaking ever so slightly as he opened the envelope. His father couldn't know where he lived; he just couldn't. Freed had done everything he could to avoid any of his family or their employees finding him. He lived on the opposite side of New York so nobody would stumble across him, he walked home through side streets and winding paths as not to be followed, and he made sure his payments to Porlyusica always were without a contract so he couldn't be traced. For heaven's sake, he even made a point to avoid the streetlights so that he couldn't be seen. And it had all been for nothing.

He opened the envelope with trepidation, to see a cheap looking birthday card inside. He read and reread the small message inside multiple times, blood freezing as he tensed. He ran a hand through his hair nervously, his breath slightly shaky now.

'My Dear Son. I Will See You Soon. Your Loving Father.'

~~~

~One Week Later~

Laxus had never been held at gunpoint. It felt almost aethereal.

He'd thought about it. As a career criminal, making dangerous enemies with murderous intent was an occupational hazard. Being a so-called rising name in the criminal world meant ruffling the feathers of powerful and dangerous people, many of whom had a propensity to violence. It had seemed almost inevitable that he'd push someone over the edge at some point, and that it would end up with a gun being pointed to his head.

Whenever he had thought about it, he expected that he'd be calm and collected. That he'd be okay, because he knew that nobody would actually shoot him because it was too big of a risk. That he'd be able to smooth things out and nobody would need to get hurt; and if someone did get hurt it sure as fuck wouldn't be him.

The reality was less heroic. It was more… terrifying.

He was, to his credit, not showing his fear. He sat in his office chair, looking at the two men aiming guns in his direction. He leant back, trying to seem as though he was nonchalant and unbothered by the threat, but his blood was rushing and his adrenaline thrumming through his mind as if a scream in his ears. His foot bounced slightly under the desk, as it was the only way to dismiss the fearful energy flowing through him. It was either that, or let the people threatening to kill him see his hands shaking with every movement.

"Where is he?" One of the men – tall, maroon-brown hair, with a scar over his eye – demanded in a growl.

"Who?" Laxus retorted, voice not shaking.

"You know damn well who," The man snarled back, pushing the gun forward an inch.

He did know, of course. He'd seen the large, white car pulling up in front of the bar, and he'd recognised it easily. It was one of the many overly expensive cars owned by the Justine Family's highest-ranking associates. When the men left their car, he'd taken the few spare moments to rush down and push his remaining staff members out through the back door without explanation. Thankfully, it was late enough in the night for only two people to still be in the bar, other than Laxus.

But it was obvious who they wanted. Freed. Why they wanted him, Laxus didn't know, but he could guess by their expressions that it wouldn't be for good. And the idea of turning Freed over to these men, with their snarling teeth and readied guns, sent a protective rush through him he hadn't felt before.

He wouldn't let them near him. He wouldn't.

"He ain't here," Laxus grunted back. "And if he was, he ain't gonna go with you."

"He'll go where we tell him to," The other man, a tall, blonde man spoke up. Laxus looked towards him, but stopping from moving when the barrel of the gun pressed against the side of his head. "Unless you wanna trouble him with disposing of ya body, blondie."

"Well he ain't here," Laxus growled, anger mixing with his fear. "So fuck off."

"And leave you to warn him," The scarred man chuckled. "Nah. I'll go see the little queer, and my friend here is gonna make sure you don't move, and if either of you piss me off, then he's gonna give this office a nice new paint job. You understand?"

If the threat wasn't obvious, the blonde man pushed the gun against Laxus' temple with more force, and Laxus tensed.

"Fuckers," He growled, and the scarred man laughed. "I should take that gun and shove it up yer-"

He paused.

They all did, and even the press of the gun against his head relented slightly. From the lower level of the building, where the main hall of the tavern was, music was being played. Loud, unabashedly confident and very familiar to Laxus' ears; it was undoubtedly Freed's music. A new rush of dread ran over him, because his own life being at risk was bad enough, but to have Freed in the same building as the men who wanted to abduct him, and possibly kill him for all Laxus knew, was terrifying in a way that Laxus couldn't quantify.

The music echoed through the silent room, the pleasant tone completely at odds with the tense fear that was almost palpable. Laxus silently prayed that somehow Freed would stop, that he'd be somehow aware of the danger he was in and would run for the hills, but that wouldn't happen. The reality of the situation suddenly hit Laxus; both he and Freed were in danger. They could die.

"Up," The scarred man demanded, flicking his gun up slightly.

Laxus did as he was told, and the gun against his head moved to his lower back. He was pushed out of his office, and forced to walk down the staircase, Freed's music getting louder the closer to the piano he got.

When he saw the man, dread filled him. Freed's eyes were closed, and his head swaying gently as it often did when he was caught up in the rhythm of a song. Laxus looked on in horror, because not only did Freed not seem to know the danger he was in, he also didn't seem at all prepared for it. Why couldn't he just open his eyes and run, there was enough time. He probably couldn't even hear them approaching, the sound of his music too overpowering to his ears. Laxus didn't know what to do.

Why was Freed even there? He had left nearly half an hour ago, he should be back in boarding house by now, not here. Even though they apparently knew where he lived – which was a worry itself – at least if he was there he'd only be dealing with one of them.

Maybe Laxus could fight them off. It was a risk, but he was bigger than them both. He could overpower the blonde one, maybe take his gun and shoot the other. It could work.

Or maybe if he tried, he'd be shot. Or Freed would be shot.

Panic overtook every good sense he had, and despite his need to do something, anything, that could take both him and Freed out of danger, he could only walk. He was taken to the middle of the tavern floor, and looked on in fear as the gun was pushed into his spine with nearly enough force to make his knees buckle. Freed was still playing the damned piano and Laxus thought through all the things that he could have done that would have stopped the situation from happening if he'd known. He would have dealt with the two invaders while he had the chance, he would have locked the damn front door so Freed couldn't get in, he would have smashed the fucking piano with a sledgehammer if it meant this wouldn't happen.

The sound of music slowly fading away cut through the spiralling panic that he was feeling, and Laxus' eyes flickered to see Freed was looking at him with concern. The expression only lasted for a moment, before he looked at the two men: one pressing a gun into Laxus' back, the other pointing his gun at Freed.

"Sawyer, Erik," Freed said calmly, and he smiled at them. "How pleasant it is to see you both."

"We don't go by those names anymore," The blonde growled, and Laxus felt the gun push further into his back.

"Well I'm certainly not going to call you Racer and Cobra, am I?" Freed chuckled, still sitting behind the piano. "You're grown adult men, not stooges in a low budget comedy show. You should start acting like it."

"Motherfucker," The man, Sawyer apparently, muttered harshly.

"You're gonna come with us," The other man, Erik, demanded as he took a step forward. The gun remained pointed directly at Freed's face, and Freed maintained his pleasant smile as the violator approached. "Your father wants to see you."

"I don't believe I have a father," Freed tilted his head as if confused. "I lost that right when he disowned me. He made that quite clear."

"We'll kill him if you don't," Erik threatened, and the gun was pushed with force into Laxus back.

The sudden harsh movement took Laxus by surprise, and his legs buckled with the strain. He fell to his knees and before he could do anything about it, and Sawyer's gun was pressed against the back of his head. Laxus glared down at the floor, pissed that he'd allowed himself to fall so easily. His eyes flickered to Freed, who had lost his slightly amused expression and replaced it with one of seriousness.

It was a heavy expression, one that seemed to tell Laxus that he wouldn't allow anything to happen to him. A pathetic level of comfort came from that, even if Laxus felt he should be the one assuring Freed, not the other way around.

"Well, I suppose there's a first time for everything," Freed mused a moment later, looking at the man holding a gun to Laxus' head. "You've finally got a man on his knees for you, Sawyer. Though not for lack of trying."

"I ain't like you," Sawyer growled, and Laxus shot Freed a look as the gun pushed his head down further.

"Please, if I'd given you the slightest attention you would have done anything I asked," Freed chuckled, leaning back in the stool he was sitting on. "I could have clicked my fingers and you would have come to heel."

"I am not one of you," Sawyer repeated, and his tone told Laxus his entire body was tensed.

"Well, it's either that, or you just have a great fascination for my legs and the front of my trousers," Freed taunted, and Laxus hoped to god that he knew what he was doing. Because fear was rushing through Laxus, hammering at him like a siren now. "Not that I'd indulge you, of course. From what I've heard, you're driving isn't the only thing that's over before it begins. I suppose calling yourself Racer is quite accurate. Though I'd wager 'Quickdraw' might be a little more succinct in getting the message across."

"Racer," Erik interrupted quietly, in a warning tone.

"Mother fucker!" Sawyer snarled.

Laxus found himself pushed to the ground, and he looked up as Sawyer walked over him and stormed towards Freed, the gun now pointing at the other man. Laxus scrambled to stand up, but glanced towards Erik to see that now he was aiming at Laxus. The blonde froze, because Erik now had his hand on the trigger, and he could easily pull it before Laxus could do anything.

But he had to do something. Because apparently Freed's plan had been to annoy Sawyer to the point where he left Laxus alone, which had worked. But now Sawyer was pissed off at Freed, holding a weapon and advancing on his with speed. Laxus glanced towards him, dread flooding him again at the very real possibility that Sawyer might use the weapon on Freed. And Laxus hadn't been able to stop it from happening, he hadn't been able to protect the man he was falling for and he might die and Laxus would have to watch and-

An ear-splitting sound attacked Laxus' ears. Only a moment later, Laxus realised it was a gunshot.

He breathed raggedly, terror overpowering the ringing in his ears. It hadn't been Erik's gun, or Laxus would have been shot. Which meant it had been Sawyers, which had been pointing towards Freed.

Freed.

Fuck. Shit!

Laxus stumbled to his feet, not caring if Erik saw this as justification for shooting. He staggered towards the piano, only to stop in his tracks when he saw Sawyer doubled over, screeching in pain, and leaning against the instrument for support. Laxus looked down to see blood staining Sawyers trousers, a little below the knee. When Laxus looked up again, Freed was holding a gun of his own, glaring unsympathetically at Sawyer while advancing on him. The look on his face was without emotion, Laxus might consider it to be murderous in its calm.

"Bastard!" Sawyer yelled.

Freed continued walking, and Laxus watched as Freed kicked the gun that had fallen to the floor away. He looked down at Sawyer, who was openly crying as he looked at his gunshot wound, and then to Erik, who was flicking his weapon between the two men. When Freed aimed at Erik, the criminal aimed back.

"You are going to leave this place," Freed said, with a level of calculated authority that Laxus hadn't heard from the man. It was intense, angry, and powerful. "And you will tell my father to leave me alone."

"No," Erik demanded back.

"Then I will kill you," Freed growled, and the seriousness in his tone sent a worried chill down Laxus' spine. "And I will use your corpses as a clear message to my father."

Laxus watched the stalemate with wide eyes, the two men aiming guns at one another. Laxus went to move, but the half step he took was enough to have Erik's gun aimed at him. He froze, and slowly the gun panned towards Freed again. Laxus was half tempted to get the attention back on him, at least that way Freed would be at less of a risk.

The few seconds where he thought Freed had been shot were hell. Laxus couldn't think of another word to describe it, but he wouldn't risk it again.

"You ain't got the balls to kill someone," Erik snarled. "You're just the prissy little son."

Freed, still wearing a mask of stoic calmness, started to walk towards Erik with his gun outstretched. Laxus watched, eyes wide as his pianist walked so that he was in Erik's personal space. The blonde's breath caught when he watched Freed move his head down, so that Erik's pistol was pushing against his forehead. If Erik pulled the trigger, Freed would be dead. There was no doubt; why the hell had Freed done that?

"Why don't we see who's really serious," Freed said, deadly calm, pressing his own gun against Erik's forehead. "Because we both know how that will end up."

Laxus didn't dare move, watching as Freed pushed himself further forward, Erik's gun pressed against his forehead. Freed clearly forced Erik to maintain eye contact, almost trapping the other man's gaze, and Laxus watched with bated breath as the stalemate reignited, hoping to god that Freed knew what he was doing because Laxus was terrified. If Erik shot, then Freed would die and Laxus would only be able to watch and he couldn't deal with that. He just couldn't.

A slight clattering to his left caught Laxus attention. He flicked his head over to see Sawyer slowly crawling across the floor, blood trailing behind him. He was clearly going towards his discarded gun, and Laxus moved before thinking. He couldn't let another weapon be involved in the situation.

He walked forward and slammed the man's head into the floor.

Sawyer stopped moving, clearly knocked out, and Laxus would have been lying if he said that the feeling of violence wasn't a little cathartic. But he couldn't distract himself, so he looked to the stalemate again, to see that neither of the two men had moved. Laxus took a small level of relief from the fact that it hadn't gotten worse, but that was a cold comfort.

"As I said," Freed spoke again, voice venom now. "You are going to leave. You'll take Sawyer with you. And you will tell my father that, unless he wishes for his men to be killed and left on his doorstep, he will leave me, and the people in this tavern, the hell alone. Do you understand me?"

There was silence, and Laxus felt as though he couldn't breathe.

With a snarl, Erik stepped back and removed his gun from Freed's forehead. Freed kept his aim steady, even as Erik placed his gun under his belt again.

Laxus let out a silent, haggard breath of relief, feeling somewhat safe for the first time since he had seen their car parking outside the tavern. He was still tense and wary though, because Erik was still there and he still had a gun with him, even if he had removed it from sight.

There was silence as Erik looked down at the slowly breathing Sawyer, before picking him up and placing him over his shoulder. Freed maintained his aim as he motioned for him to leave, which Erik moved to do. He spat at the floor as he left.

Both men followed Erik, Freed still holding his gun towards him. They watched in silence as Erik tossed the man in the back seat, before climbing into the driver's seat and driving off, glaring at them both as he did so.

Once he was out of sight, and they were safe, anger exploded in Laxus.

"What the fuck were you thinking!" Laxus shouted, turning to Freed and glaring at him with sudden fury. Freed looked at him as he placed his gun in his jacket pocket, squaring his shoulders. "Did you not realise they were there, or are you just fucking stupid? What the fuck were you even doing here?"

"I left my wallet here, so I came to return it," Freed explained, and Laxus noted a tenseness in his jaw. "And of course I knew they were here; I know Sawyer's car."

"Then why the fuck did you come inside?" Laxus yelled, voice snarling in a protective rage. "Why didn't you use your fucking brain and run the hell away? You can't be that fucking stupid that you thought they were here for a good reason. Did you not even take a second to think they might wanna hurt you? For fucks sake, you played a fucking song. Did you wanna taunt them into killing you? Wanna make yourself feel like a big man before they shot you in the chest? What the fuck were you thinking?"

"I was thinking, Laxus, that I might be better equipped to deal with the situation than you," Freed growled back, and his tone was almost as venomous as it had been when speaking with Erik. "I thought that you were a naive danger to yourself who knows nothing of violence compared to me, and that I'd rather be there to help than let you get killed through inaction."

"You pushed his gun to your head," Laxus growled. "You were inviting him to kill you!"

"I was calling his bluff," Freed snarled back. "He wouldn't kill anyone in my family, disowned or otherwise. He's a coward, as is Sawyer. I'm surprised father sent them of all people, I expected better."

"You expected this!"

"My father knows where I live," Freed snapped. "It was a matter of time."

"Why the fuck didn't you think to tell me?" Laxus demanded.

"I didn't expect him to send people here," Freed grunted. "I assumed he'd deal with it at my home."

"I don't give a shit that it happened in the bar, Freed," Laxus yelled again, anger and exasperation in his tone. "I care that he sent a gunman to get you, I care that he wants you back and he seems willing to hurt and kill people to do it, I care that you could have been shot in there. Fucks sake, what if you didn't shoot Sawyer in time and he got a shot off on you. I couldn't have fucking saved you from that, but if you told me he's after you I could have done something!"

"You seem to forget something, Laxus," Freed said, voice low now. "I am not yours to protect. I am not an innocent man who has been dragged into this life by happenstance. I was brought into it from birth and I know it a hell of a lot better than you do."

"That doesn't mean that I can't protect you," Laxus growled.

"I do not need protection, Mr Dreyar," Freed spoke through gritted teeth. "If you remember correctly, you were the one on your knees. You were the one with a gun to the back of his head. You were the one who froze up. Not me. That is not the first hostage situation I have been in, both as a hostage myself and as a perpetrator. That is not the first time I have shot a man, nor will it be the last I expect. And these things should serve as a reminder, Mr Dreyar, that in the area of crime, I am your superior in every damn way. I am not your damsel to save."

With glare, Freed stormed past him.

Laxus was now left alone.

He found himself unable to process what had just happened, a mix of anger and relief and offense flooding through him and stopping his mind from working. He could only watch as Freed stormed from the alleyway they had argued in, walking in the direction of his boarding house with purposeful, precise movements.

Once he was out of sight, Laxus deflated, slid down a wall, and closed his eyes.

"Fuck," Laxus exhaled shakily. It was all he could think of saying, the perfect summation of his night. "Fuck."

[shijiujun]

Anon Asks: Thanks! I was thinking of another hurt/comfort, but if you could turn it into fluff then I’m all for it! When LY asked QCS “which would you choose: pride or money” and they both chose pride... I wondered what would make LY choose QCS over pride, or have QCS choose LY. Granted I’m only on episode 15 but I’m totally fine with spoilers! Or if that’s a little much... maybe a little moment where LY can flaunt his own family credentials to save QCS (and BYN)?

And here ya go for your second prompt anon! I’m sorry it kind of got away from me again and ended up being... ~4000 words.

--

wish i could

When a new gang comes to town and kidnaps Chusheng and Youning to force Boss Bai to give up his authority in the Concessions area, Lu Yao decides he’s going to go grab them himself. He is, after all, a member of the Lu family and Lu Zifu raised no weakass kid (when it counts).

--

Read it in full below

One would think that after the entire debacle with Norman and the British, after Lu Yao’s siblings playing all the tricks they know in the book to get Lu Yao to leave Shanghai and go home to Hai Ning with them, after almost having to marry Youning and into the Bai family, Lu Yao would finally be able to live the way he’s always wanted to.

He has friends who cherish him, access to all the best restaurants in the city, a nice apartment and a job he’s incredibly fond of — a job that comes with the perks of frequent free meals and pretty, expensive things when he wants them.

And even if Lu Yao had none of those things, he would stay, if only to have Qiao Chusheng in his line of vision constantly. To see the man’s indulgent smile when Lu Yao demands for things, to watch him command his men or exercising shirtless in the mornings at the police station, but mostly to enjoy the warmth that spreads in his chest like an unfurling flower whenever Chusheng looks at him like he’s the only thing that matters.

He knows he means something to Qiao Chusheng, even if they haven’t acted on their feelings yet. Lu Yao isn’t sure what he’s waiting for, but he is unbelievably happy and contented like this.

So he’s not best pleased when he returns to Shanghai after two weeks at home visiting his sister and father, to see Ah Dou and Salim at the train station, their expressions grim.

“… where’s Lao Qiao?” asks Lu Yao with a frown, dragging his humongous luggage behind him as he looks around, as if Chusheng will pop up with ice-cream for him anytime now.

“Lu-ge,” Ah Dou calls as he usually does these days, his face ashen. “Bai-laoye is looking for you.”

And that’s when Lu Yao knows everything has gone to shit.

Lu Yao is still afraid of seeing Bai Qili despite being on exceptionally good terms with his children and once-a-week dinners at the Bai manor with Chusheng and Youning.

Before his mind can run wild as to why he’s being brought to see Bai-laoye, Salim explains simply, “Inspector Qiao and Bai-xiaojie were kidnapped two days ago.”

For a split second, Lu Yao almost scoffs.

A kidnapping?

What utter nonsense. Who in Shanghai would dare to touch Qiao Si-ye, feared across the city with a fierce and deadly reputation that precedes himself? And even if Chusheng was captured, with Youning too? That noisy, ridiculous and bad-tempered daughter of the revered Green Dragon Gang’s leader?

One not only has to have the competency to actually capture Chusheng and Youning, but also a pressing death wish to go through with it.

He wants to laugh and chide them for pulling such an unbelievable joke, but another glance at both men has his thudding heart beat even faster in anxiety. Ah Dou, for one, has a cut on his left cheek and looks a little too pale to be at the peak of health, and while Salim’s expressions often border on the sides of either confusion or blankness, the way the lines at his forehead pulls at his skin is unmistakable.

Lu Yao dashes into the house when they arrive before Man-jie even opens the doors for him. A turn to the left from the mansion’s lobby takes him to the living room, where Bai-laoye is seated.

“… Lao Qiao and Youning were kidnapped?” blurts Lu Yao without a single greeting.

Bai Qili looks up at his entrance and without berating him for his lack of manners, gestures for him to take a seat and says, “You’re back.”

“Where are they? If they were kidnapped why haven’t we gone over to get them back yet?” Lu Yao asks, but sits his arse down on the expensive leather couch anyway.

The old man doesn’t say anything for a moment as he considers the tea setup in front of him on the table. The water is obviously cold, the lack of steam rising from the pot and teacups not escaping Lu Yao’s notice. Bai Qili has been sitting here for a while then, but Lu Yao can’t quite read his expression.

On the table next to the teapot is a black ornamental box.

“With Norman and Anderson out of the picture, there was a gap in power as you know,” Bai Qili begins just as Lu Yao is about to panic again, “The Green Dragon Gang and my trusted people were put into positions that will help secure our power in the region for the next few years to come, but the British slowly restructuring the way their people will be placed here has also allowed some other gangs to take advantage of the situation. I’m not sure if you’ve heard of the She Tou Gang?”

“Like… a snakehead?”

“They’re originally from Suzhou, but some dispute they had with another larger gang there forced them out of the city and here to Shanghai where they heard there are some territories to be taken.”

Why is he saying all this? Lu Yao watches in bewilderment as Bai Qili picks up a cigar and lights it, looking as if he’s aged a decade all of a sudden as he leans into the couch. One puff, two puffs, before he continues.

“And now they’ve taken Chusheng and Youning as hostages to force me to cede territory and the Concessions area to them.”

Lu Yao doesn’t understand why Bai Qili looks so shaken and afraid for a long moment — the man has always been the pinnacle of stability and a symbol of fear to Lu Yao, and in the confusion of the entire situation, he doesn’t get why Bai Qili hasn’t stormed the snakehead’s headquarters or whichever hole they’re hiding in with the rest of the gang to get Chusheng and Youning out.

With a sudden burst of clarity, Lu Yao snatches at the box on the table and opens it.

Lying at the bottom of the box are two cleanly severed fingers, one clearly of lighter skin and more dainty than the other.

On the thinner finger, Lu Yao recognises a very familiar ring. It’s the one he fake-proposed to Youning with, the one she kept even after admitting to everyone that their marriage was a simple sham, the one with a small diamond in it that made her want to wear it as an everyday accessory, to flaunt the favour that Lu Yao owes her for helping him.

And worse is the other finger. It’s one that belongs to a hand he so adores, a hand that hands him the things he wants. The hand that always, without fail, manages to bring him home.

Lu Yao inhales sharply as ice sinks into his skin and bones, feeling his gag reflex as the urge to throw up slams into his gut.

“You know where they are?” he asks, his voice eerily even. “And they’re from Suzhou you said?”

“San Tu, sit down. I have until tomorrow to get to the papers and make an announcement,” the man continues. “I’m not risking their lives, nor yours. It is only some property, some money and investments. We can deal with them after we get Chusheng and Youning out.”

Lu Yao’s head is running through all the possibilities, and it takes him less than a minute to decide on the best course of action.

“Tell me where they are, and lend me Salim. I’ll get them back,” he declares. “Lao ye-zi, hold off on the announcement. If I’m not back by the next morning, it’s not too late to consider that option.”

Bai Qili finally looks up, and the way his gaze rests on Lu Yao right now, it’s as if he’s seeing this man, who Youning and Chusheng have both claimed as one of their own, for the very first time. Seeing him properly, seeing him beyond his vanity, his greed and how timid he usually is.

This Lu Yao is finally looking like a member of the Lu family, one of Lu Zifu’s children.

And he knows that Chusheng must’ve seen something in him, to be so willing to lay his life on the line for his well-being and safety.

“… if any of them lose another finger,” the man concedes, “I’ll do as I planned. And if you end up losing a finger, I’m not going to deal with Lu Zifu or Lu Miao either. If this all goes to shite, we can all go to war. Ah Dou and Liu Zi know where they’re at. Take them both.”

That’s as much approval as he’s going to get.

Lu Yao shakes his head, “I’ll only need Salim and the rest of the men at the station on standby. Liu Zi and Ah Dou should stay with you in case they’ve got another plan in place, lao ye-zi. I don’t want Youning or Lao Qiao scolding me either if you get hurt.”

Bai Qili scoffs, and even though it’s entirely illogical, he suddenly feels a little more… settled. A little more at ease, as if Lu Yao can truly solve this without it escalating into war.

On the way out, Lu Yao uses the house phone to call his sister, who isn’t amused that he’s calling for a favour only a day after he left home.

When she hears what is going on, however, Lu Miao sighs audibly on the other end of the call.

“I’ll send you what you need to the station,” she ends up saying. “San Tu, San Huo and San Mu are ready if you need them, but I’ll prefer to not have to explain myself to the British ambassador again for almost causing another war.”

“It won’t get to that,” Lu Yao simply says, and Lu Miao has no choice but to let her little brother do as he wants. “All I need to know is that you’ll back me up if it comes to that.”

Ah Dou looks unconvinced when Lu Yao tells him what he’s about to do, but keeps quiet and drives the man to the station, where Lu Yao unceremoniously heads into Chusheng’s office and waits for the telegraph his sister promised to send over. It takes only half an hour, and when he does manage to read through the information, he asks Ah Dou to gather the men at the station and wait for his call, and gets Salim to drive him to the She Tou gang’s location instead.

Salim pauses for a second, as if realizing that this might not go well, and Lu Yao doesn’t pressure him. After all, the man has children and a wife waiting for him back at home, and if he refuses, Lu Yao is fine with going alone.

“… can you help me tell Inspector Qiao that I’d like a week off, paid leave, if we survive this?”

At that, Lu Yao snickers, despite the severity of the situation.

“A week off and a watch, how about that?”

“Yes sir!”

===

Youning is sniffling quietly next to him, her face all dirtied and hair a mess, dress ripped in several places. Her hands aren’t bound, unlike his, and she’s pressed close to him, her eyes darting occasionally to the hand with a missing finger on it. The blood has stopped flowing, but Youning still feels afraid, angry and upset all in one.

Thankfully, aside from the dirt and maybe some scratches here and there, Youning is safe and in one piece. All they did was take her ring yesterday.

Chusheng would do anything, even exchanging his life for hers. It is all his fault for being careless, and is it dumb of him to be relieved, that Lu Yao is not in Shanghai and wasn’t with them when they got nabbed?

He knows what they want, and he also knows that even if Bai lao-ye agrees to their terms, it’s not a full guarantee that Youning and he will walk out of here alive. After taking his finger, Chusheng can imagine the old man wavering — he is soft at heart despite all his years of experience, of bloodshed and war after war, especially when his daughter is involved.

All he needs to do is find an opportunity for Youning to escape, and he doesn’t care what happens to him.

The She Tou gang is made up of men younger than both he and Youning are, but what they lack in years of experience in the underworld they make up for in their sheer numbers and ruthlessness. Chusheng has heard of their leader, Xu Boying. At a tender age of 23, he managed to expand the gang’s power and increase their numbers precipitously, and if the British hadn’t run the gang out of Suzhou, it is likely they would have taken over that territory in another year or so.

No matter how good Chusheng is, faced with almost fifty assailants and with Youning at his side, his hands were tied when they were caught.

And if the situation was different, Chusheng would be plenty impressed by the young man’s capabilities, ambition and shrewdness. Within days of settling in Shanghai, Xu Boying managed to hit Bai Qili where it hurts and rather effectively.

He almost laughs. After just half a year of being Inspector, half a year after meeting Lu Yao, he’s entirely lost his touch. He’s gotten used to the regular life, of dealing with employees and work from 9am to 5pm most days when they don’t have cases, of having breakfasts and dinners with Lu Yao, of being a normal, regular son to his adoptive father of sorts, of meeting up with friends for a drink or a night out. No fights, no wars, no fear and just… being safe. Being just like any other person living well in Shanghai, with a stable job, with good friends surrounding him and a supportive family.

And someone he’d like to protect, and keep happy, for the rest of his life.

“We should just kill them,” one of the younger boys in the gang snaps. “What if the Green Dragon Gang brings their people here and just slaughters the rest of us?”

“That’s what the message was for. Be patient, Xiao Han. Especially since we have Bai Qili’s only daughter, that old fart won’t dare to just come in with all guns blazing. Look at us here. One wrong move and we’ll light up the explosives, and then Bai Qili is left with nothing. Trust me, he won’t dare to take the risk.”

“Ge…” Youning murmurs, looking at him.

“Don’t be afraid,” Chusheng repeats, forcing a small smile for her. “You have me, remember?”

The doors to the warehouse they’re being held in opens suddenly, and the both of them look up as a young boy sneaks in, making a beeline straight for Xu Boying.

“What is it?” the leader frowns.

“There’s someone outside. Two men,” the boy reports hesitantly. “He says he’s here for the two of them, and that he brings a message from Bai Qili. One of them is in uniform, from the station. The other… we’ve never seen before. Very tall, dressed in an expensive suit.”

At the sound of that, Chusheng and Youning exchange glances.

It can’t be…

Before Xu Boying can say anything else, the doors slam open loudly, and in saunters one Lu Yao, indeed dressed in an expensive suit as the boy said. Chusheng doesn’t recognize this navy blue set at all, and horror and panic claws at him.

Not Lu Yao, he thinks, not his San Tu.

“Great, looks like everyone is here,” Lu Yao says, uncaring of the guns raised at him at the moment, as if he’s just here for dinner.

“Who the fuck are you-“

“I’m here to take them back, of course,” Lu Yao barrels right over Xu Boying’s question, looking every bit the expensive, spoilt and rich motherfucker he is as he strolls in, almost looking bored.

His eyes rove over both Youning and Chusheng for a fraction of a second before he returns his attention to Xu Boying and his men.

Meeting Lu Yao’s gaze earlier, Chusheng almost cannot believe what he’s seeing. This is a Lu Yao he’s not familiar with, a San Tu he doesn’t usually see.

“You must be Xu Boying,” Lu Yao says, settling comfortably into the seat opposite his at the table. “The Xu family’s bastard son. I’ve heard a lot about you from my sister. Can you not point the guns at me? I’m a little scared of guns.”

There. Right there, that’s the Lu Yao Chusheng knows.

Nostrils flaring in anger at the sound of the word ‘bastard’, Xu Boying slams both hands into the table and stands up, gun in hand and pointed at Lu Yao.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?! You better look at the current situation clearly. I don’t care who Bai Qili sent as a negotiator, but if he doesn’t do what we want, we’re going to blow his daughter and that inspector up. They’re sitting right in the middle of the new shipment we got. If you want them alive, you better tell me who the fuck you are and what you’re doing here-“

“My name is Lu Yao,” Lu Yao answers, seemingly cooperative. “And you’re not going to do that. In fact, you are going to leave Shanghai first thing tomorrow morning.”

At that, guffaws and laughter echo in the warehouse, incredulous at the audacity this man has. After all, it’s more than thirty guns trained on him on the inside of the warehouse and many more at the back, who will come running once Xu Boying starts yelling for them.

“San Tu, what are you doing!” Youning calls from the side.

“Shhh, I’m having a serious discussion here,” Lu Yao hushes her with a glare.

“You don’t care much about your father or your stepmother,” Lu Yao turns to look at the man again. “But you care about your younger brother. It so happens that Xu Bolai enlisted in my brother’s private army up in Hai Ning, and honestly, it isn’t that difficult to have my Da-ge single him out and deal with him.”

“How do you know my brother’s name?!” Xu Boying snarls, his hand shaking a little.

“Do you think I’m lying? Also, where do you think you’ve been getting your stock of arms and explosives from? I’ve set my sister on it. That British middleman you’ve been speaking to won’t be able to provide you with any more goods,” Lu Yao continues. “That’s how you’ve been making your money for the gang in the past two years, correct? It’s simple enough for my sister, who’s Secretary at the Commissioner’s Office, to find the necessary people to arrest him.”

“Not to mention I’ve also called my Er-ge, who is Commander of his own army stationed in Nantong city, and can be here within the next few hours. Bai laoda might not be able to do anything to you guys, that is true.”

“But I can,” Lu Yao concludes, leaning forward slightly and holding Xu Boying’s gaze. “Just my sister alone can wipe out the She Tou Gang without having to lift even one of her fingers. Take on the Lu family and I can have you disappear at the end of the day. You, and your brothers included.”

“Don’t believe me?” Lu Yao smiles, putting both hands up as he shrugs. “Try it. If Qiao Chusheng, Bai Youning and I don’t walk out of here in the next hour, we all die together. You’re not going to get away. Dying here is the least of your concerns because if you’re caught by either Bai Qili, or anyone affiliated with the Lu family, you’ll wish you were dead.”

Silence ensues after Lu Yao’s monologue.

“… Ge,” one of the boys at the side says with a frown. “I think… this is Lu Yao, that consulting detective the station hired under Qiao Si. He is the Lu family’s youngest son. The Lu family… in Hai Ning.”

Whispers break out at that.

Lu Yao is satisfied momentarily to see that his family’s name is still able to get them somewhere. He’s not fond of invoking his dad or any of his sibling’s names, but desperate times, desperate measures.

“I’ll even wait for you to verify the information I just told you,” Lu Yao offers, gracious even in a crisis.

When all the men just stare at him, Lu Yao sighs.

“Look, I didn’t even bring anyone other than Salim with me. The Green Dragon Gang and the guys at the police station are nowhere near here. I could have brought them with me, you know. Either way, if my Da-ge, Er-ge and Da-jie don’t hear from me in the next hour, you and your friends are done for.”

“If you cooperate with me, at least you get a headstart on running,” Lu Yao finishes with a flourish.

That little bitch, Youning thinks, staring wide-eyed at this flamboyant, ridiculous and vain young master, flaunting his wealth and the power his family has without a single care in the world.

More than that, he’s telling the whole world that Chusheng and Youning are under his protection. Under the Lu family’s protection, that these two individuals who’ve lived and breathed the underworld all their lives, are people worth protecting.

Lu Yao is staking a claim, that’s what.

===

“Lao Qiao, does it hurt?” Lu Yao panics in the car later, Salim pressing his foot down on the accelerator so they get out of this ridiculous area as soon as possible. “Lao Qiao, you’re missing a finger, you’re missing… you’re missing a finger- Salim drive faster, let’s get to the hospital!”

Chusheng is quiet, but his eyes are only for Lu Yao as the tall and fair-skinned man fusses over him, acting both like a child and a nagging mother at the same time.

“It’s okay,” he finally says, lifting his uninjured hand to squeeze at Lu Yao’s. “It’s just a finger. And it’s on my left hand, it won’t stop me from firing a gun or protecting you when needed. Calm down, San Tu.”

“Yeah, where did your bravado from earlier go?” Youning turns around in the front seat to glare at him. “You scared me!”

Lu Yao glares at her, then looks down at her hands — her pristine, beautiful hands with all fingers still intact. “I had to save you guys, no? Also why do you have all your fingers and Lao Qiao is missing one?!”

“Ahhh, ge, listen to him! He wants me to lose a finger!”

“They sent two fingers to the manor,” says Lu Yao through gritted teeth, “And one with that ring on it.”

Before the two can get into a further argument, Chusheng tugs at Lu Yao’s sleeve.

“Are you really going to let them go?” he asks.

“They took a finger from you,” Lu Yao says, biting at his lips and looking away. “I told Ah Dou to round all of them up once they get to the port, because that’s definitely where they’re headed next.”

“Smart,” Chusheng grins, and damn it, he feels proud of Lu Yao right now.

“… I saved you, so shouldn’t you repay me for that?” Lu Yao asks next, “I’m so tired! I came to get you guys the moment I got off the train, and you have to compensate me for the emotional trauma I had going through that. I didn’t even get to eat dinner because you said you would bring me to dinner when I return, but look at you now-“

“Lu San Tu! Chusheng-ge has lost a finger and he’s probably got several broken bones and what  not on his body, can you please be nicer to him-“

Chusheng chuckles, because god, he has missed this. In the last two weeks while Lu Yao was gone, this was what had been missing. Just Lu Yao in their lives, filling it up with noise, stupidity and laughter.

Watching Lu Yao earlier as he stared down a group of people he would usually be so afraid of, all for him and Youning, and Chusheng doesn’t know how much more he can love him.

“I’ll repay you,” Chusheng agrees. “I’m missing a finger but… I suppose in compensation, I’ll give myself to you, if you’ll have me.”

Everyone in the car goes silent at that. Both Salim and Youning suddenly pretend to be listening to anything but the conversation between both men in the backseat, Youning having the luxury to appreciate the stars in the night sky frmo where she’s seated.

“… what’s the use of having you,” Lu Yao mumbles, his cheeks heating as he looks away.

“You can have all of me, which means my house, my money… and me,” Chusheng smiles, leaning forward to catch Lu Yao’s eyes again. “Are you sure you don’t want any of it?”

Lu Yao doesn’t reply, and nothing else is said until they reach the doors of the hospital. There at the entrance stands Bai lao-ye, and despite her less-than-ideal relationship with her father, Youning is quick to exit the car and run into her father’s arms.

Right before Lu Yao leaves the vehicle, he mumbles something under his breath, his voice low enough for only Chusheng to hear.

“Chusheng!”

“Lao ye-zi,” Chusheng greets with a smile, and the man takes one good look at him before ushering him into the hospital lobby.

Lu Yao follows, only a step behind and not even losing a finger can put a damper on Chusheng’s mood right now after what he heard.

===

Of course I want all of it.

All your money, everything you own.

And you.

--

Notes:

*She Tou Gang (蛇头帮) - I don’t know if this gang was actually operating in the same years and where they came from, I literally just googled for existing gangs in China for reference XD

*As I explained on a previous post, it’s likely that Lu Yao’s brothers were named San Huo (fire) and San Mu (wood) as a naming tradition from Lu Miao (Lu San Shui - water) and Lu Yao (Lu San Tu - earth), since we Chinese are really fond of the four elements

*Bai lao-ye (老爷) or lao ye-zi (老爷子) - Used to refer to Bai QIli as the master of the Bai family or dad in the family in a sense

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Some Sense of Normalcy ch.2 (baon)

Summary: It’s Edge’s first day back to work at the Embassy, but his job isn’t the only thing on his mind.

Tags:  Spicyhoney, Kustard, Established Relationships, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Past Injury

Chapter 1 | 

~~*~~

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

Read Chapter 2 on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

Stretch kept watch out the front window, waiting for Edge to drive off with Red at the wheel of his car and wasn’t that a question he didn’t have time to find out the answer. Then he went back upstairs to get dressed; he had places to be and of course today would be the morning that Edge decided to let his ridged adherence to his schedule slip.

It was pretty damned hard to nudge Edge out the door without making him suspicious, since all previous evidence pointed to Stretch trying to keep him in bed as long as possible and now that he was finally gone, Stretch needed to double-time it.

He hadn't lied about the video conference with his therapist, but that wasn't until this afternoon and there was something to look forward to. He had a love/hate thing going with Doc Lee, loved that she could help him collect all his thoughts back into the right baskets and get 'em back in order, hated that he had to actually talk about why they were scattered to begin with to get there.

In the meantime, he yanked on the first pair of pants and sweatshirt he found in his side of the closet. He was headed back downstairs, socks in hand, when the doorbell rang.

Stretch opened the door, leaning awkwardly on the jamb as he reached down to pull on his socks. "hey, andy."

“Morning,” Jeff said with a smile. He was dressed for work and Jeff’s style was a little less posh than Edge went for. No suit coat and his button-up shirt was a deep blue with a scattered floral pattern and a sort of long, gauzy white vest hanging open over the works. He looked good and Stretch didn’t mind telling him so.

“good thing i’m a math genius, your clothes are looking pretty acute there.”

Faint pink rose in Jeff’s cheeks. The kid didn’t take a compliment well, it was a work in progress. But he sure as heck proved his pun skills were up to par. “Thanks for going at the right angle so I don’t have to be obtuse about it. Are you ready to head out?”

“give me two minutes to feed the chickens and we can hit it.”

Stretch headed into the backyard, Jeff at his heels. Jeff stayed out of the coop in deference to his nice shoes and only watched as Stretch let the chickens out, scooping feed into their trough. Nugget came out of the coop last, not the normal order of things, gobbling her food with record speed. Probably wanted to book it back inside to her weird nest and that was another mystery on Stretch’s list. It’d keep for a day or two, and Stretch would take a dozen peculiar eggs, carton and all, to have her back home. He gave her a light pat, didn’t even mind when his affection was ignored in favor of the eats.

Meanwhile, Jeff wandered over to the freshly planted garden beds, peering down at the tiny points of green poking out. "So, do I get to hear why you didn't hitch a ride in with Edge?"

See, that was the problem with Jeff being pals with Edge; it made him concerned for Edge’s welfare and feelings and stuff. That was some double-sided sticky tape, ‘cause Stretch wanted Jeff to like Edge but not enough that he’d tattle. "that would be because he'd interrogate me about what i was doing."

"And you think I won't?"

"nah, you will, but you're more lucky to fall for the eyes." Stretch turned to him, feed bucket still in hand, and gave him the very best doe-eyed, pathetic look in his collection.

"okay, that is pretty effective,” Jeff admitted, “But, somehow, I don't think you're planning a surprise party. So, I have to ask, is what you're doing going to make Edge mad and that's why you're going behind his back?"

"nope." Probably not, anyway.

Jeff gave Stretch a scrutinizing look that would give Sans a run for his money. Well, maybe a leisurely stroll. “All right,” he said at last, “If I don’t take you to the Embassy, you’ll just take the bus, anyway. But if something is actually wrong or you need real help that isn’t solved by a quick lift, you tell me. Deal?”

“deal,” Stretch hesitated and added, “i promise.” Fuck it, Andy was his best friend, if he couldn’t confess to him at least a little, then he might as well start rethinking the title.

Stretch never really gave Jeff a rundown about how he felt about promises, but stood to reason that someone did. His expression softened into a lopsided smile and he jerked his head towards the house. “Then let’s get going before I’m late. Catty is a good boss but the last person in has to get coffee for everyone for the rest of the day.”

The ladies were still chowing down and Stretch left them to it, though he did double and then triple check that the gate was shut tight. Not that he’d ever accidentally left it open, but he was pretty resigned to being stupid about his chicks for a little while yet.

Jeff’s car was a sporty little compact with a surprising amount of legroom in the front seats and there was zero doubt in Stretch’s mind that Edge was the one who chose it with that feature in mind, along with every safety feature package that they could cram in without popping a seam. He didn’t wait for the seat belt speech, already buckling up, and they were off.

Crawling through the streets of New New Home to the security checkpoint and once they were through the gate, Jeff turned things up a notch. His cautious driving was only about a step down from Edge’s, but unlike Edge, Jeff didn’t say a peep when Stretch rolled down the window and let his arm dangle out, relishing the cool wind on his bony fingers.

Nice to be able to relax and enjoy the breeze. Edge would’ve bitched at him and he knew from experience that Blue would stop the car and refuse to move until he rolled the window back up, citing statistics about Humans losing limbs and heads all the while.

Yeah, okay, today wasn’t a good day to think about anyone losing their head. Stretch pulled his arm back in and let it sit more sedately on the window ledge. He could feel Jeff giving him a look, but he didn’t say anything, didn’t ask or probe or scold and that was why he was an awesome friend. Even if a couple times he’d asked about things Stretch didn’t like to think about, things from the past, from Underswap—

The sound of the wind through the opened window suddenly sounded a little too much like a brewing storm in Snowdin, the way they often swirled up across the narrow path that led to Waterfall. Dredged up memories that Stretch usually kept packed away, neat and tidy in a box of ‘past is past’. His head really wasn’t on straight today and—

Stop it, STOP IT—

“how’s things at the embassy?” Stretch asked abruptly. He yanked his arm inside and rolled the window up entirely, sealing out the blowing wind. Jeff didn’t seem perturbed about the sudden break in the silence.

“Great. Busy.” Jeff kept his eyes on the road, but his smile was honest and wide, “I know you’re going to put me off for saying this, but I seriously could never thank you guys enough for getting me this job.”

Stretch shrugged. “i didn’t have anything to do with it. i have less pull at the embassy than hussain, and i’ve heard what he did with the cafeteria.”

“The food is great,” Jeff agreed, “especially the falafel.” His quick side eye said a lot about how much he believed the rest of it.

It wasn’t that Stretch minded the gratitude, but it really wasn’t necessary. Yeah, sure, being his pal probably got Jeff’s foot through the door. That wouldn’t make Edge give Jeff a job that he couldn’t do or that he wouldn’t be suited for. Strategy was what Edge did, and if he thought Jeff would be great for Public Relations, Stretch was a hundred-and-nine percent sure he was right.

“anything i had to do with it was strictly by association,” Stretch told him, “you’re probably more lucky being my pal didn’t put them off, but eh, if they haven’t ditched edge, i doubt you’ll be in line.”

“I think if they fired Edge, half the Embassy would grab their staplers and follow him out the door,” Jeff snorted, “Speaking of lines, you want to stop for a coffee on our way?”

Seriously, best pals forever, “lead on, macduff, i’ll follow you anywhere.”

Jeff laughed even as he turned into the lot for the Beanery and headed for the drive-thru.

Jeff dropped Stretch off at the Embassy entrance before he went to park his car. Which was fine, he knew where he was going, and he didn’t need Jeff to hold his hand along the way.

The security guard only gave him a disinterested look as he swiped his rarely-used keycard and headed for the elevator. Not the normal elevators, the ones that led to the offices upstairs that Humans and Monsters used all day long, where you could press any button and be off.

No, the elevator to the labs was around the corner from those and needed a keycard just to open the doors, another swipe of the card with a password to activate it. Not all Monsters had access to all the labs, and their cards would only take them as far down as their security clearance allowed.

Stretch’s card would take him to any of the labs. All he had to do was swipe it.

He stood in front of the elevator, the card gripped too-tight in the clench of his fingers, staring at the closed doors.

When he’d texted Alphys yesterday, she’d been perfectly happy to meet with him, but said she couldn’t get away from the labs right now, so he’d have to come here. He’d assured her that it was fine and yesterday, it was. It’d been a relief, even.

Somehow while he’d been lying in bed the day before, lost in the tangle of his thoughts, the idea of his HP dropping again got hooked into his head. He couldn't stop thinking about it, none of his distraction techniques were working, his focus was fucking shot. All the clues that he might be having HP trouble were banging on the door, demanding to be let into his mind.

Like the fact that the lower his HP got, the wearier he was and just lately, he'd been feeling awfully damned tired. He'd gotten used to his HP being at five and the extra slice of energy that came with that. Falling asleep at random times in even more random places was becoming the exception rather than the norm and he fucking well liked it that way.

Last time Alphys checked him over, his HP was back on the rise, but it’d been a while. Lately, he'd been smoking way too much, using up a lot of magic healing, and he’d been so, so tired. He wasn’t the puzzle-fiend that his bro and Edge were, but even he could do one that only had a couple pieces.

Yesterday, Alphys’s assurances that he could stop in had been a relief, enough to make that worry back off a little and let him go back to his sour ball of grief over Nugget. Now that mourning was off the table, the reports of her death greatly exaggerated, here came his ghostly HP worries, trundling back in to for another go at haunting the inside of his skull.

After dinner, he’d gone upstairs to take a shower and stood there, looking at himself in the mirror. All it would’ve take was a quick Check, only a few seconds, and his stats would have spilled out right in front of his eye lights, letting him know exactly the state of his HP. Just a quick check and if everything looked good, he could tell Alphys never mind, he could stay home and take a day, not curled up on the bed but on the sofa, maybe, day-binging Netflix. Or outside, watching the chickens roam the yard, maybe see if Nugget would let him get a picture of that mystery egg she was so protective of.

Would’ve only taken a quick Check and Stretch just…couldn't. The magic was sitting there ready to be used and he couldn’t make himself pull the trigger on doing it. He couldn't do it and he sure as fuck wasn’t going to ask Edge. Like Edge needed any other problems on his radar? Not a chance.

So that cemented the plan right there. He was gonna go downtown and see what the deal was, and if it was bad, he would tell Edge. No secrets, not this time, no trying to hide this shit. Edge was going to have to deal with whatever fallout came down the line from his HP dropping, so may as well give him as much prep time as he could.

All he had to do was open the elevator door.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

Stretch startled so badly the world blurred around him in an aborted shortcut. The mostly empty coffee cup in his hands slipped though his fingers, spilling out a few creamy droplets when it hit the floor.

Jeff only went to the nearby cleaning station to grab a paper towel, crouching down to wipe up the mess while Stretch tried to remember how to breathe normally.

Finally, he blurted out, “you scared the shit out of me, andy!”

“I noticed and it’s extra impressive considering you don’t shit,” Jeff said. He tossed the cup and dirty paper towel into the trash can. “And you didn’t answer me. Do you want me to come with you?”

Stretch laughed unsteadily, “you don’t even know where i’m going.”

“I don’t,” Jeff agree. “What I do know is that leads to the labs downstairs. And I know you have trouble with labs sometimes, even your own. So. Do you need me to come with you?”

Jeff’s gaze was steady, calm, and beneath it was that warm gentleness, the compassion on his face as obvious as the soft green of his soul. It was hard to resist the urge to grab onto him and drag him downstairs, fuck all the security protocols, but that would be plowing over all kinds of boundaries and Stretch wouldn’t be the only one getting in trouble over it. He wasn’t about to damage anyone at the Embassy’s trust in Jeff over his own stupid issues.

“nah,” Stretch forced a smile, “you need to get upstairs before you’re the designated coffee runner for the day.” Then, when Jeff didn’t move, he said, more seriously, “but you can hit the button for me. if you want.”

Jeff stepped up but instead of pushing the button, he wrapped both arms around Stretch’s rib cage and hugged him tightly. All of Stretch’s good intentions snapped like the elastic in an old pair of undershorts; all he could do is lean down and hug Jeff back, his slim body giving in a way that bone simply couldn’t. Jeff was softer and squishy and so very Human, the best part of humanity.

If anyone came down towards the elevators, Stretch might’ve let go sooner. As it was, they stood there an embarrassingly long time for whatever security cameras were probably watching. Jeff didn’t let up an inch, held tight and let Stretch be the one to step back first.

Stretch shook his arms out, gave himself a full body shake. He could do this.

“okay, i’m heading down,” Stretch said firmly. He pushed his card into the key slot. “hit it.”

Jeff did and the elevator door slid open smoothly. Stretch stepped inside and the doors were closing almost before he could turn around.

“You can text me whenever you’re done!” Jeff called through the narrowing opening. The door closed completely before Stretch could reply but that was okay, Jeff would know his answer without him saying a thing.

He pushed his keycard into the control panel slot and tapped in his password; the calendar numbers of his wedding anniversary used in a linear equation. The elevator lurched hard enough to unsettle his non-existent stomach and started downward.

No big deal, Stretch told himself, struggling to pull his keycard back out with sweat-slick fingers. He rubbed them impatiently on his pants and tried again, and this time the card came free, just as the elevator doors opened into the gleaming stainless steel and glass of the labs, all clean sterile lines, nothing at all like his own cluttered workspace. But it was all fine, he wouldn’t even be in the lab long, Alphys always took him right to her office.

Right on in and she could do all her tests, let him know the state of his body and soul, that was it, yep.

No big deal at all.

tbc

[blankdblank]

Collateral

He lost all grip on reality, drifting away into the dark of his mind.

Prompt 42

…

Unthreatening and unimportant to the guards downstairs mention of a delivery to the Stark Tower granted you easy access and straight up you went holding the manila folder in your hands that your fingers tapped against. The long ride ended with you exiting the lift straight into a main lobby across from a living room where you spotted the curious dark haired Prince now looking up from his book resting in his palm that snapped shut in his rise to his feet. Far from a stranger to him he showed no uncertainty as to who you were or who you would be here to see. He left his book aside drawing the eye of the now publicly well known Wanda cuddled up next to Vision. The pair watching as the Prince approached you looking you over approvingly in your slightly more formal appearance over the usual waitress uniform he equated you with in all his daydreams.

Softly he stated hoping to not be overheard, “Miss Pear, this is a surprise.”

Instantly in a huff your brows furrowed making his brows twitch inwards in confusion at your seemingly rehearsed firm statement of, “I’m here to talk to your brother, his lady friend who I don’t know the name of, Steve Rogers and Tony Stark.”

After a moment of confusion he replied seeing your expression was holding clearly hinting at your bubbling anger demanding to be vented. “My apologies but they will not return until tomorrow.”

“Oh,” you said wetting your lips as the duo on the couch now stood to cross to you, but you continued on, “I’m sorry for how I’m saying this to you but this is how I rehearsed it and I have to get it out before I lose my nerve.” He gave you a nod to continue on.

“Thanks to your brother and his friends and their stops into the diner I’ve been evicted from my apartment,” parting the Prince’s lips.

“In this envelope is a copy of every meal check they’ve skipped out on to go ‘save the planet’ and everything broken by your brother and his lady friend that got taken out of my paycheck! I was short on rent for the past three months and even with extra shifts I couldn’t cover the daily fees added until it was paid off so I got kicked out. And when I asked my boss if they could give me a bump on a check to get funds to help move to a new place they fired me. It’s copies of all the receipts including price for all the missed rent, fees, moving truck and a storage place with six months wages compensation because I wouldn’t be in this mess if it wasn’t for those jackasses!”

You huffed and kindly handed him the packet now noticing his smirk while Wanda and Vision processed all you had said about their friends. “I mean you can’t really be the only person on the planet from Asgard who understands how to behave in public dining settings and manners towards people working in service. I highly doubt that but if it is I am truly sorry for how absurd your home planet must seem compared to our little planet.”

After a glance around the room you said, “Now if you’ll excuse me I have to get back to just make a lecture that will be on my midterm Friday. And I’m taking these.” You said taking Steve’s shield you slung over your shoulder before lifting Thor’s hammer off the hook he had left it on before their golfing weekend getaway. “As collateral, in the packet is a bank account they can wire the money into. They have three days or I’m selling these on eBay.” You shifted on your feet, “Oh, and if your brother and his lady friend try to pay me in some obscure relic, chandelier or painting from your planet I’m throwing his stupid hammer off a bridge, and no, I’m not going to tell him which one either! He’s just gonna have to check them all!”

Loki raised a finger, “One thing,” one of his doubles came out of Tony’s office holding an obscure wooden cube hiding the backup of Jarvis’ system he passed over to you along with a gym bag for the belongings to hide them in, “Take these. Should hasten things along.”

“Thank you,” You said earning a nod from him after shouldering the bag holding it all.

“Don’t mention it. Do let me know if you need help securing a new place to stay.”

You nodded and when the lift opened again you said as you entered it, “I also wouldn’t be against you hitting them with something in their sleep either. Just saying,” Making him chuckle and give you a wave in the doors closing before he turned back to the couch grinning unable to wait until the guys got back from their trip. Bought his book was left aside and he began to look again on his tablet at the list of saved properties he had considered purchasing again.

Wanda glanced from the packet Vision had opened to check just how much funds the four had robbed you of and cost you in their carelessness. Turning to go back to the living room with Vision hovering behind her as if on a tether in her asking, “You gave her Tony’s statue? He never lets anyone touch that.”

“For good reason,” Loki replied expanding one of the listings he had taken the most interest in for himself and your own needs.

“The guys will not take this well you handing over their goods to a woman you have taken a liking to.”

To which Loki replied, “I am in love with her, there is a difference, and those four have left her unemployed and homeless.”

Wanda nodded and said, “Fair enough.” Turning to join Vision in looking at the itemized receipts and fee list with labeled copies of receipts on sheets behind the main list page. The staggering amount had Wanda’s hands turning read and storming off, “I’m shrinking and hiding all their things! She didn’t take nearly enough of their things!”

Vision stated in leaving the packet on the coffee table, “I will hide the car collection.” Flying off to the garage through the building floor and the several before he reached the vast garage.

Loki couldn’t spend too long lingering on the thought of what you would experience knowing he felt too strongly for you. Surely it would be his end. If he didn’t others would only see him as he lost all grip on reality, drifting away into the dark of his mind. No, he would focus on finding a suitable home he could present to you to start your future possibly down the hall from him, if not closer. Certain that not a moment could be lost the full price was transferred and paperwork signed. With keys in hand for the apartment while his doubles were out to purchase his furniture for his room and study he stood waiting, outside your classroom in the breezeway. And after a bit of sleuthing, or simply teleporting outside the door separating him from the ‘cool keychain’ he had given you for your birthday hiding a traditional Asgardian Coupling stone. That matching the one he kept on his person always to know if you were in danger also enabling you to be brought by Heimdall through the Bifrost if you had been in danger for sanctuary.

The clock chimed at the hour marker and out your classmates flowed with you adorably at the rear fumbling your books back into your schoolbag. A dropped notepad was caught and when your eyes rose to meet that of the man who had caught in you grinned curiously at the Prince, “Loki? What are you doing here?”

Offering you a key he said, “I have an apartment, a duplex really. I would like to offer a place for you to move into.”

“But, it’s your apartment. I thought you wanted to get out yourself, don’t waste it on me.”

“It is no waste. Besides, I am offering you half of the duplex.”

“Oh,” you said brushing your hair back behind your ear anxiously blushing faintly, “Like, together, so we’d be-,”

“Sharing it, yes. It is ready to move in today if you have not secured housing.”

“Well, I, was just going to sleep, in my car.”

“Absolutely not. That is unacceptable you cannot rest adequately in your car.” His eyes looked over your face then he said a bit softer in hopes of goading you to accepting his offer, “Should you not have any more classes might you agree to inspect the building?���

“I, sure.” His hand extended and your lips parted triggering your dig into your pocket to bring out your car key you left in his palm then joined him for the walk to the parking lot.

Within the hour a snap of his fingers had your storage locker emptied fully into your half of the duplex with furniture assembling itself and things heading for their new homes around you while the paperwork was burned and your funds refunded in the system that erased you right after having done so. From your car the essentials were floated in next and unable to look at the kind Prince you carried your bag of collateral to the table behind your couch in the living room. The sudden opening of the front door had your eyes snap up to spot five doubles strolling in with shrunken furniture floating behind them carrying them to Loki’s delegated rooms with another carrying boxes of his clothes and books from his room in the tower.

In the silence Loki sat on your couch grinning as he inspected the decorations and furniture you had chosen fitting to his imagined style you chose to dwell in. Around the couch you walked and sat on the cushion beside him tangling your fingers together on your lap. With eyes fixed on your knees you asked, “Is this like a friends, roommate thing, or, not?”

From the painting on the wall his face turned to look you over and leaning in he scooted closer reaching out to brush your hair out of your face making your head turn and his chest clench in seeing the pinking of your eyes signaling tears were coming. “Not.”

“But, I,”

Trailing his curled fingers along your jaw he stated, “This will never happen again. I will ensure that the damages and costs are refunded to you. No one will do this again.”

After a sniffle you said, “Obviously not, I’ve been fired.”

Fully cupping your cheek to stroke a thumb across your cheek with a lovingly protective gaze he replied, “No matter your new profession, this will never happen again.”

Shifting your lips in thought your eyes sank and you said, “You’ve already moved my things in, but I can’t say when I could get a job again.”

“Good, focus on your studies.”

“But,”

“No buts, because once you get those degrees I could bring you to Asgard to intern there.” Your lips parted and he raised a finger on his free hand, “No arguments. As if I would allow this planet to squander a mind such as yours. Asgard has been a topic of interest and curiosity for many of our conversations, allow us to show you its wonders, and what we have to offer to further your studies. Besides, any able to wield Mjolner is welcome to citizenship on Asgard.”

“Wield what?” he chuckled lowly and you said, “You know what, I don’t want to know. That way if you take me I can deny it plausibly if that’s a bad thing to someone.”

Smirking to himself he purred, “I will order supper, you relax.”

Dinner led to a try for a film together leaving you snuggled across the couch sleeping soundly until a freak lightning storm surrounded Stark Tower was powerful enough to set off alarms two counties over where Loki’s double hushed your car alarm through a peek through the window. Smirking in his glance out into the distant lingering storm while you pulled your cuddle buddy by the wrist to your bed to continue your rest since it wouldn’t be arriving for a week.

@himoverflowers​, @theincaprincess​, @lilith15000​, @sdavid09​

[whatzaoverwatch]

The Reaper of the Opera Chapter 5: Prima Donna

Fun Fact: the part of Carlotta was originally going to be Ashe to represent the bratty side. But I felt to uphold the diva side of the character, with reputation and having Reinhardt being a fan, was more suited to Hana.

First Prev Next

Managers Office/Morning

A disgruntled Torbjorn entered the office, newspaper in hand and a cup of coffee in the other. Still waking up as he slumped over to his desk in exhaustion. The article that covered the page was the review of the prior performance. “A new star rises in the Overwatch Opera House! The final curtain call for Hana Song?” was written in bold. He merely read parts of it, finding that the backup plan had been a rightful success. Taking his seat, he spotted an unfamiliar note resting on the mahogany desk. A familiar skull print concealing the content inside put a sour look on his face. Sipping his coffee so he could read the inevitable. Tossing the newspaper aside, he picked up the note knowing this was from their so-called associate. Reluctantly opening it, he began to read the passage inside.

“A greeting to Mr. Lindholm. As much as I wish you my highest praises, I am afraid you have not gained my respect. I have been patient with you and your comrade as you are not quite familiar with the rules of my Opera House,” The bearded man huffed in bitterness, “I shall demand for my salary once more by the end of the month. Should these instructions not be followed, I am afraid darker days will approach you swiftly. – R.”

A lack of surprise evident on his face, he tosses the note away into the trash. “Of all the damn things to show up. First [Name] disappears now this? The things I have to put up with to fulfill a friends’ dream. If this is a mere prank by someone I’ll-“

“TORBJORN!” A shout from the entryway alerts the man as Reinhardt storms in with a paper in hand. Startling the smaller man to spill some of his coffee, “IT IS A CATASTROPHE!”

“Reinhardt! Do not shout so early in the morning,” He scolded his friend. Cursing at the now ruined suit. Trying to clean it off with anything, he looked over to the disheveled giant to see what he held, “I see that you also have received a letter.”

“Indeed!” He clears his throat as he began to read the words, “A greeting to you Mr. Wilhelm. I must continue my praise for selecting Lady [Name] as our songstress and leaving Lady Hana in the wings. I implore that you continue to cast Lady [Name] as the star for that will bring you fair fortune. While I also continue my instructions to leave Box 5 closed for no visitors, regardless on how much you sell. Finally, I must ask you to tell your hard-headed companion that my salary must be due. I do not wish to lay any curses upon you, but further denial shall leave me no choice. -R.”

“Hard-headed!? Me?! The damn bastard can show his face and say that himself instead of writing these damn letters!” Torbjorn slammed his fist in the table bitterly. Reinhardt nearly startled by his actions attempts to calm him.

“Torbjorn! May I remind you the last time you damned this writer injured Hana?” He was quick to say as he looked around the room in a panic, “How can we put on a show if we do not even have our new star??”

“I do not know maybe you should ask this R person for that insight!?” Torbjorn rose from his seat, walking towards Reinhardt to take in the letter, “What kind of a man would demand such things?”

“R…” Reinhardt gasped suddenly as if he had put two and two together, “You do not think it is that Reaper of the Opera Miss Oxton spoke of is it?”

“Oh, so ghosts can now write in ink. That’s just perfect,” Tossing the note away, he paced back and forth in thought, “Some kind of man that pretends to be a ghost so he can get a bit more money than the rest of us. This has that stage handlers name written all over it. Sabotage my a-“

“Where is she???” Another voice entered the room. Drawing the two men towards the door to a concerned Genji.

Hand on the door wearing a long coat from the weather outside. Catching his breath for just a moment as if he had just ran. Reinhardt and Torbjorn exchanged glances before Torbjorn glared at the new face.

“And who are you?” He asked, crossing his arms. Allowing Genji to compose himself before giving a respectful bow.

“Forgive me, my name is Genji Shimada.” Introducing himself before them. Reinhardt scratched his beard with a hum.

“Shimada, as in the infamous Shimada clan from Hanamura?”

“They very one.” Genji was reluctant to say.

“Ah yes, Sojiro Shimada was once a patron to the Opera House many years ago.” Reinhardt stated, watching as Genji straightened himself up.

“I am surprised that you are familiar with my father.” Genji confessed to Reinhardt.

Torbjorn turned to the larger man, wondering how he knew of that only for Reinhardt to explain, “I have looked into the history of the Opera House long before we have taken control, my friend. I have a passion for more than the stage you know.”

“There’s a lot you take in that I will never understand.”

“Forgive the intrusion, but I still need to know where she is.” Genji pleaded to the two men. Worry growing in his eyes for answers. The two men exchanged glances at each other.

“If you are looking for Lady Hana, she is not here right now.” Torbjorn answered, watching as Genji shook his head at the response.

“I am not looking for Hana I am looking for [Name]! Miss [Name & Last Name].” putting his hands into his pocket to reach for a note of his own, “Forgive if it goes against the note you had written to me.”

“A note???” Reinhardt gaped looking to the skull print on the letter. Torbjorn scowled at the familiar print.

“That is not from us. Seems this R has nothing better to do than to write damn letters,” Looking at the puzzled young man, he pointed to the paper, “What does it say?”

“To the young and naive Genji Shimada. Do not fear for Lady [Name], the Angel of Music has taken her under his wing. Make no effort or attempts to see her again. – R,” Genji grimaced at the note, raising his gaze to the two of them, “Are you certain this is not your doing? Keeping your stars away from speaking to people is one thing, but calling me naive for it is rather uncivilized.”

“Mr. Shimada, I assure you we had nothing to do with that letter!” Reinhardt assured with a hand on his shoulder. Trying to provide some comfort despite no clue where [Name] even was. The silence once more was cut by a noise outside the door.

“Where are they!?” A womanly shout was heard, the screech all too familiar for the older men. Brushing past Genji, Reinhardt and Torbjorn hurried to the main hall.

Standing with a crutch in her grasp, a limping Hana looked around with a pout on her pink stripped cheeks. Her hair tied up in two loose buns on top of her head. Dressed in a dress of pink and blue, trying to upkeep her vision despite injury. A careful Lucio by her side as she squirmed. Spotting the two men once they entered. Her brows furrowed, pointing at them with absolute disgust.

“How dare you write me this note! Do you have any idea how much I contribute to this Opera House??” She demanded, trying to approach but struggling against the limb. Looking to Lucio to help her in her situation. He took a deep sigh, taking her arm over his shoulders to help her move, “Mr. Morrison never showed such disrespect to me. If you wished to speak such rotten things you should’ve said it to my face!”

“Another note??” Torbjorn groaned, rubbing his temple from the growing stress from this situation. Genji approached the group with upmost confusion. Reinhardt panicking as he approached the young woman. Hands clasped together for forgiveness.

“Dearest Hana, what is this note you say we had written?” He asked, receiving a ‘hmph’ from the diva.

“Don’t make me a fool, you knew what you had written! Lucio, read it.” Lucio reached into his pocket to another skull printed letter, beginning to read before the group.

“Lady Hana, your days at the Overwatch Opera House are numbered. Lady [Name] shall be taking your place from now on,” Lucio read, Hana curling her lip to [Name]s name in disgust, “Should you take her place at any given chance little rabbit, you shall be forever silenced. -R. Man, that is way too cold.”

“Lady Hana, my dearest song,” Reinhardt implores, taking her hand gently for comfort, “Torbjorn and I can assure we had nothing to do with that note.”

“All these damn letters all about [Name], it is almost as if they are all for her…” Torbjorn grumbled, walking towards Reinhardt as he tried to comfort the songstress. Genji shook his head in disbelief of the groups growing arguments.

“But what about-“He began to say only to hear the sound of a cane behind him.

One he had recalled from his past with [Name]. A flash of memories to times where you two had caused mischief. The sound of it was a memory he wasn’t all too fond of. Turning to face the stern look of Ana Amari with Fareeha by her side with patience.

“Lady [Name] has returned.” Ana announced to the group. All eyes drawn to her from the sudden news. Genji felt a waver of relief as the two men blinked in surprise. Hana not at all pleased by the annoucement.

“Where is she now?” Torbjorn asked before Genji could. Watching Ana approach the group with a grip of her cane.

“In her room, she is resting as we speak.” She informed, letting their concerns subside for the moment. Genji placed a hand on the womans’ shoulder with a soft look.

“May I see her?” He asked, receiving a stern look from the woman. Seeing something strange in the way she looked at him. The glimmer fading away when she shook her head.

“I am afraid she will see no one,” Walking away from Genji, she rummaged through her pocket for something, “But I have one more thing…”

“Let me guess, another note?” Torbjorn asked as a mere joke, smirking to the people around him. Thinking it wasn’t the case until Ana pulled out a note with a raised eyebrow. Slumping at the realization with a grunt, “…of course…”

The group turned to Ana as she opened the note to read before them all.

“I have sent several notes on my behalf as to how MY Opera Company should be run. Given as you have drawn my patience, this shall be your final chance,” A flicker in the lights came about, as you could almost hear the haunting whispers of The Reaper. Every word being spoken as if you could observe him writing it before your very eyes. His eyes fixated upon a black rose before he concealed his note with the skull print, “Lady [Name] has returned and I am anxious to see her career progress. In your newest production, you shall put Lady Hana as the silent role, and our dear Lady [Name] as the lead. A role fitting the both of them respectfully. I shall see the performance in my reserved Box 5. Should these instructions be ignored, I will not hesitate to deploy a disaster far beyond your control upon the theatre. – R.”

A tense air filling the room as Ana finished the note. Lowering it to the unease before each of their faces. Genji feeling this concern over your safety. Reinhardt filled with absolute fear as even Torbjorn held some uncertainty. Lucio couldn’t hide the shiver down his back as he held Hana. Hana finally making her words clear with a huff.

“I see what is going on…ever since these two showed up now we are being told what to do left and right,” Gripping her crutch, turning to face the door. Pulling away from Lucio to move, “It’s all about [Name]! Nothing but [Name]! I worked hard to where I am and now? I am being cast aside like dirt!? I shall do this R one better; I know where I stand, and the papers say so too. I am leaving!”

“Lady Hana! Wait!” Reinhardt pleaded running to her side. Taking her free hand before she could escape. Falling to his knees and begging, “Do not leave us! We need you here! Torbjorn, talk some sense into her!”

Turning to his friend, puppy dog eyes welling up, Torbjorn knew that he couldn’t turn away his friends pleas. Not seeing the near relief in Lucio and Fareehas eyes at the thought of Hana leaving for good. Approaching the young woman, he takes her hand with comfort.

“Lady Hana, we can assure you that we do not take orders from anyone,” Patting her hand gently, he noticed the frustrated tears stinging the young girls eyes, “Damn to all of these notes, Lady [Name] will take the silent role as you take the lead.”

“But Mr. Lindholm,” Ana approached with a bit of caution in her voice, “The Angel of Musics words are certain. If you disobey…”

“To hell with this Angel or R or Reaper OR WHATEVER!’ He barked with certainty, “When I bought this Opera House, I did it simply to fulfill the dreams of a comrade who saved my life.”

“Torbjorn…” Reinhardt spoke softly looking upon the wounds that still remained on them both from their history. The shorter man shaking away the sentimental to focus on Hana, he shook her hand sincerely.

“I didn’t pay with my retirement funds just to have some no face tell me what to do. Our words are certain, our words are absolute. You WILL be our star Hana! Not [Name]. Not now and not ever again!”

Genji looked discouraged at that final statement. Knowing he had wished to hear you sing once again. Looking to Ana and the tightened grip on her cane. Even Lucio and Fareeha seemed down from the news. Hana sniffled in her tears, trying to wipe them away with a hiccup.

“Y-You really mean it?”

“You have my word, Lady Song, the voice of the Overwatch Opera House.” He comforted her, noticing Reinhardt approaching to give her a handkerchief. She took with a thank you before blowing into it. Her smile returning once more.

“Okay…I will do it.” She agreed, nodding with excitement as the two men escorted her away.

“Wonderful! The show must go on! We shall find a way for you to perform even with your injury.” Reinhardt shouted, his happy spirit returning once more. Leaving the remainder of the group behind to wallow in the inevitable. Lucio knew he had to follow behind, especially when Hana called for him in a sing song tune. Giving the rest of the group a shrug before leaving.

Ana turned around as she noticed the discouraged Genji. He suddenly felt her delicate fingers lifting his chin up to inspect his features. Leaving him stiff before the older woman.

“I’ve seen your eyes before. You are Sojiros youngest are you not? The one who played with Lady [Name].” Narrowing her gaze with a sly look. He merely nodded to her suspicions.

“I am. I see you are still the same as ever Madame Amari.” He confessed, watching her step away slowly.

“Staying out of trouble I hope?” She smirked, recalling the time when she had to scold him and you. He simply chuckled, rubbing his neck nervously.

“On my best behaviour...I promise.” Impressed by the change in the younger one, she knew of his reasons for being here.

“She asked for you, by the way. Wondering if you had looked for her.” His awkward position straightening at her words.

“I did…I was worried that she had no desire to see me until I found the note. Forgive me if it is selfish, but I only wish to know if she is ok.” Watching her tap her finger carefully, unable to read the old womans mind after so long. Looking at him carefully, she nodded in understanding.

“You are a good man; you always placed her needs before your own. I can assure you that she is well, so long as she rests. But I still humbly suggest you take these notes to heart,” She warned, Fareeha looking to Genji at her mothers words, “I do not wish for your heart to be broken once more, Shimada.”

He was confused by her warning. Wondering if these notes held true to their warnings. Whatever could this R do in order to keep you in the spotlight. Left with the ambiguity, she began to leave with Fareeha following suit.

“Wait,” He halted her escape, still not satisfied that he couldn’t see you, “Can you at least give her my best wishes? I will attend the next show, no matter what role she will partake in.”

Looking over her shoulder, she eyed the young man before nodding at his request.

“Of course...send a greeting to your brother on my behalf, Genji.” Leaving the young Shimada to leave on his own.

He took to the exit of the Opera House. Reaching for the door handle until he felt a cold chill in the wind. The lights flickering once more before his eyes. For a moment, he felt as if someone was behind him. A shadow looming over his figure, almost as if he was being watched. A hand slowly reaching for the back of his neck. A hiss escaping a cloud with red eyes. Swiftly turning around, he found himself still alone at the entrance. Brushing away the doubt when the lights returned to normal. Making his leave to the outside. The door closing behind him. The shadows that hid themselves lingered back inside the theatre.

To be continued

[iamkatehardy]

Only One (Alfie Solomons x Reader) - Pt 1

Request:  Anon: “Hello would you mind writing an Alfie who really likes this shy girl who works in some shop near him. She already has s boyfriend but Alfie doesn't care and goes to her work a lot just to get to talk & flirt with her but she always gets embarrassed and shyer when he flirts and he loves that. She catches her boyfriend cheating on her and now Alfie can make his move😉 could u use smut prompt list #64 #37 please you can change any of this however you need to whatever works for you.”

Warnings: Cursing ; Cute Alfie

A/N: I’m splitting this in 2 parts, because I don’t want you to wait any longer! There is no smut yet, I need to polish Alfie x Reader relation! 😏 

Leave your feedback, me and your favourite Jew will be very thankful!❤

  Only One (Alfie Solomons x Reader)

The role of the ideal housewife was never enough for you; you always wanted much more, to feel entirely fulfilled, and you thrived.

You had the work bug, plus your dexterity with the needles and creativity put most of the other dressmakers to shame. In no time, you had one of the busiest stores in town, so you expanded the business to serve your growing clientele, moving to a roomier shop in Camden Town and hiring an Italian tailor to be able to work with men’s clothing too.

Although it was a huge success, perhaps not everyone had noticed it yet. As one of the rulers of most part of Camden, Alfie Solomons used to pay local businesses a visit, not only as a reminder of who was in charge , but also most likely to demand a share, “for operating in his town”. Your turn hadn’t come yet; he was busy with his own expansion plans, involving a strategic partnership with some old friends, to make it through the crisis after the Italians’ attacks.

“I’m not sure I trust Elazar, but I have no choice, a’ight? Aside from him having a shitload of money, all the others are eating in his fuckin’ hand, for whatever reason. He’s not an honorable man, that’s one thing I’m sure about! Can you believe that cunt is even living in concubinage with some Shiksa?! (derogatory word for non-Jewish women) – In a sudden fit of anger and frustration, Alfie swept the paper off his desk with his left hand, throwing all the work of the past few days to the floor. His fingers ran through his messy hair in desperation, he couldn’t stand not have control.

“Alfie…” – Ollie bent down to pick the papers up and placed them on the desk again.

“Not now. Not today.” – The burning wrath in his eyes could reach a person’s soul in second, but he soon acknowledged the fact that the situation wasn’t Ollie’s fault. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes, his fingertips rubbing his throbbing temples. – “Why don’t you take the rest of the day off, mate? I can’t look at these anymore. We think about it tomorrow, with a clear head.”

Ollie merely nodded in assent, but when he was about to leave he turned to his boss again.

“Will you be ok?” – The hardships in Alfie’s life always made Ollie worry, almost like a son; despite the filthy temper and all the outbursts, Alfie was his mentor and they cared for each other.

“Stop worrying, little boy.”- Alfie chuckled lowly. - “Fuckin’ Solomons always find a way, even when it seems there isn’t any, innit?” – Narrowing his eyes, his hand came to his chin and he stroked his beard thoughtfully. -  “Now go, live a little. You’re at the right age for it.” – With a wave of his hands, Alfie shooed his assistant away.

“You should live a little too. Anyway, have a good evening.”

“You cheeky little…” – Alfie shook his head, watching him disappear in the distance, but deep down he knew maybe Ollie was right.

Maybe he should really live a little too, before it was too late.

After gathering his things, he grabbed his coat and left the office, heading outside. The street was busier than usual, more than he expected, as it was cold and getting later I the day.

“Hey! Come here, little boy.” – Alfie called a little kid over; children were honest most of the time and too young to be afraid of him, unlike most people in Camden.

The boy approached slowly. Eventually, he stood near Alfie’s feet. The gangster looked down at the kid, who was looking up at him with big innocent eyes. After searching in his pockets for a long time, Alfie held a wad of cash in his hand. With the other hand on his lower back to hold the pain, he crouched down until he was at the kid’s height and handed him a note.

“What is all this fuss about, little man?” – He knitted his eyebrows together, almost imperceptibly, pointing at the crowd.

“The store that opened down the street, I think.” – The kid shyly took the money out of Alfie’s hand, bowing thankfully.

“What kind of store?” – Alfie’s eyes narrowed.

“I’m not sure, Sir. But they give you chocolates; maybe that’s why people go there.” – The kid shrugged and Alfie couldn’t help quirking his lips up in response.

“A’ight, thank you for your help.” – Alfie rubbed the kid’s head and stood up slowly, with a groan of pain.

After stuffing the money on his pocket, the kid ran happily down the street.

“These bastards will learn the hard way to think twice before they do anything without my fuckin’ say-so!” – Annoyed, he cussed under his breath and moved faster, scanning the street for the new store.

The sky had turned black and the rain was starting to pour down heavily, but it didn’t stop him. Slightly limping down the street, his expression was menacing, it seemed as if he was determined to start a fight with whoever challenged his power; maybe he just wanted to take his problems out on somebody else, either way, it was the perfect excuse.

Finally he saw an unfamiliar elegant store and just stormed inside, looking really pissed. The furniture looked new and luxuriously comfortable and the collection of antique artwork that adorned the place seemed to be priceless. There was a soothing record playing and a pleasant floral smell on the air, that somehow made him go back to his childhood days.

The store was already closed by then; you were working on the sewing room in the back, to get a head start on next day’s work. When you heard the door open, you popped through the velvet curtains the two parts of the store.

Beholding the man before you, you smiled and approached the counter. It was after hours already, but you weren’t willing to lose a costumer.  His attire made you immediately think he was probably Jew by birth and upbringing.

“Shalom.” – You greeted him softly, and then cast your eyes down shyly, dropping your gaze to the ledge under your hands.

“Shalom.” - Alfie raised a brow as his eyes moved to you. – “I would like to speak to the owner, personally.”

“That’s me.” – When your eyes met, a smile formed on your lips and Alfie’s blood seemed to warm. – “How can I help you, Sir?”

All his courage to scold and fight the owner of the shop immediately disappeared. Rubbing his lids with the back of his hands, he stammered indecipherable words that sounded to you like Yiddish.

As you tilted your head, studying him, your eyes widened a bit and shone brighter than he had ever seen in his life. Noticing his soaked clothes and speechlessness, you wondered if maybe he just wanted shelter from the heavy rain and entered a random store. You picked up a towel and handed it to him, for him to wipe out his wetness.

“Thank you. Thank you, dove.” – He put his hat aside and took the towel, drying his head and face.

“Would you like a cup of tea, while you decide?” – You watched him drying himself and took the towel when he finished. - “Here, have a bonbon! These are kosher.” – Smiling encouragingly, you offered him a plate of assorted bonbons to choose from.

He put the candy in his mouth, letting it melt slowly.

“These are really sweet.” – He furrowed his eyebrows. – “But not as sweet as you seem to be.”

Although you opened your mouth, no word came out; you felt a furious blush flaming on your skin.

Trying to come up with an excuse for the situation he found himself in, he looked around him, letting out a loud breath and straightening his posture. Before saying anything else, he took another moment to watch your embarrassment, how your face was still burning in shame after the compliment; it was pretty adorable and it somehow amused him.

“I was wondering, do you sell hats here?” – He didn’t actually need the thousandth hat, but it was the first thing he came up with, so he’d stick with that excuse until he’d come up with something better.

“Yes, do you have anything in mind?” – Looking down to cover up the blush, you bit your thumb shyly.

“Lots of things, love.” – He came closer with a smile on the corner of his lips. - “As about the hat, something inconspicuous, but with a little style. Black, wide brim, preferably resistant.” –Shrugging, like the hat was actually no big deal, he constantly kept his eyes glued on you.

The first of his answer might have been innocent, but you blushed even more. No matter what words he spoke, his voice was enough to make a woman weak at the knees.

“I… I’ll see what I can get, just give me a minute. In the meanwhile, please, make yourself at home.” – You nodded to the sofas before you disappeared behind the curtains again.

He sat on the sofa and ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head and chuckling in a low tone.

“Composure, (Y/N), composure…” - In the backroom, you sat on the edge of a table and cleared your throat, putting your lightly shaky hand on your chest. After taking a sip of water, you searched in the boxes, trying to find those that met his requirements.

A few minutes later you returned with a half dozen boxes pilled in your hands and put them on the sofa, next to him.

“At the moment I have these. If you’d like something else, I can order it for you, it’ll take only a couple days.” – You gracefully sat on the arm of the couch, crossing your legs and arranging your skirt, before you opened the boxes one by one and started handing him the hats for him to try them on.

“How do I look?!” – Giving you a cocky smile, he turned his head to give you a profile view.

“Great!” – Leaning closer, you adjusted the hat into a slightly crooked position. – “Well, that’s more like it. Perfect.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” – Watching you with great interest, he blinked slowly. – “I’m taking them all.” – He took the hat off, putting it back in the box and got up, extending his hand to help you up.

Why the hell would someone buy so many hats that look almost exactly the same?

You looked at him in surprise and took his hand, getting up. Your hand lingered on his for a few seconds and the pad of his thumb rubbed your knuckles soothingly, sending a shiver through you, before you finally pulled it away, with a sheepish smile on your face.

“What name should I put on the receipt?” – You went behind the counter again.

“Alfred Solomons.” – Leaning against the counter, he paid for the hats and watched you write his answer down. He had gotten so close he could feel your warmth and your delicate fragrance with every intake of breath. – “But you may call me just Alfie, a’ight?”

“Deal.” – You gave him the receipt.

“It’s raining cats and dogs. I don’t think it’s a good idea to take all those boxes home in these circumstances, innit darling? Can I swing by tomorrow to get them?”

“Of course, Mr. Solomons.” – You intertwined your hands together and nodded cordially.

“Alfie.”

“I think you’re going to need this.” – You giggled and handed him an umbrella. – “So long, Alfie.”

“See you around…” – He tilted his head lightly to one side and lifted his brows. – “ Sorry, I don’t think I got your name.”

“(Y/N).”

“(Y/N).” – He nodded. – “A beautiful name for a beautiful woman, right?” – With a warm half-smile, he turned on his heel and left.

The next day, you waited for him to show up, constantly checking when a new client made it through the front door. It was half-hour to closing time and he still hadn’t shown up.

Alfie was at the bakery, in a meeting with Elazar, scrambling with last minute details on their settlement.

“Let’s make this quick, Elazar. I have an appointment, mate.” – He looked at his pocket watch to check if he still had time to go to your store; he did, but not much.

“Relax Alfie, I have an appointment too, maybe  two, or three.” – Elazar grinned maliciously.

“With your missus? Doesn’t count as an appointment.”

“Alfie, Alfie, Alfie… I wouldn’t expect you to understand, you’re not a ladies’ man after all, but your missus is your choice of pleasure if, and only if you have no other option available.”

“What… Excuse me?” – Alfie put his glasses down, giving him a nasty look.

“Think of a relationship as if it was just any other business; if you have the chance to have some side action and make a profit, you go for it, without blinking an eye.”

“How can you fuckin’ do that, mate?!” – Slightly irritated, Alfie swung his arms on the air.

“It’s really quite simple; women are very naïve when it comes to love.” – Elazar proudly started explaining. – “Tell her you love her and she’s the only one; make her believe that and she will be at your feet, which will basically make her buy any excuse you come up with. But keep her busy, so she won’t have much time to think about them, some women are smart enough to figure out the truth … Give her a small business, or let her teach little orphans, something like that. Use your imagination! Propose to her, if necessary, it will keep her in your hands until you are done with the little brat and find a better one.”

“I wasn’t asking how do you do it! I was asking how you can be such a cunt, actually. You give a woman goods and she will give you a heart cooked meal… You give her your house and she will make it your fuckin’ home… You give her your fuckin’ cum and she will return you your offspring! If you give her some affection, she will give you her fuckin’ heart! What is wrong with you?!”

“What is wrong with you, Alfie? That’s why you don’t get any action. Have you gone soft or what?”

“No, I simply respect women!” – Alfie’s unblinking eyes were fixed on the man ahead and his jaw was tight. – “You know what? If it’s alright with you, we can finish this another day.”

“As you wish. Call me later and let me know when.” – Elazar promptly picked his things up and left.

“What has this world come to? Thank you for everything  eema. (Mom, but I’m not sure of this) “ – Alfie pressed a hand to the medallion in his chest, before he checked his pocket watch again and hurriedly left the bakery, heading to the flower shop.

 Tag List: @carmen-kray , @titty-teetee , @iv-nyc , @but--dear-this-is-not-wonderland , @eap1935 , @ellar21 , @tiredoffeelinglost , @original-krays , @marvelgirl7 , @captstefanbrandt , @evilispretty-dead , @mollybegger-blog , @bignastyfan-nz , @scarrasco1325-deactivated201905 , @miidailyinspiration , @harleyquinns , @haroldpain , @marvelslut16 , @willowick13 , @outofbluecomesgreen , @elemeph , @my-little-lucky-scissors , @overitall2018 , @innerpaperexpertcloud , @matoki-darkpanda

[bittysvalentines]

Cafes and Triumvirates

From: @hargreeves-and-wine 

To: @omgtranspoindexter 

Summary: Love is a mosaic, if one takes the time to think about it. The way we feel for those who love is comprised of all the moments we share with them. In sickness and in health, for better and for worse. Over the course of a day, Chowder, Dex, and Nursey find themselves dwelling on moments that make them fall in love with their partners all over again. 

Rating: T

Content warning: One mention of offscreen (but legal) drinking.

Happy Valentine's Day! I hope you enjoy this fic!

                                             Chowder - The Morning

Wiping down the windows was a chore normally despised by anyone who had ever worked in a restaurant. There were always the streaks that could never be properly cleaned away, no matter the angle at which you wiped them. Reaching up to get the top edges would often result in the cleaning liquid running down your arm. Hell, it only took a bug that was flying haphazardly for your hard work to be ruined.

Yet Chris regarded it as the second best part of doing the opening shift; the first, of course, being the pastries and cookies that were delivered first thing in the morning from Bittle’s Kitchen down the block. From their perch 15 inches off the ground, they were able to reach and clean the windows with ease. Each swipe of the squeegee helped reveal another slice of the daily lives of the other residents of Samwell Street. 

There was Lardo, putting the finishing touches on a large mural she had been commissioned to paint on the side of the Knight, O’Meara, and Wicks Law Office. Further down the way, they could see Ransom and Holster walking their troop of dogs and a cat (who, Chris had been told, was raised around dogs since birth before the men adopted her). Even from behind the glass and fairly heavy front door of the Samwell Stoop, they could hear Holster’s joyful voice bouncing off of the cobblestones of the street.

Only one sight, however, could bring a full on grin to Chris’ face at this hour of the morning. Just in front of the pane of glass, Dex was busy checking off the week’s supplies that had been brought in the delivery truck while Nursey was bringing down a large box of milkettes and creamers with one arm. The moment that Dex turned around to confirm something with the driver, Nursey snagged a butter tart from the platter the former was saving to give to said driver.

“Well, thanks again, Johnson,” Dex finished as he handed a paper back to the driver. “We actually saved you a little something for your- Nurse! What the hell?” 

Nursey shrugged as they offered out the other half of the tart. “Did you want one?” They, thankfully, had the good grace to swallow before speaking.

“You are simply unbelievable, stealing a gift of all things.” Despite his chiding, Dex indeed took the offered tart and popped into his mouth before giving Johnson the rest of the platter. “Now you better take this before my idiot partner gets their hands on more of them.”

As Johnson got into his truck and pulled away, Nursey hugged Dex from behind and pecked his cheek. “You know, you’re adorable when you blush,” they murmured, only causing Dex to turn an even darker shade of red.

With a friendly tap on the window pane with his squeegee, Chris got the attention of both of his partners. They honestly didn’t mean to be a voyeur; in fact, they weren’t sure if they could be one since they were dating the two of them. Still, Chris figured they would appreciate being informed that they weren’t alone.

“Oh shit, Chowder!” Dex abruptly pulled away from Nursey and hurried inside the cafe with one hand behind his back. It was only when they climbed down from the stepstool that Chris saw what Dex was hiding. “You didn’t think we’d actually forget to save one for you, did you?”

The moment they’d taken a bite out of the butter tart, Chris was crushed in a tight hug between the two of them. Nursey’s aftershave and Dex’s cologne enveloped them in a feeling that could only be described as home.

                                              Dex - The Afternoon

“What do you mean you’re out of maple pecan pie?”

Will, who was using his break in the back room to be out of his binder for a while, could just hear the complaint. As he peeked outside to see what was going on, he could see a guy who stood at a height of about 6’4 at the counter, staring down Chowder. Just behind them, Derek was handing a girl her cup while watching the situation at the same time.

“Look, sir.” Chowder may have been slightly dwarfed by this man, but one didn’t become a goalie by showing their fear. “We only get so many pies delivered at the start of the day, so if we run out, we run out. Of course, I could go over to Bitty’s Kitchen, use my own money to get another pie, and let my partner here take over this massive lineup all by himself. Would that satisfy you, sir?” The conversations in the cafe had given way to silence as the patrons turned to watch.

The tall customer only folded his arms and doubled down. “I paid for a slice of pie, and I demand that I get what I paid for,” he huffed, doing his best to give Chowder something that resembled the evil eye.

Nursey feigned wiping his hands on his aprons, but Will could see that he was actually cracking his knuckles. “You haven’t paid for anything yet. My partner here has tried being civil, but it’s clear you’re not listening.” Even though they weren’t quite at the customer’s height, Nursey had a way of commanding attention when it was needed.

“Is it so wrong to expect a slice of pie with my coffee?”

“If you want pie, then go and get it yourself.”

“I demand to speak to the manager!”

“You already are, asshole.”

Though it was a crisp fall afternoon outside, there was clearly a gathering storm within these four walls. Will had fully emerged from the break room and was about to approach the counter when Chowder silently motioned for him to stay back. It was almost scary to see the perpetually chill Nursey standing with such contempt behind their eyes.

The tension in the air was finally broken when the customer stalked off, muttering something about “ungrateful millennials” as he pushed the door open. Then, Nursey relaxed their stance and turned to the crowd. “I can help someone over here!”

Before too long, Will was due to get back behind the counter. As Chowder passed him on the way to their own break, the two of them stopped to briefly hold hands. A similar blush coloured both of their cheeks when their eyes met.

“You were brave.” Will murmured, longing to wrap his partner in a hug.

Chowder shook his head, though they squeezed Dex’s hand back. “You’d have done the same.”

Once he was behind the counter, Nursey gave him a look as if to say “I’m okay, I’m alright.” Still, Will decided to give their hip a little bump since anything beyond that would probably be seen as unprofessional. While they were technically their own bosses, Will insisted that the three of them treat one another as coworkers as long as they were on the clock. They just happened to be coworkers who snuck in kisses when they had the chance.

                                             Nursey - The Night

It’s been said that the way to a person’s heart is through their stomach, but as far as Derek was concerned, the way to a person’s soul was through their taste in music. They had read a study once that said people’s moods and taste in music influence one another in a type of pseudo-dynamic equilibrium. Or something like that. Derek wasn’t a chemistry student for a reason. 

Chemistry journals didn’t, however, cover what to do when there was the slight catch of you and each of your partners having wildly different tastes in music.

In order to keep outright Armageddon from erupting, the three of them had hung up a calendar in their break room with a schedule for who gets to play music when. Chowder was assigned to Mondays and Thursdays, Dex had Tuesdays and Fridays, and Derek chose Wednesdays and Saturdays. “I guess God gets to pick the music on Sundays,” they joked since none of them would be there anyways.

This particular Saturday had been more stressful than usual with the confrontation earlier. On top of that, it was a deep clean day, so Derek, Dex, and Chowder had been up to their eyeballs in checklists of things that had to be refilled, wiped down, and rearranged. By the time they had finished, it was around eleven at night, a whole three hours after the Samwell Stoop normally closed. So the trio treated themselves to a cuddle pile on the couch in the breakroom.

“Nursey,” Dex whined softly, dragging out the Y. “Can you change your playlist to something less… intense? I’m getting flashbacks to that bootcamp I did back in college.” Although it probably wasn’t intentional, he let his head slump against Chowder’s shoulder, who leaned against him in turn.

With a quiet “Chyeah,” Derek pulled themselves away from his partners to grab his phone. It was probably a bad idea to have the aux cord right behind the counter, but they and Dex usually had the impulse control to not check it. Emphasis on usually. Chowder sometimes struggled a little bit more, but it was decided that it was better to be chewed out by a patron for checking their phone than to have the whole store subjected to an unexpected voice memo of Dex drunkenly singing along to “You’ve Got a Friend In Me.”

For the record, he had scored an 82 on their friend Whiskey’s karaoke machine that night.

So after much deliberation as to slow down the mood, the lively harmonies of the Jackson Five were switched out for the light crooning of Jason Mraz. Though they would take the secret to their grave, the playlist was actually the one that Derek had used for sleeping back in his college days. It was more lonesome than they had realized to truly be on their own in the world. So these songs were the ones they fell asleep to, hoping to have pleasant dreams instead of their usual fitful nights.

Nowadays, they used it for times that they needed to destress. Music wasn’t really a good idea in the bedroom anyways since it was noisy enough with three of them in the bed. Another secret that their would never dare disclose was how their found Chowder’s chainsaw-like snoring actually quite adorable.

“This slow enough for you?” they joked as they tucked the wires back into their little storage cup (one of the mugs that could no longer be used due to the broken handle). Yet, when Derek looked up from behind the counter, they were greeted by the sight of Dex and Chowder slowly swaying to the melody in one another’s arms. Their eyes were closed as they nestled into the crooks of their necks, and Chowder’s hand fumbled around for Dex’s before their fingers were intertwined.

Poetic enlightenment often eluded Derek when they needed it most, but this moment must have been something extraordinary. 

Sun and Moon

Forever in a cyclar chase

Yet neither is ever alone

For stars and clouds are one and the same

Keeping them company

In the wide open sky

While they had never gotten any complaints for their writing volume, it was the closing of Derek’s leather-bound notebook that got their partners’ attention. They broke their hand clasp and reached out towards them at the same time. “Derek,” Chowder murmured, their voice serious, yet gentle as it always was when they used their legal names.

Although they were a quarter inch taller than Dex (they do know how to use a measuring tape, thank you very much), Derek allowed himself to be enveloped in a tight hug between their two partners. “I love you… Will, Chris, both of you… I love you so much.”

Outside, the stars were indeed shining alongside the moon. Most people had either turned in for the night or had dimmed their lights and shut their curtains. Yet in the relative darkness, the Samwell Stoop was a glowing beacon, its yellow brilliance spilling out of the windows. If Derek still had their notebook out, he might have written about how metaphorical it all must have been to an outsider. But they didn’t need words right now; they had everything they could have needed right beside them.

[schoolfullofmorons]

title: cigars and constellations warnings: implied child abuse / family issues, implied rape / sexual assault, mental illness, intrusive thoughts, toxic asylums and therapists description: Gary remembered his first taste of cigar. He remembered sitting by his window on the second floor, his legs dangling.

His father's office was always filled with dust.

Gary wasn't sure why, as the rest of the house was always meticulously cleansed as if his father would drop over dead if it weren't. To Gary, it was almost fascinating, how the sunlight streaming through the window would catch on the individual particles of dirt and absolutely shine. Gary's attention would get drawn to this without fail, every time he would sneak in to steal one of his father's cigars.

Smith Sr. kept them in a wooden box. It was the only thing in the room that Gary particularly cared for, as it had a small dragon carved into the side, etched by skilled hands long ago. As his fingers drew over the carvings, he knew they were old, and it was only further proven by the creak of the box anytime he lifted it up to grab the bitter-smelling cigars from within. They smelled like wood chips.

Gary remembered his first taste of cigar. He remembered sitting by his window on the second floor, his legs dangling. He could hear his mother's scream from the other room, viciously torn from her, glass breaking as Smith Sr. demanded to know who the fuck was inside his office, and who the fuck took his lighter. He remembered putting it to his mouth, the smokey tasting flavor singeing his tongue as he lit it up with the bright red lighter.

The first inhale of smoke choked him, but it felt good, so he did it again. He could remember leaning further out the window as sobs filled the house behind him and thinking, if only I could jump, right now, then I could meet God.

The same thought followed him throughout his life until he was utterly obsessed with high places. He would climb out the attic window onto the roof at night and watch the stars, memorizing the constellations. He knew all of them. There was Auriga, and Delphinus, and Draco. He counted all of the consellations night after night until he could tell you a map of the entire sky. He'd think how nice it must be to fly.

Other times Gary would climb a tree with Petey, or with Mandy and Zoe before they abandoned him, and would urge them up with a soft c'mon, c'mon, please guys, we have to get to the top. It's going to be so beautiful. And Pete's eyes would shine or Mandy would giggle and follow him up or Zoe would laugh, loud and long, and tell him slow down psycho-boy, I'm coming if you'll give me a second.

Everything hurt when they left, dropping out of his life like flies and suddenly he only saw Zoe out at clubs with older guys where she refused to acknowledge he existed and Mandy would scoff at him everytime he passed her in the hallway. But he always had his constellations and his cigars, and the screaming that accompanied him everytime he returned home.

He nearly killed a kid in seventh grade one time, during a boxing match. It wasn't my fault, Gary pleaded with his mother and his therapist and his coach, trying, desperately trying, to get them to see. He had only hit a little too hard, had only been a little too much, just as he always had been. But the kid was still laying there with blood pouring from his eyes and when Gary got back to school the next week he heard the news with a sickening jolt that he'd be transferring.

Gary wasn't right in the head, and he knew it. He could feel it under his skin time and time again every time he picked up his father's rifle to shoot at the neighbourhood mailbox, or when he accidentely bashed Chad's dog's head in (I didn't mean to! he screamed, the dog was trying to hurt me! it was a mistake!) He desperately pleaded for someone to give him some sembelance of a chance but once the system gave up on him it wasn't long before Gary gave up on the system. Why bother pleading with something who will think you're wrong, no matter what you do?

Jimmy barging into his life was like the first puff of that cigar against his lips and while his chest hurt and it was hard to breathe, he liked it so much that he could only toss back his head and laugh. Jimmy was suddenly a promise, something sacred that Gary could latch on to. Jimmy listened to his plans with more enthusiam than Pete had given him for months, and Jimmy didn't seem to care when Gary got to be too much.

It wasn't until the thoughts came back that it all fell apart and he was heaving dry sobs in his bedroom as he pressed himself fearfully against a corner, anger and panic making his fists shake. They were hanging out together, Pete had let Jimmy wrap his arm around him and they didn't seem to care he wasn't there and he was useless and they didn't love him and he was going to be abandoned again and again and again and there was nothing he could do to fix it.

Solution? Cut them out. It was easy (no it wasn't), it didn't bother him (yes it did). He didn't really need Pete anyway, didn't need Jimmy either, only needed himself. If anything he had taught himself through packs of cigars that whenever you were alone you were truely safe, safe from anything that could ever touch you.

If this was safety, then why did it feel so awful?

He thought about God as he stood on the top of the roof, shrieking pain at Jimmy like a maniac. And he knew he looked stupid and he knew he sounded crazy but he had to let go of this bullshit and suddenly he was spouting if I hadn't of done this, you'd do it to me first and everything was out there except Jimmy didn't give a fuck because he was Jimmy and he just wanted Gary to stop but Gary was an explosion and he hadn't had his medicine in weeks and when he spouted out the insult he knew he had went too far as Jimmy's fist collided with his mouth and suddenly all he knew was pain.

If demons were actually angels then Gary wondered what he was as he plummetted into Crabblesnitch's office. He fluttered open his eyes, his breathing raspy and saw dust particles floating around Jimmy's face. He had fucked up but at least the particles still looked pretty around him, just like they had been in his father's office all those years ago.

He got locked up after that because of course he would, it was only logical. Visitation came and went without anyone showing up and Gary could feel himself aching as he realized he had successfully chased away anyone who had ever wanted him, who had ever cared about him. He broke one night in his cell and curled into his bed, silently crying, pain blooming in his chest as he realized he was only a little boy pretending to be a man, not knowing what the word even meant yet.

Therapy was rough when you were known as the boy who nearly killed a person. He could feel all his therapists judging him before he walked into a room and it felt so awful and intrusive and before he knew it he'd snap at them (leave me the fuck alone, you don't fucking care, do you think my father wants to waste money on your pathetic shit? You can't even do your fucking job right). He made three therapists quit by sheer violence and screaming. Every time he did so orderlies would storm his room and slam him down to the ground and he'd fight and fight but then the needle would be at his neck and they'd strap him down to the table and suddenly pain would blossom all over as everything went dark and all he could hear was his mother's scream as he thought about the shattering glass and his father's angry demands.

Nine months in and Gary was just tired, he was tired and he didn't know what to do. No one had come to visit him and fuck he was so lonely and he wondered if it was his fate to die here when they switched his therapists and that's when he met Dr. Kendrick, who didn't look at him like he was a lost little boy but instead smiled warmly at him and gently rubbed his shoulders. The touch felt good and fuck if he didn't want just one hug or one good job so he complied to the nice doctor. Even Gary Smith had to rest at some point.

He didn't expect it to go so wrong and he didn't expect the doctor to put the white cloth to his mouth and he didn't expect to choke on the intensity of the chemicals and he didn't expect the soft voice going relax, relax, you're just pent up baby boy and suddenly he was so fucking scared and he needed out he needed to get out he was sobbing and he couldn't die here not like this.

Months later he was able to find a knife on the doctor's table and he leapt at the chance, holding it close to him and screaming let me go or I'll fucking kill you, do you think I have anything to lose? I don't have any fucking family I don't have any friends, I have nothing, so you better release me right fucking now or I'll slit your fucking throat open, and the doctor, not stupid in the slightest, filed for Gary to get out on good behavior.

Integration back to Bullworth was just as shitty as he thought it'd be and every little scream or movement that was too sharp would have Gary flinching and going quiet. Everyone seemed to be waiting on him to do something but he didn't know what to do anymore and he didn't know what to believe. He missed the taste of cigars and the sight of the contellations in the stars above him.

He wanted to apologize to them when he saw them in the hallway but he didn't know how. He knew they were looking at him and thinking why is he so quiet now? What's wrong with him? but he didn't know what to do or say until one day he bumped into Petey and nearly fell apart as he whispered you never came, you never came to see me. Pete fixed him with a look of pity and Gary could feel his eyes lingering on his collarbone - I didn't want to, not after what you had become. And Gary was left thinking about that for the better part of a week.

He hated himself but he was suddenly sure he had to make it up to Peter Kowalski if not anyone else, and suddenly he was back - fake it till you make it, he thought as he laughed and poked and prodded but Petey seemed to see right through his act. It wasn't until Gary had curled against him in the living room that he broke and whispered gentle sorry's in a soft tone under his breath, promising that he'd try so hard to get better, that he just needed time and that everything was suddenly terrifying.

Pete said he understood but how could he, Gary wondered. Gary spent a lot of time picking at his skin after hours until one day Petey brought Jimmy along and, taking Gary gently by the arm, led him into the car where they took him to see a new doctor and got him set up with new medication.

They worked, for a while, and everything seemed relieving. Gary could finally press against Petey in the halls again and Jimmy had taken to gently patting his shoulder or holding onto his wrist as if guiding a small child. It felt nice to be herded like this. Suddenly Gary realized how lucky he was, to be let back in.

[angryrabbit42]

Bonus Tracks 3

All for the lovely: @a-rose-by-any-other-doctor @dwsecretsanta 

Read on AO3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/21925084/chapters/52331086

Annoyed that he must help fund UNIT by schmoozing, the Fourth Doctor picks up a mysterious date by the side of the road.

Track 2: Guest

Rose’s eyes opened. Sitting up, she turned to view the Doctor’s dark eyes. He was blinking as the connection between them was severed by her quick movements. “Oh, that was,” the Doctor murmured.

“You kissed me!” Rose exclaimed, giggling. “It took you forever to kiss me the first time and that version of you did it in less than four hours.”

“Well, I was a bit of a flirt, in that incarnation.”

“In *that* incarnation?” Rose asked, brows arching.

The Doctor rolled his eyes. “I’m not always… so…”

“What?”

“Interested in all that… romance… It’s unusual.” Awkwardly, the Doctor tugged on his ear, not bothering to get up from his position against the headboard. “Timelords aren’t… we don’t do romance. I mean they didn’t. I sometimes…”

Rose covered his mouth. “It’s okay. I liked it.”

The Doctor huffed warm breath against her hand. Rose snorted, removing her hand before he decided to lick her palm. His eyes twinkled with mischief as if he had been thinking of licking her palm and was a bit thwarted by her moving it away.

“Alright,” Rose said, turning around and laying back against him. “Ready for the next one?”

His fingers resumed their place against her temples. “Oh, erm, this one’s mine, I think, not yours… You may remember it already.”

“How do you know?” Rose asked, enjoying the closeness and the heat radiating from him as they basically cuddled. “Is there a note on it or something?”

“No, it feels like me, like a memory from the one with the scarf… Only way to find out is to open it up.” He wiggled his fingers, tickling her. She puffed out a breath in annoyance but she didn’t mean it. He ignored it anyhow, pressing until she felt his mind swirling around hers again, an excited feeling rushing through him as he whispered the next word on his list.

Rose felt irritation filling her up, plus a healthy dose of ego and her brain was almost flooded with thousands of lines of thought. The feeling was tamped down apologetically, as Rose temporarily became the Doctor on Earth somewhere in the early 80s? Or late 70s? The Doctor hadn’t been paying attention to the time ironically.

“Absolutely not! I’m a Timelord! Not some Cigarette Rep from Leeds,” the Doctor shouted.

Brigadier Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart’s eyebrows quirked up, making his ridiculous mustache quiver like a particularly annoying rabbit. The Doctor stuffed his hands into his pockets awkwardly, wondering if shouting a bit more would help. It did, sometimes. Sheepish, he hunched his shoulders. “I won’t go,” he said petulantly. “Sarah’s not going. I have a working time machine now and I don’t work for you anymore, so there.”

“Doctor, this isn’t a sales summit. The top scientists are all meeting in London to mingle and garner money for various projects,” the brigadier said, tone patronizing and long-suffering.

The Doctor huffed.

“And as much as it pains me to say so with your enormous ego, you are the most intelligent scientist on Earth,” he continued as if the Doctor was not sulking. “I realize Miss Smith is unavailable since I was the one who sent her out to cover the story in Aberdeen. UNIT needs the backing. We’re seriously lacking in budget here.”

The Doctor had noticed the drop off in biscuit selection lately around the HQ. He didn’t like that one bit. And… he had nothing on. Just… waiting around to convince Sarah to take another jaunt into Time and Space. “Why should I care about money?” he demanded, determined not to give in easily. He couldn’t let the brigadier know he could be persuaded by biscuits. It was undignified.

“We both know you have nothing to do but wait for Miss Smith to come back…”

“Not true!” he shouted. (It was.) “Patently untrue!” he boomed. “Oh fine! Perhaps one of the scientists will be a megalomaniac. Worth a look, eh? Sh!” he put his finger against his lips to forestall the brigadier. “I want double the pay for this. Put it in Sarah’s account. She knows what I like. And I will drive myself.”

“Fine. But you’ll take a car. I don’t want you taking off in that box of yours and missing the meeting by several decades.”

“Fine,” the Doctor agreed, hand out for the invitation. “It’s a lovely day for a drive.” He beamed.

He stormed out of the office for good measure. Very soon he was going to cut ties with this place. His feet were itchy. Sarah’s were too. She was a good one for his life. Shame Harry would probably balk but not everyone was cut out for a nomadic lifestyle. Trailing his long multi-colored scarf behind him, he stalked out to his yellow roadster.

The road was empty as he cruised along muttering about all the planets he was going to show to Sarah Jane Smith. Clom, the Eye of Orion, Calibris, oh yes, a pirate planet would be a lovely trip! He needed some backup fluid links, the damned things were always evaporating on him. So wrapped up in his musings, he nearly hit the young woman who blinked into existence a foot in front of his car. The Doctor was a marvelous driver if he did say so himself, and managed to cut the wheel hard enough to avoid injuring her. He didn’t miss the ditch on the side of the road, however. Slamming the car into park, he stared. She had stumbled forward as if he had run straight into this dimension. The energy around her smelled like ozone and artron. Her timelines were an absolute labyrinth. He closed his timesenses before a migraine could set in. “Well, aren’t we a complicated event in space-time,” he exclaimed.

She turned to face him. Slight with blonde hair, her large eyes locked onto him and her generous mouth pulled up into a charmingly delightful devil-may-care grin. “Sort of, yeah,” she agreed with a laugh. “I’m looking for a friend.”

“Are you indeed?” the Doctor wondered aloud. “My friend is in Aberdeen.”

She snorted. She was dressed in clothes reminiscent of the 2000s with her dark, form-fitting trousers, pink top and indigo leather jacket. She had a utilitarian black backpack on and something about her stance reminded him of a dancer or a martial artist. “I’m not sure my friend knows the difference between Hyde Park and Aberdeen.”

What a curious creature! What a strange sentence to utter? He made a face, considering. “It looks as if we’re both short a friend for today. I suppose that means we should join forces. I’ve got to go to a boring event full of clever people who are alas, not as clever as me. Care to accompany me? I’ve been told there will be nibbles.” The Doctor extended the invitation in the hope of learning more about this curious creature. “Unless you’re part of the vanguard for an invasion fleet? No? Pity.”

Her grin tugged at his hearts. She came closer, examining his car. “Retro,” she commented, petting Bessie. He offered her a hand. She clasped it and allowed him to help her into the car. Her skin was warm, calloused and let him know she ran a bit hot and had enough artron energy inside her small form to power a Rutan ship for several months. A wash of comfort ran through him when she squeezed his fingers before releasing them.

Confused he focused on getting the car out of the ditch and back onto the road.

“I’m from London, originally,” she offered after a few minutes of open road. “This one I think, although it looks a bit...80’s right now.” She made a face and shrugged.

“I’m the Doctor,” he offered. “But I have a feeling you might know me, already.”

Her smile was enigmatic. “I suspected what with the scarf. You really love your layers, don’t you Doctor?” she asked and ran a hand down his scarf, giving it a playful tug.

“I’m not unfamiliar with the phenomena of meeting people before you’ve met them. I’m a time traveler after all,” the Doctor told her. “It’s practically in the brochure. Ah ha. And believe me, I’m sure I will enjoy making your acquaintance again in the future but until such time as time rights itself or rewrites itself, what shall I call you? It’s simply rude to keep addressing you in my head as young woman and out loud, even more so...”

“And you’re never rude,” she said solicitously and the Doctor got the distinct impression that this young woman was mocking him. “Sorry Doctor, you’re right. You can call me Rose, erm, Smith.”

“Smith?” the Doctor snorted. “That’s perfect. I often go by John Smith when I’m undercover.”

“S’good name, Smith. Had a few good friends named Smith in my time. Love the curls by the way.” Rose reached out a hand and looped one of his curls around her finger. The Doctor’s eyes widened in surprise. She winked. “We can pretend to be a couple. For your party...”

He fell silent. Rose stayed in his personal space, comfortable with him in a way that made him a bit uncomfortable in how not uncomfortable it was. Her presence seemed to sooth an ache in his hearts he wasn’t aware of having. Curious. “Is that what we are in the future? A couple?”

Rose’s expression was solemn. “You tell me, Doctor Smith.”

“Aaahhh, Mrs. Smith, you intrigue me,” he bantered back.

Silence reigned as the Doctor took them to the hotel on the invitation. Rose opened her bag, searching through it. She pulled out a simple black dress and a pair of basic kitten heels. She slipped her jacket off and tossed the dress on over her magenta top, then while his eyes tried to stay on the road, she removed the top leaving her in the dress and trousers. She settled the black fabric into place and shucked the trousers.

“Stockings,” he said.

“Right,” Rose said and pulled a nude pair out of her back. She shimmied into them and had her shoes on in seconds. Her hair was up in a loose chignon by the time they reached the valet. Her eyes which were the most delicate shade of amber with flecks of green and gold twinkled when he hopped out and offered her a hand down. She left her bag in the car.

They approached the lobby and the Doctor brandished his invitation. “Doctor, and Mrs. Smith, UNIT.” The man barely glanced at the invitation before letting them inside. His eyes had been glued to Rose’s assets. Rose rolled her eyes and hooked an arm through his. The Doctor felt a frizzle of anger toward the man who let them in. Rose squeezed his bicep.

“Dimensional traveler, who has a bag full of occasional wear, Rose Smith, I think I’ve married well.” he teased.

Rose’s eyes were on the swirl of people. Many were dressed in dresses similar to hers. The men wore suits and some had the nerve to wear bowties! The Doctor wasn’t interested in changing his frock for the brigadier’s stuffy friends. She grabbed two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and offered him one. “Is it Christmas?” Rose asked.

“Near enough, it’s the thirteenth of December,” the Doctor replied then spotted a familiar face. “Harry! Over here.”

Harry Sullivan waved. Rose’s eyes sparkled with interest as the naval doctor extricated himself from a conversation with a few men in ill-fitting suits to approach them. “Doctor, old boy, how did the brigadier convince you to come to this convention of stuffed shirts?”

“Nibbles,” Rose exclaimed and pointed, her accent becoming a bit more London as she went on, “He told you there would be nibbles and you couldn’t resist, c’mon, admit it, Doctor!” She sipped her champagne, giggling. He arched his brows at her.

“She’s got you there, old boy,” Harry said giving Rose a once over, no doubt wondering where Sarah was. The trio had been inseparable lately. “And you are?”

“Harry Sullivan, this is Rose. She’s not local.”

“Shows what you know, mate. My job is going to be built down the street from here in a few years,” she whispered.

“Oh, oh,” Harry remarked stupidly. “Charmed.”

Rose grinned and let Harry take her hand and kiss the knuckles. “You’re adorable.”

“Rose,” he grumbled and just like that Rose slipped her arm back through his.

Harry looked between the Doctor and Rose. “No hope of an invasion tonight, is there?”

The Doctor scanned the crowd. There were a few Zygons pretending to be scientists but nothing too sinister. “No,” he said in his most dolorous tone.

“Well then, I’m going to mingle, eh? Get those UNIT coffers filled. Nice to meet you, Rose. Doctor, don’t go anywhen without me.” He winked.

The Doctor perked up. “Oh no, of course not Harry.”

“I’ll see you when the old girl gets back?” he asked.

Positively giddy at the prospect of Harry traveling with them, the Doctor bobbed his head. “If she hears you calling her that, you may never get the chance to travel with us.”

Harry laughed and swirled away into the crowd. He was immediately absorbed into a large group of scientists and doctors. Rose had grabbed gingerbread man off a tray and bit its head off. The scent of ginger made him a bit lightheaded. She offered him a bite and smirked.

They socialized. Rose was knowledgeable, friendly, and talked pennies out of pockets like an heiress. The Doctor was broiling with curiosity. Her skin was flushed a bit with drink. Her giggling was louder and more adorable now. She kept offering him ginger laced things. They ate at Harry’s table and he regaled Rose with stories from the navy and in low tones about how he met the Doctor. Rose whispered something to him that made Harry nod enthusiastically and whisper back something that had Rose in stitches. Jealousy wormed around in his stomach. It was a foreign emotion. He shook his head to clear it and snapped at an archeologist.

Rose’s hand slipped into his under the table. The beast within was soothed. The Doctor’s confusion grew. Rose offered him a smile with her tongue caught between her teeth and his hearts raced. Confused, he glanced away from her and tried to open his senses to her again. The timelines were a mangled nightmare around her. Some of the lines snapped and snarled back. Dizziness crept up his spine. Rose pinched him. “Not here. You’ll get a headache.”

He nodded. She offered him a piece of spice cake. Rose smirked. He could smell the ginger in it. The conversation flowed around them so he leaned down and whispered in her ear, “why are you trying to get me drunk?”

“I want to dance,” Rose said offered, her eyes too bright. “I thought… you might if you were a bit… stupid. Sorry. S’just, I know you’re not the right You for me but you’re still You and I missed this.” A glimpse of pain and sadness appeared in those fathomless amber eyes before the flecks swirled and Rose was smiling again. “Stupid.”

“I’m an excellent dancer,” he offered.

“I’ve never seen you dance,” Harry said in surprise. “I haven’t! Mind you, I have seen him jump rope in a harlequin costume so I wouldn’t put it past him.”

Rose’s laugh was genuine. The Doctor beamed. He swiped a gingerbread man off a biscuit tray and nibbled on an arm. “On Sarton X the people are made of shoganals. Eating gingerbread there is tantamount to cannibalism.”

A fond look crossed Rose’s features. The warmth of it spread from her to him. The music kicked up. They stood. The Doctor offered her his arm and Rose came to him. They drifted out to the dance floor. Swaying gently to the music, the ginger increased the warmth he was feeling as the human woman in his arms acted as if she belonged there.

“How long have you been looking for me, Rose?” he asked.

“All my life,” she teased, side-stepping the question. “Really Doctor, you know better than to ask about your future.”

“How about now? How long are you staying here?” he asked. “In this time or dimension?”

Rose leaned against him, her head against his chest. And if he wasn’t mistaken, she was smelling him. “Two hours left, then I try again tomorrow to find you.”

“You’ve found me. I’m right here.” the Doctor said practically. “I can take you to me.”

Rose’s eyes lit up then faded. “I’m sure you would tell me that I can’t mess with your timeline. I could change things so that we never meet.”

“Pfaw, I would never,” he grumbled, knowing she was right. “The risk is slight. My Tardis could take you to his Tardis.”

“I’d end up in Aberdeen,” she muttered. “No. I have to find the right you, in the right time. What if this dimension is the wrong one? I can’t take the risk.” Rose was so close that they were hugging more than dancing.

“Nonsense, dimensional travel is as simple as setting the stabilizers… As long as those idiots on Gallifrey don’t decide to detour us, we could be there in minutes, seconds. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve met myself…”

Rose didn’t respond. She just let him move her around the floor.

“Who are you to me?” the Doctor asked in a hushed tone.

She shrugged. “Can’t we just enjoy the party?”

They ended up on the roof. Rose had retrieved her bag from the car. He would be going back to UNIT alone. She had a few minutes left. He watched her. “I barely know you and I can’t help wanting to keep you here,” he confessed.

Rose was wearing his scarf. She’d had to loop it around her neck several times and it still trailed on the ground. “Oh, you’ll be alright. Sarah Jane will take care of you.”

“Sarah’s my best friend,” the Doctor said warmly even though he had barely thought about her after picking up Rose. Now the image of Sarah in his scarf superimposed itself over Rose and he felt a pang of annoyance with himself.

“Oh, I know,” Rose replied with a knowing smirk.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” the Doctor asked, reaching for her. “Tell me something about you…”

She glanced at her watch. “Oh, what the hell! I’ve still got a minute to go.” Rose dove into his arms. Rising up on tiptoes, she pressed warm lips against his. Surprised, he wrapped his long arms around her, practically lifting her up so she could continue kissing him. The pleasant warmth he’d been feeling all night exploded into a confusing array of emotions and feelings. Her lips were smooth, soft, and hot against his cooler ones. The taste of ginger hit him and the crisp bite of the champagne as she deepened the kiss, her fingers sliding into his curls to ravage them. Hearts racing, he hadn’t expected a kiss to unsettled him.

She let go just as his respiratory bypass kicked in. Laughing, she unlooped the scarf and wrapped it back around him. Her cheeks were a delightful pink, lips swollen and eyes practically glowing golden. “That’s all you need to know about me,” she said.

“That good?”

“It’s gonna be fantastic.”

Rose faded away.

[ecmlol]

“Ok that works. You don’t have too even see him now”jude say

“ why don’t we just talk to him”noah says

“ you know what Oscar said he’s upset and he runs. Confronting him isn’t going to help the situation.”

“ what if I befriend him.”Noah asked

“ how?”jude asked

“ just lunch talking I can act like I don’t know who he is”

“ if the opportunity happens then ok but please don’t search him out.He’s not a story to chase he my brother that has mental issues “

“ I know jude but he’s your brother not a wild animal.”noah say

“ but he acts like one”jude says

Noah is getting frustrated with Jude because he feels like jude can benefit from having a relationship with his brother. Who knows maybe jude can help his brother deal with the revelation for having a twin.

“ maybe he needs a little compassion in his life jude . He was raised by Oscar. Maybe that’s all he needs.”noah say

It’s not often Jude thinks Noah is delusional or naive. This is one of those time.

“ noah I have a bad feeling about him.”

“ how bad can he be he’s your twin.”

“ he was raised by Oscar and he killed my moms dog!”jude say.

“ ok ok I get it . I just want us to have as much family in our life as we can. We both have been with out it for a while .

“I understand where this is going noah I do but I don’t think he needs to be apart of our support system if we even need one at this rate.”jude say

“ do you think Pax would man up and actually take the baby and raise it alone.”noah say

“ I don’t know but if you want to chase something like a story dig around in pax’s background.”

“ then what”

“ get a feel for him we already know he isn’t loyal and he has had some money issue” W.W.O.D. What would Oscar do. Jude thought to himself. Jude knows this is a dangerous road to travel down but day by day jude is growing to love the idea of a family with Noah.At first he thought that he could never have all of his dreams come true . There is no way he would ever be that lucky. Meet Noah and getting the devils he has figured out that he can have everything : Devils,a husband,and a family.

“ what do you know that I don’t “noah asked

“ the commissioners wife paid Pax to sleep with her .”

“Gigalowe! Are you serious he’s that bad at money management that he blow all of his money and had to sell his dick to make ends meeting?!!

“ please don’t ever make that a headline.”Jude say

“ I won’t. I promise but if I did it would be great”

“ thank you. We really don’t need those kind of headlines”jude says

“True”noah is starting to see that his marriage is going to mess with career. Noah has a lot of soul searching when it concern his career and how he’s going to handle it.He feels like he has to choice between a happy home life or his career. He know which one he will choice everytime. Jude. Period. The life he’s building with Jude means everything to Noah. The devils are as much of his concern as Jude’s.

The rest of the trip noah sat back and watched the sky line fly by.

At the arena

Brandon feels lost like a child sitting in the security office at the mall.Brandon has no clue how he got to the arena or what happened to his wallet. The last thing he remembers is being in Florida sitting in a rental car across from his mother’s house watching his sister play. His busted lips gave him a clue to where his things might be at. Snow the officer of duty at the moment walks in with a glass of water and a monster.

“ your father just called and he’s sending a car to come pick you up.” The sammy Davis jr look alike say

Brandon doesn’t have a clue what his game play is but he needed to regroup.

15 minutes later

Jude and Noah drive up to the arena and see a town car sitting out front.

“ do you think that’s car is for my brother?” Jude ask as he turns to park in the back.

“ stop “noah say

“ what?!jude stops in a rush luckly Porsche have great breaks Jude thought to himself.

Noah looks over and watches “jude”walk down from the top of the stairs .

Noah double takes looking at Jude then Brandon

“Holy shit “ noah say

Jude cranks his head to take a look.

“ I can’t see”jude says

“ from here I don’t think I can tell you two apart.”

“ well you really need to figure something out.”jude says in a worried tone.

Jude’s tone makes noah look at him.

“ I’ll come up with something I promise you Dane.”noah says as he leans in and gives him a quick kiss on jude pouted lips.

Noah and Jude have question written down and Put in the safe. The only person who knows the combination is noah.Noah tooks pictures of every scare birthmark and oddities on Jude’s body. They also are keeping those pictures on a disk in the safe.

Hotel

As soon as Brandon gets into his hotel room his phone rings.

Brandon already know who it is.

“ Father ?”

“ Brandon? are you ok?” Oscar asked

“I blacked out again”Brandon says

“ it’s ok come home and speaking to your therapist “

“ I can’t I’m this close to meeting him”

“ if that’s the case then why don’t you just walk up to jude and talk to him”oscar suggest

“ you know I can’t do that what if he doesn’t like me”Brandon say

“ Brandon I’m coming to get you. I’ll be in la....”

“ give me a month I’ll work up the nerves to talk to him I promise father “Brandon says in a small voice.

“ you’ll be on your best behavior? No more dead dogs?”

“ it was a accident I just wanted a closer look I didn’t know more then one sleeping pill will kill a dog!” Brandon voice changes into something more angry

“Kyle?”

“Yes!”

“ we can talk about this when my son wants to talk.”oscar says before hanging up.

At the arena

Jude is showing his personal security guard around . She wanted to see all of the exits in case of emergency. She is what he imagined Noah’s sister would look like. She almost 6’1 medium complex long legs and dark eyes but that’s where the similarities end. She has dark brown hair not black and she’s curvy like a real plus size model.jude thought

“ sir would you happen to have a list of places you frequent on a regular bases?” Officer Murray ask

“ of course “ jude writes down every place he can think of at the moment that he might go to.

There a knock on the door.Jude and Murray look up at the same time.

Noah and loinel walk in.

“ hey.”noah say as he wave to jude and walks over to Murray.

“This is my husband noah and my hag and Noah’s boss Lionel Davenport.”jude says

“ hi nice to meet you.”Murray say as she shakes both of their hands.

“ when ever I’m with either one of them you can take a break”jude say

“ all right. That works. I’ll go walk around and get comfortable with the building?”

“ sure that works be back in a hour.”jude says

Murray nods and disappears out the door.

“ ok what going on?”lionel demands as she sits down and gets comfortable.

Jude and Noah lean against Jude’s desk looking at lionel.

“Well I have a unstable twin brother that lives in New York that went to the same school as Eve”jude says

“A brother? Of course he’s unstable .Hello I was the man wife and never felt more unstable in my life.That awful. So what’s with the bodyguard.”

“ that where the unstable part come in “ noah say as he crosses his arm.

“ he has a split personality. I think I might be in danger of him trying to replace me.”jude says

“ ok I need a drink. “ Lionel gets up and head to the door.

Jude and Noah both look at each other and shrug.

They follow lionel out.

A few hours later noah and jude are walking into the house.

“ so tell me about officer Murray? Do you think she’s a good fit?”

“ so far I like her . She’s on time. She seems like she thinks outside the box.”jude says as he opens the refrigerator and grabs two beers

“Want a beer”jude ask noah who is leaning against the kitchen counter.

“ nah I think I’m good but I will take a water.”jude tosses noah a bottle of water.

“ thanks”

They walk out into the living room.

“ feel like Netflix and chill”noah asked as he sits down.”

“In bed yes.” Jude says as he heads toward the bedroom.

“ bedroom it is then.”

By the time noah gets into the bedroom after a pit stop in the bathroom jude is half naked.

Noah starts to strip. Noah notices that Jude’s shoulders are down and he keeps rubbing the back of his neck.

“ Dane? “

“ huh?” Jude looks over to noah who is pulling off his shoe in his closet.

“ sit on the bed for me”

“ ah ok” jude sits on the bed.

Noah sits on the other side and swings his legs over and the scoots over to sit behind Jude.

Noah starts to massage Jude’s shoulders.

“ god that feels so good.”jude sighs and rotates his neck.

“ good. So knowing Brandon is here really has you stressed out huh.”

“That obvious huh.”

“ I watch you all the time I can see it all over your face and in the way you move.”noah says

“ when you say things like that I worry a little less about you not knowing if it’s the real me.”

“ look at me.”noah says

Noah scoots back to make room on the bed for jude to turn and look at noah.

“ Jude you’re my best friend my husband and my world. We will get through this and anything else that gets thrown at us.”

Jude nods and leans into Noah.

Noah kisses Jude’s shoulders then the side of his head.

“ I missed us today”jude says

“ I missed our bubble too.”noah says

“ I guess we are back to reality “jude says

Jude sighs. Noah leans back and does a sloppy flip off the bed.

“ let’s go and be in our bubble in the shower.”noah says.

Jude smiles and follows noah into the bathroom.

The week goes quickly for both Noah and Jude. Neither one have seen or heard a peep out of Brandon. Noah has called and checked on Jamie everyday. There hasn’t been a sighting of Pax either. Was it the quiet before the storm jude thought at the weekly dinner that jude made himself.

On the menu this week : Mac and cheese, salads and grilled shrimp.

“ so how is it?”jude asked after he pushes the storm questions out of his head.

“ well shrimp is a little tough and the Mac and cheese could have baked a little older but besides that great job Dane.”noah says with a little sarcasm and a wink.

“ hey don’t blame me for the shrimp I’m not the one that cornered my husband and kissed him for like 5 minutes.”jude says

“ well ok. I can’t help myself you are just so irresistible when you cook and your wearing one of my wife beaters.” Noah said

Jude smiles and touches the love bite on his neck then rolls his eyes.

“ I’m kidding about the Mac and cheese it’s good by the way. So I found my baseball gear today while I was unpacking . Any chance you want to hit the batting cage or play catch after dinner?”noah asked

“ sure. Did you pick up my suit any chance?”jude asked.

“ no did you ask me to? Did I for get to pick it?”Noah asked.

“ no no I went to pick it up today after work and they said it was all ready picked up.”jude say

“ oh . Do you think they lost it?”noah asked

“ no I don’t Think they did. I have never had a problem with them before.”

“ do you think....”

“ my brother took them?”

“Yes anything possible jude . We know he’s in town”

“Great.”jude shakes his he and rubs the back of his neck “

“ ok take a breath and tell me which suit it was”

“ the brown one and I can’t remember the other one.”

“Ok the one I hate and a nother one got it.”

“ huh you hate the brown one ?”

“Yeah I should have rip it off you when I had a chance “

“ oh ok just remember the next time you see it i won’t be me wearing it.let me get it back before you do that. While we are on the subject of clothing. The next time I see you wearing underwear with holes I’m ripping them off you.”jude says with a smile.

“ is that a threat or a promise?”noah asked as he watches jude walk into the kitchen for a glass of water.

“ promise and I’m hiding those “ swim suit” too” jude says

“ I was wondering what happened to them.”

“ I hid them just before making dinner last weekend .”

“ oh so what do I have to do to get them back?” Noah says in his most seductive tone.

“Hummm I have to think about it”jude says teasingly.

“ I’m up for a challenge.”noah say

“Good because Im going to think of something good”

Noah gets a text. Noah’s face goes from flirty husband to worried.

“ noah everything ok?”

“She going to the hospital “noah say

“ what’s wrong” jude asked

“ not sure she said she feels off like something is wrong with the baby” noah say as he gets up and starts to walk away from the table.

Jude watches as noah grabs his shoes.

“ I’ll be back I want to check on them.”noah say

“ ok I’ll be here hanging out.” Jude say

Noah comes back and kisses jude before leaving.

“ love you” noah says on his way out.

Noah was so fast Jude’s response was only heard by his own ears.

“ love you .... too”

Two hours later jude receives a text from noah saying that it was just Braxton Hicks.

Jude didn’t really know what that means.

For the rest of the evening jude does some serious soul searching about the baby. Jude is thinking about everything noah has dug up on Pax this week. Pax’s brother was a baller that died in a car accident just before his first season in the league. His mother was never married and is a registered nurse. Pax didn’t make it through college. He flunked out just before the draft. Jude didn’t want to know how noah found out that pax is selling signed jersey online or that pax is in so much debt it’s ridiculous.

Jude thought to himself that noah has put so much time , money and heart into this baby that he know he’s not giving up on it no matter how much Jude has warned him about it. A part of jude is afraid that there is no way the universe is going to give him everything he has ever wanted in his life.Jude’s gut feeling is that he and noah are going to be heart broken by the end of the year.

Jude sigh and he gives up on trying to talk Noah out of this baby.

Jude picks up his phone and goes on to amazon to look up books on pregnancy and child birth.

Three hours later.

Jude has fallen asleep on the couch reading his new book. Noah walks in hoping that jude is awake because he has some news that he is dying to tell him.

Noah see jude on the couch with his phone in his hand.

Hummm I wonder if he was waiting up for me and fell asleep checking his emails.noah thought to himself

Noah takes Jude’s phone out of his hand and places it on the coffee table.

Jude starts to stir.

“ hey I’m home”noah say with a gentle shake.

“ what time is it “ jude say as he slowly opens his eyes.

Noah checks Jude’s phone.

“ 1245”

Jude rotates his head and stretches.

“ is everything ok still?”

“ yeah it’s great ! I have some news!” Noah is beyond giddy. He’s practically bouncing on the coffee table.

“Give me a second to wake up noah.” Jude say half a sleep.

Apart of jude wants to act like he is about to fall asleep but he doesn’t.

“ ok so what’s..”

Noah is smiling from ear to ear as he bites his bottom lip as he tries to contain his excitement.

“ it’s a girl!”Noah say as he grabs jude and hugs him.

“ seriously?!!”

“Yes I have pictures!”noah says with a smile.

“ sonagraphs you mean?”jude say

“ look at you using pregnancy terms”noah say as he takes the sonagram picture from his jacket pocket to hand to Jude.

“ if your wondering how I knew that I have decided to stop fighting you when it comes to our maybe baby and go with the flow. I download a few books to catch up on my knowledge on babies ,pregnancy and fatherhood.”

“ really?”noah says

“ yeah” jude says with a small smile.

“ god I love you”noah leans in and kisses jude. Jude smiles against his husband’s lips.

Jude sits back and pulls Noah with him. They stretch out on the couch. Noah is nestled in between jude ‘s legs.noah pulls away first.

“ tell me about what happened at the hospital”jude asked.

Noah rest his head on his back of his hands looking at jude.

“ every time I see her her belly it looks so different. It blows my mind.” Noah says

Jude holds up the first “photos “of their maybe baby.

“ wow look at her nose! Are those her feet?” Jude asked

“ yes I have a video you have to see it she’s sucking on her fingers!”

“ really?”

“ yes here she’s was totally spread eagle and you can see that she’s a girl clear as day.well that’s what the women says.”noah say

Jude smiles at Noah’s enthusiasm he thought it is contagious.

“ yeah her nose is cute.”noah say

“Oh wow these are really interesting looking” jude said as he hopes he is looking at the right ones.

“ ok I have to tell you something.”

“ ok ...what up ?”the tone In Noah’s voice says it could be some bad.

“She put my name down as the father. I didn’t asked to.”

Jude sighs

“What about the dna test you know we got the results in back yesterday.” Jude says

“ it’s been like this for months but I found out today.”

“ I think we need a lawyer.”jude says

“Yeah I think you might be right.”noah says

“ ok we can think about this later?” Jude says as he puts the sonagram pictures on the coffee table.

“ so what do you have in mind? Noah asked

“ happy 2 week anniversary”jude before pulling Noah into a kiss.

The next morning

Jude and Noah wake up the next day tangle in sheets .Noah’s head is at the top of th bed and Jude’s head is at the bottom with him feet next to Noah’s head.

Noah stretches his back and Jude’s feet hits his face.

Noah looks down at jude who is still sleeping and smiles to himself.He grabs his phone and turns on his camera app and starts to record.

Noah wasn’t sure how ticklish jude is. He knows he’s slightly ticklish from the fact that jude won’t get a pedicure with Lionel or him. He angle his camera to only show Jude’s foot and he runs one finger lightly over the center of Jude’s foot. Jude’s whole foot scrunches up. Noah does it again but a little hard. Jude kicks him in the face and almost fall off the bed .

Noah grabs jude ‘s leg so he didn’t fall off the bed .

“Nono” jude says in a groggy voice

“ what??”noah says with a devilish grin.

Jude scrambles to get up on the bed before noah looses his grip.

Jude sits up and eyes noah who is on his phone.

“ Jude I’ve been hacked. Wait you posted sleeping pictures of me?”

“I was wondering when you noticed when you were husband hacked .”

“ aww you even used a hashtag. I’m so proud of you.”

“ I said I would try this social media thing”jude says as he crawls to the head of the bed.

Noah smiles when jude leans in and kisses him good morning.

“ hey Dane . Sleep well.”

Jude rolls his eyes.

“You know I did .”Jude says

“ that dick the best sleeping pill ever!”noah says

“ and you can’t overdose”jude say offering his fist to pound.

They both laugh.

“ so do we have any comment”jude asked

“Of course . The one that shows my back and the top of my ass. Has the most likes.

“ you do look hot in that one.”

“ those gluts exercises are paying off.”noah say as he looks through the comments.

“ look at all the flames and heart eyes.” Jude says

“ yeah people love skin”noah say

As Noah scrolls down his comments one sticks out to him for some reason.

“ bigbro925.” Noah say out loud.

He is the first negative comment on the whole post so far.

“ is your brother older?”noah asked

[bipolaireenivresse-blog]

Spring And My Own Goddess Of Spring And Winter Flowers

It was the best day in my life. I had rented a nice black car and I was driving east, fast and easy, on secondary roads through the rolling plains and plateaus of Champagne and Lorraine. It was 3 May 2017. The sky was blue with scattered white cumuli that were appearing much bigger, higher and greyer at the horizon. Something huge was forming there. I was on my way to see Fishbach’s concert in the Saint-Donat church in Arlon, Belgium, as part of the Aralunaires festival. I was high, very high, higher than I had ever been before. Of course I was smoking weed from noon to dawn. But it was only peripheral adjustment and support. The engine of the highness was endogenous, in my brain. With the precocious arrival of spring I had kicked out depression and been climbing unquestioningly through hypomania: I was not working, I had sufficiently money left; I was in perfect conditions for experimenting and enjoying unconditional happiness, euphoria, excitation and hedonism — the shiny side of bipolar disorder, the golden trick, the lovely upgoing slope to nowhere but inner paradise — whatever may happen subsequently. It was 3 May 2017. I was on my way to see my music idol producing herself with her band in a church (a church!). I would pass through a terrible storm at the border between France and Belgium, arrive little time before the show, sit at the first row in the church, receive an incredible emotional hit and see a tunnel opening in the light and stroboscope landscape like a pathway to another universe; have a short chat with Fishbach after the concert (she would comment the design of my notebook and leave a nice note in it), drink a pint of beer and a big cup of coffee in a bar of the deserted city centre, circle ecstatically in my car in the urban ring roads feeling weird gravity shifts, finally take the way back home, after midnight; once in France, ∼30 km south to the border, I would meet the customs officers, a joint of weed lying, red and hot, in the ashtray close to my small reserve box, and bore them with an unstoppable and improvised speech — I am a writer, I just come back from a concert of Fishbach, do you know Fishbach? No? You should listen, it’s great, she inspires me a lot, look these are the nice merchandising they gave at the show, OK, OK, this side of the car, really you have never heard about her?… — until they let me go; I would shout my joy at the stars in the sky, get lost through the complicated net of roads before home, arrive after the sun had risen, barely sleep before preparing myself for the next show, at night, at La Cigale in Paris — Fishbach again, of course, why questioning? Two concerts in two days, I was just a groupie. It was 3 May 2017. It was the best day in my life. I was precisely on the edge between reason and insanity, hypomania and mania, at the cerebral orgasmic point before snaky mental maze. Under my umbrella, smoking, my back pressed against the outside walls of the Saint-Donat church, on the top of the hill of Arlon, amazed and overwhelmed, I was listening to Fishbach vocalizing before the concert and there was nothing else to live.

Was I then in love with Flora Fischbach and was my tracking of her a psycho behaviour? My friends were concerned with this issue and would let me know. What I will write further will address the second part of the question. Now, about l.o.v.e.: of course I was in love with her. Everybody was in love with her. Well, let’s say, every person attracted sexually by women in her audience was in love with her. I mean, she was, she is too much: delivering brilliant and daring pop music, singing extraordinarily — love her or hate her, there is no middle point on this subject —, beautiful, sexy, even ambiguous in gender and age, naturally classy, and above all hypnotic, magnetic, psychetic; on scene, supported by great musicians, she was, she is fucking something. I fell at first listening and sight, as many, many others.

But my passion for Fishbach was of course well beyond and apart from lust. The discovery of her debut album À Ta Merci in the first days of February 2017 gave me an electroshock. As I alluded previously, I was exiting a long, deep, and chaotic depressive phase and she was just the perfect extra kick I could expect. It was like being a young teenager living his first musical crush once again. With the slight difference that my Fishbach’s crush was several orders of magnitude more intense than the musical crushes I had experimented when I was actually a young teenager, in the late 80’s. Fishbach’s music was just a glittering synthesis of most that I could have liked so far in music draped in the peculiar big sound of « French touch »: the mainstream pop music of Daniel Balavoine or Mylène Farmer, the synth-pop of Kraftwerk or Depeche Mode, the rock of Electrelane, the electro-rock of Ladytron, the lettered songs of Françoise Hardy or Françoiz Breut, …, with, from place to place, irresistible spans reminiscent of Tame Impala or Vangelis’ Blade Runner themes and atmospheres.

Soon, listening to Fishbach’s music became an almost full-time, delighting occupation; she was a drug and she was better with drug. Obviously and corolarilly, there was a noticeable feedback loop between her and my mood level: the more I listened to her music the more I felt hypomaniac and vice versa. Last but not least, there was the song called « Mortel » and its two strangely diverging versions (one on the 2015 Fishbach EP, one on the À Ta Merci album). I was totally stunned: listening to this song was like feeling an harmless though harrowing arrow passing through all the nodes of my entire existence. I swear I watched hundreds of time the YouTube Vevo Dscvr live version of the song. The emotion provoked was indescribable and undecipherable.

I booked a ticket for her upcoming concert in La Cigale, Paris, 4 May 2017. But it was too far… When I discovered that she was actually about to perform her very big touring date in the same place 14 March, I went crazily impatient; I managed to buy, the day before the event, a black market ticket on the Internet. 14 March 2017 was a spring sunny and cool Tuesday. In the morning, in order to lower my excitation, I went running 20 km. I arrived at La Cigale very early in order to be able to place myself in the first or second row in the audience. I was 15. It was my first concert ever. I smoke only one joint and drank only one beer. After the show I was not the same person anymore. Some ravishing wasp come from outer space had bitten me, injecting in my body and soul a sweet and fatal venom. Her name was Flora and, with my poor erudition, I remembered that Flora was the goddess of something in some ancient mythology; I checked on the Internet: indeed, Flore or Flora was, in roman divinity, the goddess of flowers and spring. It was too much, too poetic: the reflection of my own renewal in music and emerging star. And, from then on, everything started to lovely burst.

As I told to the customs officers in the night of 3 May, in these times, I was effectively and vainly trying to write a « novel ». I intended to describe the dying of the light-like loss — or, actually, the refusal of loss — of past euphoria existing in bipolar disorder treatment and stabilisation. Nevertheless, after seeing Fishbach live for the first time, this literature direction split up into various and poorly coherent drafts as I more and more focused my writing energy in composing letters to Fishbach. And, yeah, in the end, I went totally psycho with that. Everything started around 15 of 16 March (i.e., no more than two days after the show in La Cigale): I felt an uninhibited, overwhelming, irresistible, almost vital need of telling her in writing what I had felted during the concert and since the discovery of her music — and acknowledging her. Surprisingly, I had found an email address at her name in a public page in Internet; it was obviously obsolete but I considered this way better than sending a post mail to her family in Charlevilles-Mézières in the northeastern corner of France. She would probably never read the email I had written but, who cared? Just the fact of sending the stuff was delivering me from a weight — yes, I am the boy who listened too many times to « Tous les cris les SOS » by Daniel Balavoine. Nevertheless, I started to dream about the possibility of meeting her and telling her about the mail. From 15 I was regressing to 14 or even 13. The possibility became probabilitywhen I decided to go with some friends to a concert of Cléa Vincent in La Gaîté Lyrique, Paris: the latter singer was kind of friend with Fishbach and Fishbach was not programmed anywhere on that day. It was 12 April and, at that date, my hypomania had enhanced exponentially and, in that night more precisely, my disinhibition was strengthened by a mix of alcohol, weed, and MDMA. Of course Fishbach was there, a few metres from me, in the background of the concert room; and of course, overcoming any fear of being ridiculous, I went straight to her, told her about the mail, « I would like you to read it », verifying the obsolescence of the abovementioned address, finally telling her my first name and surname at her demand. Believe me or not, living such a teenage dream when you are 40-years old — with the physical, psychological and chemical means allowed by time — is quite of a thing. It is totally, absolutely childish but when you are bipolar in a jumping, junkie hypomaniac phase it is the best shoot of heroin you can beg for — then, just add the right dose of romanticism looking at your heroine walking in beauty like the night just as in one of your preferred Suede songs and you are in paradise. From that moment, I started to write other emails to the same address, which from emotional reports of a bipolar fan in euphoria rapidly turned into more and more complex interpretations of the Fishbach’s song lyrics, and especially of the « Mortel » lyrics. Since I met her a few times after shows, I had clues that she was at least receiving my texts; but, strangely, maybe by fear, maybe because my reality was progressively colonised by hallucinations, I would prefer to leave a thick sheet of doubt on what I was in my inner me quite pretentiously dreaming the most — having her as my reader. During the first part of May, as I was sliding on a slippery slope with readings of quantum metaphysics mixed with foreseen theories about the control of technology and Internet over Humanity, my « letters » to Fishbach drowned into delusions: I was for example persuaded that « Mortel » had travelled in time through my consciousness (and of course from hers) between its first version release date (November 2015) and my discovery of Fishbach (February 2017) with consequences on my existence trajectory. It was still not that worrying: in a way, considering the frequently odd nature of Fishbach’s lyrics, this may have been considered as funny. I could have continued my role of freaky, half-crazy groupie: there was so many touring dates to come. For example, I had won tickets for a concert in the suburbs of Paris where both Fishbach and Cléa Vincent were programmed! It was 15 May. But, that day in the afternoon, I got my first psychotic paranoid crisis: I destroyed almost all my electronic devices at home, especially the Internet box that I smashed with a hammer and drowned in the toilets before washing it with burning water and squeezing it in the outside bin. This crisis left me exhausted and I did not went to the concert. I would never see Fishbach again during the 2017 year. I had opened a new territory in my psychosis: after sending her an heavy chain of intriguing playlists and images, I stopped this vain, one-way correspondence. What for writing when you can communicate through quantum telepathy? It was only the beginning of my relation with the virtual, computed part of Fishbach: I would deliver her from the sick program in her brain and we, as one, would save the world. I had some beautiful days waiting for me in the psychiatric hospital.

At the end, if I analyse my relation with Fishbach’s person, band and music, there is one important remaining idea: it is a question of faith. When, nowadays, absolutely sober and cautious with my possible hypomania trends, I look back at this special date of 3 May 2017, I confess I feel a kind of nostalgia. How could I feel different? That day I truly believed I was blessed by her. She was my own Flore, my own goddess of spring and flowers. I will never forget how, before losing control, during a few weeks of a sunny spring, I felt a strong convergence between my delighted mood rises and my Fishbach-related emotional events. I told previously about a feedback loop. Between hypomania and Fishbach, was there a dominating cause-to-effect way? Who knows? Maybe I just have to let myself go and believe in Fishbach. After all, even outside hypomania and without any drug, I still feel the same emotions and energy listening to her music: I am entranced by it/her. Oddly, yesterday, she was performing on a boat in Paris, a kind of VIP, quickly sold out event. On Twitter, I started joking with someone from her record label: even if it was sold out I could try to come swimming or parachuting. Maybe last year I would have been sufficiently insane to try something like that. However, whereas some miles away from me this boat was carrying her, I was running in a deep and dense forest, crossing stags and snakes, fascinated by the diffusion of vespertine lights through the deep green canopy, imagining the beloved beat of « Mortel » entwined in my heart pulses. Despite the extreme heat, I was sometimes shivering; there was something, someone in there, in the air, through the sky and towards the sinking sun. And I was softly riddled by random shots of life.

[pinkletterday]

Notorious

Pairing: Barry Allen/ Iris West.

Rating: Teen

Warnings: drug use, addiction

Status: WiP

Summary: Iris West reluctantly faces the challenge of her career as a publicist - saving up and coming alt-rock sensation Barry Allen's career from himself.

"People like notoriety. Studios don't like uninsurable flight risks. The money is in the sweet spot between the two."

Prompt taken from this post and altered.

"Hi, I'm gonna kill you."

Iris's boss, Leonard Snart, swivelled in his chair to face her as she stormed into his office, heedless of the transparency of its walls.

"Good morning to you too, Iris," he said wryly. "I wouldn't mind if you do kill me, I have meeting with Accounting in ten minutes. But why am I to be executed?"

"Why would you put me on the Allen account?" Iris demanded, eyes flashing angrily under wide-rimmed glasses. "More importantly, why am I being taken off the Queen one? I brought in that client, Len! And now you want me to baby-sit ANOTHER self-aggrandizing man-child AFTER I helped QC Records pull off a complete image revamp?"

"We're a entertainment PR firm, West, they're all self-aggrandizing man-children. We'd be out of business if they weren't," Len waved her away and went back to collecting his papers. "And I put you on the Allen account because Oliver Queen likes you."

"What?" Iris stopped, non-plussed.

"When you pull off the impossible, people reward you by giving you something more impossible," said Len in his usual air of imparting some grand wisdom upon the newbies. It did nothing to assuage Iris's bad humour. "You got the public to see young Ollie Queen, heedless playboy in the club scene, as a savvy charismatic businessman able to lead his father's empire without running it to the ground. Now he wants you to do the same for his good buddy Barry Allen."

"Why didn't he just ask me?" said Iris, only slightly mollified.

"Probably didn't want to be around for the kicking and screaming," said Len, leaning his head sardonically at her. Iris flushed. Snart was such an asshole. "And don't worry, Queen's paying the retainer fee."

"Why is Oliver paying for Allen?" she determinedly strode behind him as he headed out to the elevator. "Barry Allen's already got two singles in the Billboard Top 40 and a contract with QC. Can't he afford to pay us himself?"

"Ah, there's the rub, darling," Len smirked at her. "Part of the deal is that you convince young Mr. Allen that he needs you. And judging by the recent tabloid coverage - boy, he really does need you."

Iris stared at him. "You can't be serious. He doesn't even want a - Len, he needs rehab not a publicist!"

"No reason why he shouldn't have both," said Len stepping into the elevator as she stood outside, stupefied in disbelief. "Don't worry, Iris. I have every faith in you." The elevator doors closed on her boss's infuriating Chesire cat grin.

"I don't even know anything about alt-rock!" she yelled fruitlessly at the closed steel doors.

"So, I guess this is a bad time to tell you I got the QC account," Sara approached waving a folder at her, her expression not much less disgruntled than hers. "Any tips on how to handle Queen?"

"Yeah," said Iris, pivoting angrily on her heel and marching away. "Kick his fucking ass."

***

For someone with a talent for both music and being splashed across the tabloids, Barry Allen had a rather unconventional arrangement. He was not represented by any major talent agency, even Snart Associates was more entertainment-corporate oriented than talent. He had been "managed" this far by a personal friend in the music industry, a Cisco Ramon, whose own success had made it impossible to focus on Allen's. Iris figured that some well-meaning yet complicated friend negotiations had taken place behind the artist's back for this clusterfuck to land on her desk. She fumed. She was a professional. Even when she had had to contend with Oliver Queen at his worst (the fact that much of the worst had been a ruse was small consolation) it had been saving of the company she had been tasked with. She hadn't gotten an MBA on her own money by twenty-four while working her way up from a mailroom to end up playing nurse maid to entitled white boys.

It was her ire that made her square her shoulders, wipe the sneer off her face and beard the proverbial lion in his den alone. Ramon had asked her to wait for him outside the unimpressive square brick building in a bad part of town ("probably to fit his boho aesthetic," Iris thought uncharitably) but he was now ten minutes late, so screw him.

There was no security or buzzer at the entrance so Iris was able to simply walk into the alarmingly large and clanky elevator that took her upto where Allen lived on the top floor. She stepped into a hall of bare brick with thick wooden sliding door staring at her. There was no buzzer to be seen here either. Iris was about to bang on the door when it opened by itself.

"- all right, fine, I'll let myself out, you jerk. Thanks for the sex and the coffee, I guess!" an irate blonde in dishevelled clothing appeared in front of her, coat and one heel still in hand, facing away to yell at the occupant. She turned around, came face to face with Iris and stepped back in surprise. "Who're you?"

Iris stared awkwardly at her. "Um."

She snorted. "Yeah okay, whatever, good luck." With which ominous benediction she pulled on her shoe and clattered down the stairs, apparently unwilling to wait for the elevator.

"Hey Kathy - Katya - whoever - could you close the door please? Thanks!" called a male voice.

Iris stepped in and complied.

The studio was kind of a bachelor cliché, bare brick, high ceilings, stainless steel counters and leather sofas. A vague smell of weed hung stale in the air. Dull grey sunlight flooded in from the large square windows overlooking the brick and mortar part of the warehouse district, on which gentrification had not encroached. A sad little pocket of impersonal luxury in a sadder, almost forgotten place.

A tall, lanky white man in a tattered tee shirt sat in profile at the far end, eschewing the sprawling sofa behind him in favour of sitting on the floor rug in a tangle of long legs, intermitently strumming on a guitar and scribbling on a note pad on a coffee table strewn with mugs, cans and paper.

"Mr. Allen?" she said tentatively.

His head whipped up, startled. "Huh? Who're you?"

"My name is Iris West. Oliver Queen sent me," said Iris, brisk and no-nonsense, adjusting her glasses.

He blinked slowly at her. Then a lazy grin came over his face. "And here I thought Ollie wasn't gonna send me strippers anymore," he said, eyeing her appreciatively, "he still definitely knows my type."

Iris gaped at him. "I am not a stripper!"

"Oh," he looked befuddled. "I'm sorry, but he really has sent me strippers before and one of them was actually dressed all school-teacherish like you - um. Although come to think of it, he hasn't done that in a few years. Sorry, um. Did uh, the other lady leave?"

"Yeah, she left just as I came in," Iris felt even more nonplussed, no idea which end of that ramble she was supposed to start with. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked around blinking as though not sure of his own surroundings. Or what time it was. Possibly which year.

"Are you high?" It was only ten in the morning, Jesus Christ.

"Um. Only on coffee. And Redbull. Lots of Redbull," he said, going back to work as though her presence in his apartment was not really of much concern to him. "Sex really gives me an endorphin rush and I had this idea - couldn't really go back to sleep after that. I think I made Katya -uh, the girl - mad. I just really need to focus, y'know? Like, if I don't it get done while I'm in the zone I can't ever get it back again?" He never tooked up, talking as though mostly to himself.

Iris approached him cautiously. "Huh. Well, coffee and Rebull I can work with. As long as it's not coke or something."

"Out of Coke. Might have some Pepsi," said Allen absently.

"I meant cocaine."

"Yeah, out of that too."

Iris breathed out slowly.

"Uh, so if Ollie didn't send you, why are you here?" Allen looked up at her, finally seeming to register that this vital question had gone unanswered.

"I said Mr. Queen did send me," she said patiently. "I'm your new publicist.

"Oh." Allen absorbed this. Then closed his eyes, hummed and began strumming his guitar.

Iris felt a headache building behind her eyeballs. "Mr. Allen? Did you not hear what I said?"

"I did, thank you," said Allen, "but I don't need a publicist. I'm sorry you wasted your time."

"I'm sorry about that too," said Iris, temper flaring out her nostrils, "but I am used to being treated with respect, client or not. Something apparently neither you, Oliver Queen or even Mr. Ramon seems capable of."

To her surprise, Allen's eyes flew open and he seemed genuinely dismayed. "Oh. You're right. I called you a - and then. Oh my God I'm sorry," he scrambled up, coltish legs unfolding almost comically to reveal himself a full head taller than her, pale and almost gangly but for an unconscious grace. "Um, please take a seat. Can I get you a drink? I can make more coffee. What do you mean Ollie and Cisco were rude to you?"

She stared after him as he bustled over to the kitchen island at the other end of the studio. Her past experience with Queen's associates and the tabloids had prepared her for a womanizing druggie manchild. It wasn't that Barry Allen had unchecked any of those boxes, exactly. Just kept checking them slightly to the left of where she expected.

"Well for one, Mr. Queen didn't notify me of my change in clients himself, and Mr. Ramon is now fifteen minutes late to our meeting," Iris slung her coat over a barstool and firmly sat herself on another, emanating a stern "will not be dislodged" aura, "I haven't had a briefing and also been told that I have to convince you to let me be your publicist. This is beyond professional discourtesy."

"Agreed on all counts," said Allen, smiling ruefully at her over the sink where he was rinsing the coffee pot. Unbecoming scruff aside, it was a very cute and disarming smile. "I'm sure Cisco has a good explanation, but I'm afraid Oliver is just an asshole like that."

"Believe me, I know," Iris snorted.

Allen's amusement deepened. "You aren't worried about calling your client an asshole in front of his friend?"

"I've called him worse things over the last year," she rolled her eyes, "and I can promise you I am going to call him many things as soon as his plane lands and he turns his phone on. I worked my ass off to save his company. I thought that meant something to him." The hurt she had been trying to ignore twinged despite herself. She had thought, after everything, that she and Oliver were at least friends.

Allen snapped his fingers in realization. "Oh, hey! I know who you are! Oliver talked about you all last year!"

"He did?"

"Yeah! Mostly complaining," (Iris snorted) "but in an impressed, complimentary way, you know?" Allen leaned his elbows on the counter and bent toward her with earnest blue eyes.

"I can imagine," she smiled wryly. "And he signed on with me willingly."

"Well, he got his money's worth. People finally get to see him like I've always seen him - not just a selfish party animal. You've done good work, Miss...?" he trailed off uncertainly again.

"West," she reasserted. "But you don't feel in need of my services?"

A distant door shut behind Allen's open, friendly eyes. "No, Miss West, I don't. It's not a reflection on you, it's just personal reasons."

Iris shrugged. "All right."

This seemed to surprise him. "Really? You aren't going to try to persuade me?"

"Do you want to be persuaded?"

"Well, no. I just thought -"

"Mr. Allen," Iris rubbed the headache away from her eyes, "a publicist is an integral, almost invasive presence in a company or someone's life. I need to know who you are, I need you to trust me so that you will come to me with everything and anything so that I can head off any media shitstorms or rumour mills, I need you ready and willing to take my advice on important life choices. I can't force my way into that position. Either you really want to rework your image or you don't."

"Why do I need to rework my image?" said Allen, blue eyes growing stormy. "I'm a musician. It would be weird if I weren't into sex and drugs."

"Sex and drugs, yes. Not making a fool of yourself by turning up high for your Jimmy Fallon interview, being arrested for solicitation and making it plain to the world that you are one drunken orgy away from an OD."

Allen was quiet as he poured the coffee into mugs. They were gaudy novelty ones with silly puns, incongrous with the sobriety of his interior decor. He slid one over without looking at her. She wondered whether he had deliberately chosen the bright-eyed unicorn saying "Go To Hell" in rainbow colors for her, but then he had his (long, graceful) hands wrapped around a mug where a slice of cheese announced "We'd be gouda together!" so she let it slide. "It doesn't matter," he said quietly.

"Oliver's been bailing you out of your worst jams, but now he's under extra scrutiny by the board. He can't keep you signed on for another album, even with two hit singles, if you look like you're going to be more trouble than you're worth."

Iris regretted saying it so baldly when she saw Allen flinch.

"I'm making trouble for Ollie?" He said it in a small, lost sort of way that made Iris feel like she'd kicked a puppy.

"I'm saying you're probably making life pretty difficult for him at the moment, yeah," she ploughed on, determined. "And that's probably why he hired me. Besides the fact that he obviously cares about you."

Allen peered quizzically at her over the rim of his mug. "Oliver talked to you about me?"

She snorted. "Yeah no. Cagey as hell, that guy. That's kind of how I know. The closer he is to someone, the less he talks about them. The opposite of the rest of the world."

"So you know he cares about me because he never talked to you about me?" Allen grinned as she drank her coffee. Her amazing, rich, life-giving coffee.

"That, and another thing."

"What's that?"

Weak silver sunshine cast half Barry Allen's lean, stupidly tall frame in shadow. It turned one of his eyes a light hazel and one side of his stubbly, hollowed cheek marble pale as he smiled down at her, both beautiful and uncanny.

I saw the financials for the out-of-court settlements he'd made to keep you off the news, for what good it did. If even one of them had been for sexual harrassment I wouldn't have touched either Queen's account or yours. I told him to void your contract last year and he shut me down. You have no idea how hard he's working to save you.

Iris grinned back. "He gave you the best damn publicist he had ever met."

***

[penniesforthestorm]

“No, I’m an idiot; you can ask anybody”: Justified Season Three, Episodes 8-10

Well. Howdy, folks. (The great thing about this is, thanks to tungle.hell’s lack of visible timestamps, most of you probably have no idea how long it’s been since I did the last one of these. At this point I don’t even know. But, on the off-chance that there is someone out there who’s been wondering when I’m going to make another one, here you go.) This trio of episodes is one of my favorites of the show’s entire run, so I might dive in with some extra insight here and there; if you want read back, click on through for the premiere, Episodes 2-4, and Episodes 5-7. Join me under the cut, and stop by my inbox any time:

Episode Eight: “Watching the Detectives”

-OK, off-topic, but first of all, this episode’s title happens to be one of my favorite Elvis Costello songs, and also, I know he didn’t write it about Twin Peaks’ Laura Palmer, but it’s about her nonetheless...

-We open with Sammy Tonin in a restaurant; Sammy takes a phone call with the Feds listening, and, following Quarles’ orders, links Raylan Givens to Boyd Crowder.

-Raylan, meanwhile, is sitting in his home-base bar in Lexington, listening to a sultry rockabilly singer. (Jack-and-Coke was my ‘starter’ drink when I was younger; it served a purpose but if I never have one again, I don’t think I’ll regret it...)

-Robert Quarles, in a car with Wynn Duffy and Mike the bodyguard, gets a call from a contrite Tanner Dodd. Duffy stops the car in front of the former home of Winona and Gary Hawkins, and lets Gary out of the trunk. Quarles tells Gary, “I want you to give a message to Raylan”, and then shoots him in the chest. Back at Quarles’ house/clinic, he’s approached by Ellstin Limehouse, who informs him of Boyd’s plans to run Shelby Parlow for Harlan County sheriff. Limehouse tells Quarles that he likes to back “the winning side”.

-Next morning, Raylan’s barman pal tells him there was someone tampering with his car; Raylan discovers scratch marks around the keyhole of his trunk. On the drive to work, he gets a call from the Lexington Police Department, and arrives at the scene of Gary Hawkins’ murder. He identifies the body for an already-suspicious LPD detective.

-At the Marshals’ Office, Deputy Tim reveals he knew that Gary was living under an alias in Tulsa, and he’s just been hassling Raylan about Gary’s fate for fun. Elsewhere in the building, persnickety US Attorney David Vasquez is approached by FBI Agent Barkley, the mole for the Detroit mob. Barkley asks to see Vasquez’s file on Raylan.

-Quarles meets with Tanner Dodd, who takes full responsibility for the hit on Boyd Crowder’s Oxy clinic. Quarles tells him he has one last chance, and sends him back to Harlan.

-Winona arrives at the Marshals’ Office, and Raylan informs her of Gary’s death. The LPD detectives question Raylan-- turns out his fingerprints were on the fatal bullet casing. He tells the story of tossing that bullet onto Duffy and reveals it was something he heard on the Johnny Carson show. The older and more skeptical of the detectives goes to Quarles’ house, and finds him insouciantly eating leftover spaghetti with Wynn Duffy at his side.

-Down in Harlan, Sheriff Tillman Napier starts his car, then gets out. The car explodes, tossing him to the ground. In short order, he goes to arrest Boyd.

-At the Marshals’ Office, Quarles and Duffy befuddle the LPD, and Winona gets pulled aside for questioning. Raylan realizes he’s being framed. Just as he’s trying to plead his case to Winona, Barkley and Vasquez show up, and Barkley hauls Raylan into Art’s office, accusing him of corruption.

-As Boyd is being perp-walked into the Harlan County courthouse, Raylan storms out of the meeting with Art, Vasquez, and Barkley. Tim offers to “take him downstairs” where the LPD is waiting, and after a chat in the elevator, he lets Raylan go check on his car. Winona calls; she’s found the gun inside her house. She brings it to Raylan, and tells him firmly, “Don’t come find me.” Back at the office, Barkley asks Tim, “Where is he?” and Tim cheerfully responds, “Where’s who?”, while snacking on some dried fruit.

-Sheriff Napier meets with Tanner Dodd (who planted the car-bomb), berating him for setting off the explosives too soon. Dodd tells Napier to pony up the money he owes, or the next batch of fireworks might ignite even sooner.

-Raylan’s in the clear; Agent Barkley didn’t want to divulge the source of his “tip”. Said source, Sammy Tonin, informs Robert Quarles that their association has come to an end. On a hunch, Raylan visits Quarles’ Lexington house, finding Wynn Duffy. Raylan warns Duffy that Quarles is on borrowed time, and Duffy doesn’t exactly disagree. Quarles, meanwhile, listens to a fire-and-brimstone radio sermon as he drives through the night, and pops a pill, ignoring his ringing cell phone as he pulls up to where Limehouse is waiting.

Episode Nine: “Loose Ends”

-Raylan hides the gun Quarles used in his bedroom. Next morning, Art pulls him in and asks him why he’s looking for Brady Hughes, a missing hustler who was last seen with Quarles. Art asks what Raylan has on Quarles that he can prove, and then tells him to back off.

-Delroy Baker, the Harlan bordello owner, takes three of his ‘girls’-- Ellen May, J.J., and Crystal--to rob a payday-loan office. Crystal gets shot, and Delroy tries to calm the now-hysterical J.J. and Ellen May with some blather about ‘soldiering on’. (We all agree that Delroy grew up in a cult, right?) They dump Crystal’s body in a slurry pond, and Delroy shoots J.J. Ellen May manages to escape into the woods.

-Ava visits Raylan at the Lexington bar, and after some banter, tells him that Boyd has some information he should hear. Raylan goes to Boyd’s jail cell, and Boyd connects Tanner Dodd to the clinic shooting and to Quarles. Raylan calls up Trooper Tom Bergen to help him find Dodd.

-Quarles visits Limehouse to discuss the campaign for sheriff, and Limehouse introduces him to Harvey, the county clerk. Over at Johnny Crowder’s bar, as Ava is preparing to open, a bruised and terrified Ellen May shows up, and Ava takes her inside.

-Raylan visits Tanner’s mother Imogene, a seemingly dotty woman who asks him to help her with her TV. Raylan gently explains that ‘some very dangerous people’ are after Tanner, and she drops the act. “The first time some no-dick lawman ran that game on me, Tanner was ten years old!” she snaps.

-Tanner, who has been hiding at Limehouse’s place with Errol, gets the call that Raylan’s looking for him, and Errol relays that to Limehouse. Limehouse admonishes him to see that Tanner’s “loose ends” are taken care of. Raylan goes to see Sheriff Napier, bringing along a friend he addresses as “Masters from the ATF”. He informs Napier that they’ve traced the car-bomb to Dodd, and not Boyd Crowder.

-Johnny Crowder chastises Ava for not unlocking the bar’s front door. She tells him about Ellen May, and Johnny makes what’s clearly intended to be a grand romantic play. He alludes to Ava’s soft heart-- “You’re always bringing in broken things and trying to make them well” (i.e. It’s me, I’m the broken thing)--and when Ava suggests that he take in Ellen May, he hauls himself up out of his wheelchair onto a barstool, and softly tells her, “You know I always wanted a blonde.” David Meunier’s performance in this scene kills me every time (fwiw he’s a very attractive man); on the one hand, who would have guessed that Johnny was a dreamer? On the other hand... buddy. Ever hear of “reading the room?” Ava, thoroughly annoyed, says that she’ll turn Ellen May over to Delroy; after all, “It’s what Boyd would do.”

-Napier tries to lure in Dodd, telling him he’ll pay up; Dodd and Errol visit Lemuel Briggs, the eccentric tinkerer last seen in S1E11: “Veterans”. Dodd demands that Briggs ‘refund’ him for the car-bomb, and Briggs directs him to a bag of money on top of a cabinet inside his shop. As Dodd steps up to retrieve it, Briggs informs him that he’s standing over a ‘Bouncing Betty’ landmine. Errol shoots Briggs and takes the cash, promising to care for Imogene. Some time later, Trooper Tom calls Raylan, saying that Dodd’s ready to talk.

-Ava, toting a shotgun, hauls a bewildered Ellen May out of the bar’s back room. Delroy’s waiting out front. As soon as he sets down the money Ava asked for, Ava shoots him, and instructs Ellen May to help her clean up.

-Raylan and an actual ATF agent converge on Briggs’ shop; Dodd reluctantly agrees to talk but insists the landmine be defused first. Just as Raylan makes the connection between Napier, Dodd, and Quarles, Dodd drops the pistol he’s holding, and the change in weight makes the device arm itself. Raylan and the ATF agent manage to get clear, but Tanner isn’t so lucky.

-At a VFW debate moderated by Harvey the county clerk, Napier and Shelby Parlow face off. Napier jibes at Shelby’s current job as a big-box store greeter, but Shelby gets an assist from the newly-sprung Boyd Crowder, who electrifies the room by painting Napier as a “company man”. At Johnny’s bar, they’re toasting success when Ava asks Boyd for a word. Johnny, suspicious, watches them go. Boyd, for his part, seems a little less than thrilled that Ava actually killed Delroy, and is clearly surprised when she asks to take over the bordello.

-Errol brings the money to Imogene Dodd, telling her to call if she needs anything. Raylan, concealed in her parlor, thanks her and hands her the remote for the new TV, which he’s helped set up (whatever else, he’s not entirely without grace). He then goes to see Limehouse, who tries to bait him by mentioning not only Arlo, but Frances, Raylan’s mother. Raylan passes along another warning about Quarles, but Limehouse appears unconcerned.

Episode Ten: “Guy Walks Into a Bar”

-Deputy Mooney and another Harlan cop attempt to plant a bottle of pills in Shelby Parlow’s truck, but he wards them off with a rifle, telling them he has terminal cancer, and he’s prepared for his own fate. At Johnny’s bar, Shelby reassures Boyd and Johnny that he was lying about his health. (I know that Shelby’s story in S4 essentially amounts to a retcon, but Jim Beaver’s understated cool is a big factor in why it works.)

-Johnny and Boyd strategize how to go after Napier; Johnny mentions that Napier has a sister. Limehouse and Errol agree track her down, but Limehouse voices some misgivings to Boyd. Boyd does his best to smooth things over, and Limehouse gives him Harvey, the county clerk.

-In Lexington, rascally Judge Reardon gives Raylan some bad news: Dickie Bennett is about to be pardoned, so that the state can avoid a lawsuit for wrongful imprisonment.

-Boyd visits Napier’s sister Hannah, who insists that she’s estranged from her brother, clearly terrified that Boyd’s going to harm her. Instead, he says he’s come to offer her a job.

-Speaking of leverage, Raylan tries to get Attorney Vasquez’s help to keep Dickie behind bars; he offers to have Wade Messer testify. Vasquez reminds him that if the charges are dropped against Dickie, Messer will be released by default, since he was only charged as an accessory.

-At Johnny’s bar, transformed for the day into Shelby Parlow’s campaign headquarters, Boyd receives the word that Dickie might go free. Johnny asks, somewhat unnecessarily, if Boyd thinks Dickie’s stupid enough to come back to Harlan.

-Raylan calls in Dickie’s buddy Jed, who took the fall for Helen’s murder. Jed reveals that his grandmother had a pact with Mags, and Mags called in a favor. Raylan goes to see Granny, finding her in a nursing home with severe aphasia following a recent stroke. She’s able to get Raylan to bring her two milkshakes, and when he hands her one and sits beside her, she dumps it in his lap, then takes the second one and sips with a triumphant gleam in her eye. Back at the office, Art raises the idea that Raylan should give a statement in court against Dickie’s pardon.

-The votes are in: somehow, Sheriff Napier won. In Napier’s office, Robert Quarles lays out their further business relationship, including a desk job for himself. County clerk Harvey arrives with some bad news-- turns out, sister Hannah is on the county payroll, which makes Napier ineligible for office due to a nepotism statute. Shelby Parlow will step in until a recall election can be held. Quarles departs, fuming, only to be confronted by Boyd and Johnny. “Don’t forget who packed your bags,” Boyd sneers.

-In Wynn Duffy’s trailer, Quarles pops a few more pills. A young man with a pistol storms inside, demanding to know what happened to Brady Hughes. Quarles describes his own lurid history: forced to turn tricks as a child to finance his father’s drug habit, then initiated into the Detroit mob by killing his father at the age of 14. Duffy looks on in horror as Quarles assures young Donovan that he “tried to help” Brady (the naked hostage Quarles was keeping in the Lexington house).

-At Raylan’s Lexington digs, bartender Lindsay tries to give him a pep-talk about his statement, advising him not to bullshit. Duffy and Quarles arrive; Quarles is pissed about the election, and he still thinks Raylan is cooperating with Boyd. He threatens to kill Raylan, and Raylan clears the room and invites him to go ahead. Lindsay intervenes, pulling a sidearm from under the bar, and once Quarles and a distinctly fed-up Duffy have departed, Raylan and Lindsay get frisky upstairs.

-In court the next morning, Dickie Bennett babbles to Judge Reardon that he’s found a new purpose in life, and Reardon looks about ready to walk over and physically shut him up. Raylan gives a revised statement: let Dickie walk, and when he inevitably stumbles into another misdeed, the Marshal Service will be there to catch him. Outside, Raylan clues in a skeptical Art: there’s the unresolved question of Mags Bennett’s missing fortune.

-Errol brings news of Dickie’s pardon to Limehouse, who embarks on a parable about “hog-killing weather”-- essentially, it’s all a question of timing.

-In a motel room, Robert Quarles gets undressed, muttering all the while about refusing to give up and fighting one’s enemies to the bitter end. He walks into the bathroom, where Donovan has been gagged and bound against the toilet.

[lilacsolanum]

Animorphs October: Parents

Set sometime around or directly before #5.

Jean Blumenthal and Eva Ruiz had been inseperable long before they became Jean Berenson and — well, Eva Ruiz, because that’s just the sort of person Eva was. Eva did not change or bend for anyone. Within the first twenty-four hours of their introductions Eva had the bookish and shy Jean dancing with a stranger, all while wearing a halter top and floral print pants that sat VERY low on the hip. Eva pulled people into her orbit, and anyone who was chosen by her loved it. Eva had coaxed Jean out of a shell Jean hadn’t even known she’d built. Jean’s return influence on Eva was, at most, occasionally convincing her not to punch someone. Being Eva Ruiz’s best friend was a point of pride for Jean, even if Eva was constantly on the verge of getting Jean killed or worse — ruining her perfect GPA.

Eva had delighted in Jean’s easy pregnancy with Tom, and Jean had commiserated with Eva through her two miscarriages. They carried Marco and Jake together, two old friends happily swapping stories about the secret realities of pregnancy men never wanted to know about. Eva’s pregnancy with Marco was tumultuous, and Eva was constantly afraid she’d loose this one, too. She never told Peter her fears, because Peter had never been able to handle Eva at her weakest, and Eva had never enjoyed the moments where Peter saw her for an imperfect woman. Only Jean was allowed into that world, and only Jean had permission to hold Eva when she cried.

Marco had come out a few weeks early, but otherwise intact. Jake soon followed, and the two women never gave the two children a chance to not be best friends. When they were little, before their personalities and individualities had truly settled, Jean and Eva referred to Marco and Jake as their “twins”, even if they could not be physically more different. As the boys grew, Jean and Eva could not stop talking about how their friendship was a complete role reversal of their own. Jake was far more likely to be found stuck up a tree with Marco standing at the base, Marco’s his arms crossed over his chest and Marco saying, “I told you so.” However, when it came to spinning lies and protecting one another, it was well known that Marco shared Eva’s cunning. Jean had been embarrassingly outsmarted by that child more times than she cared to admit.

Losing Eva had hit all the Berensons, and hard. Jean still had dreams about her. Dreams where Eva’s death had been Jean’s fault, dreams where Eva’s death was all an elaborate prank and they celebrated, dreams where Eva had never died at all. Yet Jean had moved on. She had seen a grief counselor and had worked through her pain.

Peter had not.

Jean was driving Marco home after finding him in Jake’s room after midnight. A sleepover had not been permitted or discussed. Jean had all but physically pulled Marco out of Jake’s bedroom and thrown him into the car. He sat in her passenger seat, sulking, looking overly stressed and thin.

She knew, exactly, why Marco stayed with Jake so often. She normally let it slide. She and Steve provided their boys with stable, warm meals, meals that were cooked by an adult with an adult’s practice and did not come from a Kraft box. They had a basketball hoop in the yard and video game systems and cable, all things Peter had taken from Marco with his irresponsibility. Jean provided a warm home, and Peter provided nothing at all.

Jean had never truly seen the appeal in Peter. In her heart of hearts, she believe Eva had settled for someone steady rather than find someone who was a true match for her. Eva hadn’t grown up with much money, and had a lot of anxiety about it as a result. With Peter, she never had to worry. Peter made more money sneezing than Jean and Steve made all year combined, and Eva loved nothing more than spending it while knowing she’d still have enough left over to eat. It didn’t make her a gold digger, not exactly, but the security of Peter’s sturdiness gave Eva a deep seated sense of comfort. However, comfort was not happiness, and Jean had always resented Peter a little. Eva had been too good for him. Eva had deserved nothing less than the stars themselves, and Peter was little more than a practical garden shrub.

Jean had been learning more and more about Peter’s state lately. She knew that he and Marco had moved to the bad part of town, which was horrifying enough, but she hadn’t known the full details as to what extent Peter had given up. Peter did not cook. Peter did not clean. Peter did nothing but lie on a couch, lost to himself, and Marco was forced to care for his own father. It was abhorrent. It had to end.

Jean made Marco let her inside. He was loathe to do so, and clearly resented Jean more than ever. Jean recognized the look. She’d seen it on Eva’s face countless time, when she told Eva it was time to go home from the club, or demanded Eva put out that cigarette. She had long since grown immune to that look.

The first thing she noticed about the apartment was how sparse it was. Where had all of Eva’s meticulously chosen furniture gone? The second thing was that the whole apartment smelled like stale nicotine, and she started feeling nauseous. The third thing she noticed was that Peter was asleep on the couch.

“Does he not have a bedroom?” asked Eva.

Marco crossed his arms. “No,” he said after a moment, as if he had been scanning his mind for a way out of the question but hadn’t come up with one. “The bedroom’s mine, can I go to it, Jean?”

“Please do,” she said, ignoring the emphasis on her name over the word ‘mom.’ Jean and Eva used to be called mom by all their boys. Now, Marco was reminded her that she was anything but. He stormed off, his anger running far too deeply for any one thirteen-year-old. Jean watched him go, listened to the door slam, and then she kicked Peter awake.

He sat up slowly, running his face over his hands. “What are you doing here?” he asked Jean. They hadn’t seen each other in a year and a half.

“Your son was at my house tonight,” she hissed, keeping her voice low so that Marco could not hear.

“Oh,” said Peter blearily. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s midnight,” said Jean. “Midnight. Did you have any idea he was with Jake? At all?”

Peter blinked, looking at the nearest clock. There wasn’t one, not really. Jean watched as his eyes fell on the VCR, which blinked 12:00, as if Peter wasn’t one of the most brilliant engineers of the decade and did not know how to program a VCR clock. “He probably told me,” he muttered.

Jean sighed, and started walking around the apartment. She opened the refrigerator door, and light flooded the apartment’s kitchenette. This revealed a gaggle of roaches that had been enjoying the darkness. They all scattered to various other hidden places in the kitchen, and Jean tried not to scream. When she looked inside the fridge, she saw nothing but a carton of milk, a loaf of bread, a jar of mayonnaise and a container of lunch meat. Bright blue price stickers were on every item. They weren’t even shopping at a proper grocery store, they were shopping at a convenience store. Jean was sure neither of them had had a fresh vegetable since Eva’s had passed.

“What is this Peter,” she said, finding a small sort of pleasure in a addressing him with the amount of disdain she’d always wanted to address him with. “Is it drinking? Is that what you’re doing?”

“What? No!” said Peter shortly. “I don’t drink.”

“You used to,” said Jean, closing the refrigerator door. “You used to do a lot of things. Like, oh, I don’t know. Have a job. Care for your family.”

“I have a job,” said Peter.

“Uh-huh,” said Jean. “The prodigy Peter Champlin, cleaning toilets at the local office tower.” She went to an untouched pile of mail and opened up an envelope. This got Peter to stand up.

“Hey!” he said, his voice raising just slightly. “You can’t go through my mail!”

Jean ignored him, and held up the letter she’d just opened up. “Past due? Really? You?”

Peter went silent.

Jean slammed the notice on the table, breathing heavily through her nose. She rested her palms on the table and leaned forward, forcing herself to calm down. When she looked back up at Peter, her face was red. “This is no environment for a child. Not at all.”

“It works for us,” said Peter.

Jean slammed her palms against the table. “It doesn’t,” she hissed. She didn’t yell, because she did not want Marco to eavesdrop, but Peter flinched backward all the same. Jean did not often get angry, and when she did, she made it count.

“Eva and I created Jake and Marco side-by-side,” said Jean. “He’s as much my son as he is yours. And he’s unhappy. Do you understand that? As parents, we have one job. We try to give our children with happiness and strength. That is it. That is all. You have failed that. Do you have a pen?”

“I’m — I’m not sure,” mumbled Peter. He was clearly avoiding looking directly at Jean.

Jean took a deep breath and then pushed herself away from the table. She found Marco’s backpack at the front entrance, abandoned and untouched since he’d gotten home from school. This was another thing that shocked her about Peter’s negligence. No matter what Eva did the night before, Eva always made it to class, always did her work, and always got an A. Marco, according to Jake and Marco himself, prided himself on exactly how much homework he refused to do. Jean pulled a pencil out of a pocket, and then wrote down a name and number on Peter’s overdue notice.

“This is my therapist,” said Jean. “Call him. Whatever you’re doing needs to stop. You go and get your — your shit together,” she said, spitting on the word ‘shit’, because Jean Berenson did not swear unless her hand was forced. “Get it together, or else I will drain oceans and move mountains to ensure that your son lives with anyone but you.”

Peter numbly took the number from Jean’s hand. “Okay,” he said.

“That is not an empty threat,” said Jean, gathering up her things. “Try me.”

If Eva was not there to protect Marco with a mother’s wrath, Jean would do it for her.

[crocodilenialledfics]

Their love shouldn't have been so intense. Niall shouldn't have been able to bring her to her knees like this. Niall wasn't quite sure what he did to deserve her but there's nothing in the world he wouldn't do for her.

flashback to where it all started, Soren or Ren for short was 26. she was a journalist at The Rolling stone- in fact the youngest yet. she was incredibly proud of where she was and she definitely didn't take it for granted.

Ren prided herself in capturing the real essence of what music should be. She covered the section on Music reviews- Ren's Review. the name alone made her sick but it's what made her money.

Ren, however hated phonies, and that was exactly what Niall was. the music industry grew up without him. it was now 2017 and he was still whining about a girl that so clearly broke his heart. how many times could one person write about it? it worked for the classics but as Niall overused the same four chords and same sad lyrics, Ren thought her head would explode.

It wasn't anything personal- except for the fact that he was a complete douche to his fans and barely gave anyone an ounce of respect- also, he refused an interview with her. refused. Ren was both annoyed and angry and feeling lots of resentment towards the male race when she wrote the article. did she mean everything she said? of bloody course she did. would she take it back? absolutely not.

when Niall’s management called her, Ren was already not in the mood. Niall was washed up, plain and simple. as if her opinion changed the worlds opinion of him? probably not but he was whiny anyways. she'd even sent an early copy before publishing it.

With unbridled ambition and stubbornness, Ren agreed to meet with some people on the behalf of Niall. Ren internally scoffed because if he was so upset why couldn't he meet with her instead.

"hello, i'm Janice," the woman introduced herself. "i'm the media head. this is Dane, Mr. Horan’s image consultant."

"nice to meet you both," she smiled, shaking their hands. they sat down at the table and ordered drinks.

"so i've heard Mr. Horan has an issue with the article i've written?" Ren asked, glazing over the menu.

"yes we were actually hoping you could make a few changes," Janice said. "just so it doesn't totally ruin his career."

"look," Ren closed her menu. "it's the truth. I guess it's not blatantly clear but then again your management team has yet to master what promo really means. Niall’s image, as hard as you've tried to preserve it, has gone to shite. until his music is real and meaningful, my opinion won't be changed and i will still publish the article."

"is there any price?" Dane asked, pulling his check book out. "you name it and-"

"save it Dale," she picked her menu up. "i'm thinking about the steak, what about you?"

"oh-uh it's Dane actually," he replied meekly.

"right," she nodded, looking him up and down.

Niall was livid. he read the article. he reread it, even. everything was a lie. Anger coursed through him the more he read the word.  

washed up pop star

the same three chords used over & over again

unoriginal lyrics derived from horrible writers

how long can he use the same worn down archetypes without people noticing?

does he even care about his fans who have done nothing but support him through thick and thin times?

Niall was already on the phone with Janice as he went out the door. He headed straight to the main office ready to tear this Soren Maude a new one.

Janice advised him to keep calm, to let it blow over except he was insulted and pissed off. Soren had absolutely no right to criticize him when he didn't even know the half of it.

Niall marched right into the office of Rolling stone ready to butt heads with someone.

"i need to speak with a Soren Maude, please," he demanded, arms crossed over his face.

"I'm sorry Soren isn't available right now," the receptionist said. he looked right past Niall as if he didn't even exist.

"i need to speak to him now," Niall insisted.

exasperated, he sighed. the bloke picked up the phone. "Ren, Niall Horan is here to see you. he won't go away."

the receptionist hung up the phone and went back to his computer. impatient was what Niall was.

"so?" he asked, getting angrier by the second.

"so you better lose your attitude real quick," he looked up at Niall. "Ren will knock ya head off. first second on the left."

Niall shook his head and grunted. he couldn't wait to meet this Soren. He sauntered down the hall with everything he had to say on the the tip of his tongue.

"I need to speak with a Soren Maude," Noah said as he approached the open door.

"that's me," a small brunette with glasses said. she only came up to niall's nose and well, how could he yell at her? "can i help you with something?"

"i uh- um yes," he faltered. "you- you wrote that article about me?"

"yeah," she nodded. "is there a problem?"

"yeah," he nodded, eyebrows furrowed. "what's wrong is that it's complete slander!"

"it's not slander if it's true," she closed a folder in front of her. "and everything i wrote was true. your lyrics are weak. they're overused and repetitive. four albums with the same thing over and over again. your fans are disappointed, Niall."

"you have no right!" he exclaimed. "you don't know anything about my fans!"

"I did research before publishing it," she stood up. "I talked to your fans. i talked to music majors. do you know what makes song great?"

"relatableness and a good hook- my songs have great hooks!"

"no Niall," she closed her door. "a good song makes you feel, it makes you think- you can see yourself in a good song."

"and what makes you so qualified?" Niall asked, eyebrow raised.

"i went to school for this," she looked him up and down. "are you trying to discredit my credentials to make yourself feel better?"

"well I just don't see how someone like you gets to decide what's good and bad," he crossed his arms over his chest.

"someone like me?" she asked. "like a young woman?" she asked. "like my opinion is invalid- tell me, Niall. if this Soren you came looking for was in fact a dude how would you react? very different i presume."

"no that's- that's not true," he stuttered, taking a step back.

"like hell it isn't," she leaned on her desk. "besides you don't even write your own songs anymore so why is it such a big deal? i know it isn't your fault. your team is sticking you with the same image you've been with since you were eighteen but the least you could do is put a little heart into it. put real feelings, emotions. songs are supposed to be relatable but not so much that every song sounds like a boring top forties."

"it's not as easy as you think," he turned away. "it's not like you know anything about the industry anyways. thanks for the bloody great review, i really appreciate it".

"Niall-"

Niall shook his head, heading for the door, slamming the door behind him. the worst part was that everything she said, Niall knew was true.

As Niall mulled over Ren's so boisterous opinion, he found that accepting it was harder than he originally thought.

Niall came to his conclusion a week later. he cried a bit, got angry, got proper pissed drunk and then his mind was clear and made up. he needed to see her.

This time, Niall waited patiently for Ren to return from her lunch break. she came walking in with a tall brown haired lad. they looked awfully close and somewhere deep within Niall, he felt jealous.

"Niall... hi," she greeted here. "who are you here to see?"

"uh you, actually," he stood up. "i was hoping we could talk."

"yeah sure," she nodded. "i actually have some running to do for my boss. want to come?"

"uh i guess," he nodded, a little confused.

"great," she smiled. "let me get my coat."

Ren returned a few minutes later carrying a box. she handed it to Niall and took a bag from the receptionist, who Niall learned was named Jamie.

"let's go," she told him, already waiting for him in the elevator.

Niall noticed how fast Ren was. she was always moving so fast, Niall almost couldn't keep up. almost. he was taken aback by it. she was like a flurry of brown curls and papers. she was a hurricane, personified.

"where are we going?" Niall asked, getting into the passenger seat. he was mildly impressed by the Mercedes she drove.

"we need to go to the post office to drop that box off- bloody Tomlinson can't meet deadlines to save his arse- there's people to do this you know?" she shook her head. "sorry that's off topic- you wanted to talk?"

"right yeah," he nodded, sitting up. "so i wanted to talk about the article you wrote."

"look Niall i won't unpublished it or change it or make a statement," she sigh exasperated. "i meant it and i just refuse to take it back."

"no i know i don't- i don't want you too," he shook his head. "i wanted to talk to you about how i could write better songs? like tips i guess?"

"my opinion shouldn't change what you think about yourself," she furrowed her eyebrows.

"i know it doesn't but like i've been feeling this way for a while, you know? like i've been in this mental block- my music is nothing i'd ever listen to. it's cringy. i want to write meaningful music."

"you don't have substance," she told him. the car pulled to a stop. "you need feelings, emotions. take a word and run with it. brain storm. really dig deep. your biggest fears. a feeling you've had. something that is real- i cant stress that enough. stop singing about the girl you couldn't get and start singing about the way that girl makes you feel. like gut wrenching heart break or love so deep it'll bring tears to your eyes."

Niall nodded, "i think i know what you mean."

"get with some good writers," she encouraged him. "like Julian. he's sick to work in the studio with. he's a friend. i'll ask him about you. don't be afraid to be vulnerable, yeah?"

"okay," Niall nodded. "i'll try.“

hey it's Niall.. i had some lyrics i wanted to run by you, if you're willing?

Ren bit her lip, setting her phone down on the table. did she really wanna get into this?

come by my office around two Ren wrote back hesitantly. she clicked send and held her breath.

"so what are we going for?" Ren asked, sitting up.

"dunno," he chuckled, scratching his neck nervously. "i just wrote down some things."

'Lips so good i forget my name. i swear i could give you everything.'

'i don't need my love baby you can take it. you can break it...'

"i didn't quite finish that thought though," he pointed at the last one.

"s'good," she nodded.

'if tomorrow won't be mine, baby won't you give it to me one last time?'

'I ain't up for debating, Ain't enough for the taking, you got the whole world shaking'

'I keep on holding tight now, cause your body's telling me don't let go'

"these are all really good," Ren nodded, handing him the crumpled piece of paper back. "i really mean it- they could really be something."

"you think?" he asked nervously.

"for sure," she nodded. "i really mean it," she repeated. "here let me- i'll send these to Julian."

"think he'll help?" Niall asked.

Ren nodded with a smile. "his producer Liam is aces."

to Niall: scheduled a session with Julian & a few writers be there or be square

Niall chuckled, shoving his phone back into his pocket. a square was what he wouldn't be.

Wolves. wolves came the easiest. the more he read the lyrics, the more he fell in love with it. recording in the studio was the best feeling in the world. it was coming so easy to him.

as Niall ran through the melody one more time, Jamie called him in to record it one last time. he was certain this would be the best one.

as niall poured his heart out, he hadn't even noticed Ren walk in. only when he stepped out did he notice her. she wasn't in her usual work clothes. she wore a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt but somehow it made her even more irresistible.

"that was amazing," she smiled. "those lyrics are really good- when'd you guys finish?"

"a little while ago," Julian answered. "niall's killing it in here!"

"i got chills!" Ren laughed. she shook Niall by his shoulders. "you gave me chills!"

"so i made you feel then?" he asked, amused.

"yes!" she laughed.

Niall felt pride wash over him. he made her feel.

Niall couldn't stay away no matter how hard he tried because well... after she saw him record, something changed. something within Niall changed. he didn't see her as the girl that wrecked his career, more as the one that opened his eyes.

it seemed that Ren couldn't stay away either. she showed up more and more often at the studio. she encouraged niall and acted like she really wanted to help him. Harry Styles had also popped in quite frequently, helping Niall out. They met while Niall recorded wolves and he offered his advice. Ren and her were good friends through the business. She considered him to be a good friend.

"harry," Ren whispered as Niall recorded the guitar parts.

"hm?" he hummed, sitting back. "what's wrong?"

"i um," she coughed, nervously adjusting her glasses. "i think... i think i may fancy Niall just like a tiny bit."

"you think?" harry asked, eyeing her cautiously.

"like a little bit," she nodded.

"what are we gonna do about this?" harry asked with a chuckle.

"well like he seeked me out for help, you know?" Ren mumbled. she sighed. "he's like billionaire popstar- shags upteen girls a month. he wouldn't-"

"don't finish that sentence," harry warned.

"he wouldn't want a girl like me," she rushed out.

"ren!" he shouted, shoving her.

Niall emerged from the recording room just as Ren laughed against harry. he set his guitar up and sat down next to harry. "what's so funny?"

"Ren is being intolerable," harry rolled his eyes. "see, she fancies this bloke-"

"h, no," she whined, covering her face with her hands.

"she fancies him and doesn't think the feelings are mutual- isn't that a load?" Harry asked.

"definitely," Niall nodded. he looked Ren up and down.  

Ren's face burned red. she shook her head, grabbing her purse off of the table. "right well i've to go- early meeting."

"i'll walk you out," Niall offered, standing up.

the elevator ride down to the first floor was silent Ren felt anxious the whole time. it probably had to do with harry's transparency and her inability to control her embarrassment.

"so i hope you get the whole bloke* thing sorted," Niall told her as they walked towards the doors.

"yeah," she coughed awkwardly. "thanks. me too."

"so big meeting," he commented, nodding.

"right, yeah," she nodded. "you sounded great today."

he smiled, "thanks."

Ren shuffled around her apartment. she balanced a glass of wine in one hand and a bowl of popcorn in the other. she tucked her phone under her chin, heading for the living room. the buzzer rang maker her curse.

she set her things down and pushed the intercom. "yeah?"

muffled, "its Niall."

Ren, furrowed her eyebrows and unlocked the door. "come on up."

Ren paused the television and unlocked her door. when Niall knocked, she took a moment to breath. she opened the door with a smile. "hey."

"oh am i- am i interrupting?" Niall asked, eyes widening like he hadn't even thought of it.

"no no just r and r, come in," Ren opened the door for him to come in.

"want some wine?" she asked, offering him her glass.

"ah no," Niall chuckled. "i drove.. but um i was- have you been online lately?"

"as in..." Ren trailed off.

"as in have you googled either me or you in the last *hm twenty four hours?" he asked, sitting down across from her.

"um no," she raised an eyebrow. "should i?"

"no uh definitely not!" he rushed out. "just- there have been a few reports of things between us as more than just colleagues."

colleagues. ouch.

"oh," she replied quietly.

"i didn't want you to get freaked out or anything my PR. they needed a story i guess," he shrugged. "i just wanted to clear things up and i hope this didn't mess anything up with that bloke of yours."

"oh no..." she trailed off. "it didn't quite work out."

"that's shite," he frowned empathetically.

"yeah..." she sighed, sitting up. "so was there something else or..."

"no that's it," he smiled. "sorry for dropping by so late i was just worried."

"yeah s'fine," she nodded. "i've a show to watch so."

"right yeah," he nodded. "and thanks so much for hooking me up with Julian and Harry. they're brill."

"yeah," she forced out a smile.

and something about it sounded suspiciously like a goodbye which maybe she wasn't exactly ready for. she frowned as he left. how could a person be so oblivious?

it was the American Music Awards. this was important- for The Rolling Stone. they sent Ren on the red carpet to snag some words from a few newer faces. it was fun. it gave Ren an excuse to dress up and drink champagne that was way too expensive.

Ren saw Niall down the other end of the carpet. he looked amazing. Ren frowned, looking away. Louis nudged her and scolded her with a look. she sighed. "sorry."

"look there's Andra Day," he pointed to her. "she'd have a few words to say."

Ren approached her with a warm smile and a hand shake. "I'm Ren and this is Louis. we're from rolling stone mag and i was wondering...."

Niall was making his way through the interviews and photos. he saw Ren when he least expected it. all train of thought was lost. Ren laughed, squeezing Charlie Puth's shoulder. he narrowed his eyes. of all people.

Charlie pulled Ren in for a hug. he rubbed her back in a way that wasn't exactly as platonic as he'd hoped. Niall remembers the charlie puth article well. she raved about his melodies and the riffs- the riffs. she just loved his riffs. if you asked Niall, his music was only alright.

Janice nudged Niall and shook her head disapprovingly. "Niall cut it out."

"just look at them!" he scoffed. Niall shook his head. "disgusting- he's always jumping on the next girl."

"it doesn't matter," Janice, told him, voice stern. "you can't date. especially not her."

"and what's that supposed to mean?" he asked, eyebrows furrowed. the fact that Ren has a higher IQ than most of the girls he's dated said a lot to Niall. she was different.

"she's got virtually no status, babe," Janice shook her head. "you don't need that."

"so all you care about is what makes money?" Niall asked. "really? it's been five years and you can't-can't even throw me this bone."

"money is first- always," she fluffed his hair and sent him down to the next interviewer that was waiting.

Ren was sat two tables to the left of Niall. the table was handpicked because no way would Liam, Harry and Niall have been put together by chance.

Ren shook her head. Louis laughed, handing her his glass of champagne. "y'alright?"

"look at him, Louis. flirting with Selena gomez," she shook her head again.

"it's called being friendly," Louis told her, sitting up. "and don't freak out. nothing's certain."

"except the fact that they're leaving together tonight," Ren scoffed, putting her phone down.

Louis continued to watch Selena and Niall. it looked friendly. if there was some sort of attraction, you could tell. Louis shrugged. he stirred his water, watching the rest of Niall's table. Liam was talking on the phone completely ignoring everything.

“Let’s go say hi,” Louis suggested. He’d worked with each of them two so they were well acquainted.

Harry greeted Ren with a kiss on the cheek and shook Louis’s hand. He immediately dove into a story about who he’d seen with way too much detail.

"ren," a voice interrupted them. ren internally rolled her eyes.

she looked up and smiled. "hi."

"you look amazing," Niall said, standing up. he hugged her and kissed her on the cheek.

"thanks," she replied, stepping back. "anyways harry are we still on for brunch tomorrow?" Ren asked.

"of course," he grinned.

"Harry and i always have brunch after these things. he helps me do best and worst dressed for my blog," Ren smiled. "actually Louis you should come. it's hilarious. We've made bets on who it'd be. I say Taylor momden but Harry says Gaga- but she looks amazing in everything- even the meat dress."

"Right," harry laughed. "who do you say?"

"i gotta say my girl Mariah," Louis shook his head. "she's my queen but no."

"brunch tomorrow?" Niall asked.

"wanna come?" Harry asked him. "it's a lot of fun."

"sounds ace," he smiled. Ren cringed.

Ren dreaded brunch. she purposely invited louis because she knew harry and Louis got on well and he was an absolute riot. now she felt like harry was plotting against her and Ren didn't quite like that feeling.

Ren and Louis were the first ones there. She ordered a coffee, and shifted in her seat. “god i hate harry," Ren shook her head. "Niall just dropped me you know? as soon as i gave him the smallest info he was like great thanks but i don't really need to talk to you anymore- if he even tries it i swear."

"what are you gonna do?" louis asked. "blush and look away- don't fool yourself Ren."

Ren rolled her eyes at Louis. She pulled her ipad out as Harry sat down. Harry sent Ren a bright smile. she rolled her eyes at him.

"cheer up, buttercup," harry grinned.

"i'm angry at you," she muttered.

"why?" he laughed.

"you invited Niall!" she cried. "you know my feelings on that situation."

"he wanted to come," harry defended himself. "would you have told him no?"

"yes," ren huffed. "louis here is special so i invited him. he's got sass and i feel like i need to write something with sass."

"everything you write has sass," Harry snorted. "and that's not an exaggeration."

"figures he'd be late, though." Ren rolled her eyes. "typical snobby pop star."

"heyyy," harry frowned.

"no you're different," Ren promised him. "your a nice genuine human being that didn't lose himself in fame. you're you. it's refreshing."

"what's refreshing?" Niall asked, greeting them. he smiled brightly.

"harry," Ren shrugged. "he's a genuine human being. it's refreshing to meet one of those."

"yeah i know what you mean," Niall agreed. "it is refreshing."

Ren looked away, smiling at louis. she breathed out a sigh feeling the tension settle over them.

"right so best dressed?" Louis asked, setting them all back on to the task at hand.

"right," ren nodded. "so you've all got best dressed people?"

Niall nodded as did harry. "what if they're not celebrities per say?"

"then what are they?" Ren asked, leaning forward.

"well i mean..." he trailed off, setting his phone on the table.

It was a photo of Ren from the back. her head was turned only slightly. her dress flowed down effortlessly much like her brunette curls.

Ren sat back, shock settling in. "me?"

Niall nodded. "yeah."

Louis and harry exchanged a look. Niall stared into Ren's eyes. she looked away too quick for him to read her eyes.

"right well i can't exactly vote meself as best dressed," she chuckled nervously, looking away.

Niall smiled watching as she became flustered. she nervously tapped on the ipad until Louis offered his opinion.

Ren would totally take the piss for this later from louis.

"Niall Horan has had a rough couple of months. Rolling stone magazines, Soren Maude tore him a new one right after his newest album, Take Me home was released. According to a source Soren and Niall continued to work together especially on this song. here's your exclusive first listen to Niall Horan's newest single! here's his newest sound, Wolves."

Ren's eyes widened as the first riff came across the radio. she was shook. Niall's voice was clear and bright and everything she didn't know she needed. Niall's new sound was transforming right before her eyes and the thing was, it was all because of her.

Ren'a phone rang making her jump. she grabbed it off of the table, answering. "hello?"

"Ren!" a voice shouted. "Turn on the radio!"

"i am i am!" she yelled.

"doesn't he sound amazing!" harry exclaimed.

he really does, ren thought and it was the purest thought she's had all day. Ren smiled to herself. she was proud of Niall.

Niall opened his door. the delivery man handed him a large basket filled with fruit, cheese, wine, and a t-shirt. it had a card stuck to it: congratulations!! he furrowed his eyebrows. "who's this from?"

the delivery man looked down at his sheet. "uh it says The Rolling Stone!”

Niall smiled. "thanks a lot."

Ren had just returned back to the office after meeting up with Charlie Puth. they first met a few months ago and he offered to take her out for lunch. how could she resist?

it's like Niall just knew. he knew when Ren was moved on. it was the only reasonable explanation why he was even there. media caught wind and Niall had to be the first one to tell her why it's a bad idea.

"is the boy Charlie?" Niall asked, following Ren into her office.

"no," she replied hesitantly. "why?"

"because you went to lunch with him," Niall stated plainly. "i don't think you should hang out with him."

"and why not?" ren asked, raising an eyebrow.

"because he's... he's got a record, Ren. he talks to like a million girls and he's not quiet about it. you'll end up plastered on his twitter page by the time you wake up."

"you don't even know what you're talking about," Ren huffed. "it was business and i told you the thing with the bloke fizzled out."

"yeah but i know you don't give up that easily," he smiled. "besides i just- Charlie Puth?"

"What i hate more than someone telling me who i can't see is someone that thinks they're entitled to dictate my life," Ren turned around. "Niall don't start with me."

"i'm just looking out for you!" he cried, sitting down, exasperated.

"no," Ren shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest. "if you can parade Selena Gomez around than i can do whatever the hell with whoever the hell i want."

"Ren that's not even- it's not the same," he shook his head. "you don't understand."

"you're right i don't!" she laughed humorlessly. "i don't understand why you think you have a right to tell me who i can or can't date or see or whatever."

"fine but don't say i didn't warn you," Niall stood up.

'spotted! Charlie Puth and writer Soren Maude getting cozy in a sweet NYC cafe. Bye Bye Bella! Could Soren be Charlie's next GF?'

a source close to soren says that the two have been getting pretty close after she wrote an article about him last fall. the source also says that Soren expects this to get really serious really soon! Now nothing's confirmed but if Charlie's tweets are anything to go by, we should expect a confirmation soon! we look forward to seeing more of these two!

Ren clenched her jaw, tossing her phone down onto her bed. this had Niall written all over it.

so niall was called into his managements office early the next morning. he was a bit weary granted he leaked some information to the media- it wasn't exactly true but nonetheless.

Niall hesitantly sat down. Janice and Dane, along with the rest of his team stared at him as he situated himself.

"glad you could join us," Janice raised an eyebrow. "so you've been busy, huh?"

"look it wasn't- i didn't plan on doing it," he mumbled.

"i could care less about that bloody article," she huffed. "the real problem is that we miscalculated- big time."

"erm what?" Niall asked, confused as to what was going on.

"it seems that soren is a very prominent figure in the media world- her social media has nearly sixty thousand followers and she tweets about real stuff like the syrian refugees and- and global news. she's socially aware and as we try to strengthen your image, Soren is the way to go."

"Janice is right," Dane nodded. "you don't have many friends or even people you could say are on your side so an in with Rolling Stone would do wonders for you."

"soren and i aren't really talking right now," Niall told them. he shook his head becoming frustrated with himself all over again.

"make it work, do you hear me?" Janice warned. "your image is vital for your next album coming up. your single was perceived well but it was the one that would make the most money. if Soren writes a good review than we're set."

"but she won't," niall corrected her. "no matter if we're friends or not, she cares about music. if my music sucks she won't tell the world it's good. she isn't like that."

"then we'll just have to make her do it," Janice shrugged.

"you're gonna pay me how much to write a good review on him?" Ren asked, eyes wide.

"Niall's image is important. you write this review and the media will get off your back, simple as that," Janice shrugged.

holy hell, ren thought. desperateness lingered in the air. Ren momentarily thought about abandoning her values for that lump sum. Ren left undecided and distraught. what was more important?

Ren set her tablet down on the table and anxiously clicked her pen. needless to say, Ren's boss all but forced her into it. She threatened to give Louis Ren's job.

Niall sat down across from her. he smiled. "hey."

"i'm still pissed at you," Ren told him. "but i'm being forced to do this so it's whatever. let's just get this over with."

"okay," he nodded, shifting in his seat.

Ren clicked the voice recorder on and propped it on the table. she sighed heavily, rereading the questions that were  prewritten for her.

"so with a new album coming out, you've also decided on a new sound. how do you describe this new sound?" Ren asked.

"Well a good friend of mine pushed me to really challenge myself with the writing. she inspired me to use my real emotions not just the ones i thought people wanted to hear. I really owe it all to her because over the years i'd lost my love for writing almost giving up completely and now i have a lot to be thankful for."

Ren sat up and clicked the recorder off. "seriously cut the crap."

"it's not crap. it's the truth," he replied, tone biting.

"you do talk some shit don't you Horan," she shook her head. ren turned the recorder back on and sighed.

"so fans have been dying to know about the inspiration behind these songs? are they just from feelings or real life experiences or what's going on there?" Ren asked.

"quite a few of them are based on real situations i've been in though i can't reveal any names yet. I think the biggest inspiration behind this album is the concept of home, you know? like as i travel and move from place to place there's no where that really feels like home anymore and thorough these songs i don't know they just- they feel like home."

and wow. Ren wasn't expecting that. she begrudgingly felt herself become more and more captivated by him. Ren mentally cursed himself because this wasn't supposed to happen.

"right," she breathed out. "so how do you think your fans- or really anyone that listens to the album will react?"

"good hopefully," Niall chuckled. "i've poured everything into this album so i'm really nervous to see how people respond."

Ren rolled her eyes as she read the next question to herself. "fans have been going crazy over photos of you and Selena gomez last month. any juicy details you wanna share?"

"no," he chuckled. "Sel and i are good friends. we collabed last year and got to know each other. she's a really great singer- amazing vocals."

Ren sighed again. "so there's been a small leak with a few of your songs how d'you feel?"

"i actually had no idea," he laughed. "but wow first i'd like to know how?"

ren shook her head. "really couldn't tell ya."

Niall reached forward and clicked he voice recorded off. he raised an eyebrow at her. "what's wrong?"

"these questions are shite!" she exclaimed. "this is clearly only a pr stunt. i cant- i'm sorry i cant write this."

"it's not that bad," he shrugged.

"i write for the rolling stone, Niall," she shook her head. "if this gets published like it's a gossip magazine then everyone's in trouble."

"well it is a Pr stunt," he clarified. "and this falls back on both of our managers."

"no," she sat up. ren turned the voice recorder on and opened a new page in her notebook. "in a past interview you mentioned that a lot of your music was inspired by classics like The eagles, Fleetewood mack, sinatra- why do you sing pop which is clearly the opposite of them?"

Niall chuckled wryly. "right so those are really who i grew up listening to and i guess i've always had dreams of becoming someone like them not necessarily being exactly who they are and i guess Pop is where i can succeed."

"okay," Ren smiled. "so do you have any advice for someone just starting out?"

Niall smiled. "the Industry is hard to break into so the most important thing to remember is don't give up. someone believes in you even if it doesn't seem like it. usually it gets harder before it gets better but it's all worth it when you get to do what you love."

"is this what you love?" ren asked. "i mean there have been times where you've felt discouraged? where it almost seemed like you'd give up?"

"yeah, actually," he cleared his throat. he sat up. "this happened about two years ago my mum she lost her battle to leukemia and it was probably the hardest thing i've ever gone through," he shook his head. "when she was gone it seemed like there wasn't a reason. for life. she was my world, you know? but as time went on i found that life got easier."

"you never- songs never came from that?" Ren asked.

Niall gave her a look. "my team said it wouldn't sell."

"so most of your career has been dictated by what would sell?" Ren asked.

Niall sighed, "you know you can't publish any of this right?"

ren shrugged. "just maybe i will. now answer the question."

"then yes. i'd say the sound i have now is mine- like properly mine. i wrote with some really amazing people and i guess basically i've produced this on my own without my team breathing down the neck. from the singles to-to the artwork, it's all really mine."

"so music is obviously your life..." she nodded.

"right," he agreed.

"but will there ever be a day that you just decide this isn't for me anymore? will you ever want to settle down and stay out of the lime light?"

"yeah of course," he nodded. "i probably won't quit altogether because performing is what i really love. i think a quiet life would be nice but only if i've got someone. it'd be nice with someone else but not alone."

"alright," ren breathed out. she turned her recorder off and slipped it into her purse. "thanks- i think i can make a proper article out of this now."

"ren please don't do anything to destroy my career," he gave her a worried look.

"i will consult my boss and he'll let me know what's acceptable. your people didn't blacklist anything so as far i'm concerned, it's their arses i'm burning."

"okay," he laughed. "stay for lunch?"

"i uh can't," she gave him an apologetic smile. "i've prior engagements but by all means let Rolling Stone pick up the tab."

"thats the least of my worries," he chuckled. "but thanks."

Niall's jaw clenched as he saw the photos of Charlie and Soren walking around new york. it wasn't fair. he angrily clicked through the pictures only stopping when he came across one of the two kissing, clearly unaware of the paparazzi snapping photos.

something's gotta give now.

as it turns out the only reason his team set up their interview was to get photos of them together. Niall was almost as mad at Ren.

so now, Ren was caught it this messy love triangle created by the media. Niall's fans boarded her twitter with all sorts of responses. it was then that she decided this wasn't gonna work.

"we have to talk," Ren announced as she walked into the recording studio. Liam, Julian, Harry and Niall all blinked at her like she was crazy.

it wasn't proper recording etiquette to barge in like this. is really messed with the flow which ren could honestly care less about.

"ren we're recording," liam told her. "well about to- you're really disrupting the creative process."

ren set an article from the sun down in front of Niall. "this has got to stop."

"what?" Niall asked.

'Soren Maude has been making waves with all sorts of boys the past month. she's been spotted with both Charlie Puth and Niall Horan in span of two hours. will she be our next Taylor Swift?! We've got our eye on you Soren! Ladies hide you man because she's not stopping now!'

Niall frowned, "well i can see where the problem lies now."

"the fact that i am dating neither of you. the fact that they're using my assumed sexuality as grounds for humiliation?" she cried. "does any of it make sense! no!"

"you're not dating Charlie?" Niall asked.

"no!" she cried. "i've told you over and over. i'm helping him with a song he's working on."

"so let's figure out how to get you out of this then," Niall nodded.

"how about..." Ren pulled her phone out and went straight to twitter.

'just a little disclaimer, i'm not dating. either way it doesn't constitute for scrutiny'

'a female can sleep with as many blokes or women she wants!!! it's not the medias job to scold us!!!!'

ren shoved her phone into her pocket. "there."

"okay well that was very poorly handled," Niall sighed. "my team was using you."

"using me? for what?" Ren asked, affronted.

"they thought that my name circulating with charlie's would be like good for business or something," he shrugged. "and they wanted me to go along with it- i refused but like now they're gonna be pissed."

"this is just unbelievable!" she exclaimed.

"o-okay," Harry stood up. "air?" he asked. "lets go walk it off, yeah?"

Ren shook her head, anger coursing through her. She loathed the industry. it's like being a woman meant being a walking target. being used!! like she's an object!!!

Harry guided Ren out the door. she shook her head, "harry I'm pissed. i'm so pissed. do you understand what's going on? i'm like- i'm * fuming!"

"i know," harry nodded. "i get it. it's frustrating but you can't change it. no one can. you just have to accept it because at the end of the day who you think you are can only be changed by those who affect you."

"okay shut it, harold," Ren huffed, looking away. "what do you know."

"a heck of a lot, actually," he chuckled. "just try to relax."

"i can't relax!" ren shouted.

"why does fake dating Niall hurt so much?" harry asked, confused. "like i don't understand why you're freaking out so much."

"because like- he'd never go for me, Harry," ren shook her head. "and now it just confirms that because i see the way he is. he doesn't want me, Harry. His fans definitely don't either so it being out there is just complete shite."

"you don't know that!" harry cried. "you have to tell him."

"i cant," she pulled away. "no way. ever. Niall can't know i fancy him."

Niall emerged from behind the big black doors of the recording room. He gave Ren a smile. "i talked to janice and things are... what's going on?"

"nothing," ren sighed. "i'm- im going."

"wait no," Niall grabbed Ren's hand. his eyes softened as he looked down at her. "what's wrong?"

"boy troubles," Harry answered for her. he shook his head empathetically.

"anything i can help with?" Niall asked, rubbing his thumb over Ren's knuckles. "you look really upset."

"no it's-it's nothing," Ren breathed out. "i'm fine. i just need some sleep and-and a glass of wine."

Niall nodded, "you'll text me if you need something, yeah?"

"i guess," she nodded, brows furrowed. "why're you being so nice to me? i just ruined your pr stunt and yelled at you."

Niall shrugged, "PR always fixes itself and well... you always yell at me. you don't mean anything by it."

"okay," ren replied quietly. she was still confused because here they were, Niall holding her hand. they were crossing the lines. Ren specifically draws lines and it was completely unfair that he-he just crosses them as if they don't even exist.

"and i think if this bloke, whoever he is doesn't recognize how amazing you are, than he definitely isn't worth it," Niall told her. he dropped her hand and smiled softly.

the irony. ren only hummed in response and muttered a quiet "thanks."

"so text me okay?" Niall asked, taking a couple steps back toward the doors. "i really mean it."

ren nodded, turning away. she let out a heavy sigh, slumping against the wall as Niall disappeared back inside. harry squeezed her hand and frowned empathetically. "text him."

Ren wound up at Louis's tiny apartment in Brooklyn. she was deeply distraught over the weird night she was having. Louis always knew how to cheer her up.

Louis opened the door and greeted her with a big hug. she relaxed against him, breathing out a deep sigh.

"everything okay?" Louis asked, smoothing her hair out. he rubbed her back, letting her hug him.

Ren pulled away only when his cat, Winston rubbed against her leg. she picked him up, kissing him on the head.

"i'm okay," she replied quietly.

"harry texted me," Louis told her, getting two wine glasses out of his cupboard. "says Niall did a number on you today."

"he held my hand, louis," she cried, setting winston down. "what does it mean?"

"like how'd he hold it?" louis asked, pouring her a glass of wine.

"like harry said i had some stuff going on and i said i was fine and then i tried to go but he grabbed my hand he rubbed my knuckles and proceeded to hold my hand for like two whole minutes."

"that's a tough one," louis nodded. "he really did wanna hold your hand, though. i think he was trying to like break the boundaries, you know? like you guys have always been pretty professional so maybe he wanted to show you he was interested without kissing you or something."

"no Louis," she replied quietly. she sipped her wine. "don't give me false hope."

Ren was seated right next to Niall at the showing for Harry's new movie Dunkirk. she was upset about it and somehow she thought it was the workings of Harry himself.

"you look great," Niall told her, looking her up and down.

"thanks," Ren smiled. she looked away. louis squeezed her hand reassuringly.  

"okay?" Louis asked.

"perfect," she replied dryly.

Niall leaned forward, looking at ren. "guess what."

"what?" she asked, crossing her legs. she smoothed her dress out and tried not to focus too much on the way Niall looked at her.

"janice talked to your boss. next year when i tour, you're coming with me," he told her.

"um what?" Ren asked.

"it's part of a miniseries where about me and touring and the fans- it'll be so good," Niall smiled. "i'm really excited."

"no one even thought to consult me?" she asked. "like it's my career not hers, not yours. i don't even get a say?"

"i figured you'd be okay with it," Niall replied quietly. "i mean if you don't want to then we can cancel, i guess."

"that's not the point!" she exclaimed. "it's my life you're messing with. don't you have any consideration. i don't want to work with you, alright? it was a mistake to do it in the first place."

Niall winced. "ouch."

"look i don't think you get it," she sat up. "i cant work with you because... because."

the lights went down and the opening credits started. Ren mentally cursed, sitting back in her seat. she lost her chance.

"ren," Niall whispered, tapping her on the shoulder.

"shhhh!"

ren shook her head. "not now."

instead of focusing on the movie, all Ren could do was think about telling Niall. it was a pure moment of weakness because as the lights came back on she felt fear more than anything as Niall looked at her expectantly.

"no i can't tell you," ren took a step back. "i'm sorry i-"

Ren couldn't do it. she was overwhelmed by Niall's big blue eyes. she shook her head stepping back again. "i'm sorry," she repeated before heading for the door.

Ren really didn't know what she got herself into. She didn't know how much longer she could act normal as she fell for Niall more and more with each passing day.

Ren all but blocked Niall from her life only turning towards his music for comfort which she really wasn't proud of.

the fall rolled around and soon enough Niall's album was out on full display. just listening to it, Ren's heart broke. he sang about heart break and love and home and things he wished he had. some songs brought tears to her eyes because she did that. she inspired that and she pushed that away.

Ren felt the self loathing coming on as she rolled out of bed. all of the thoughts were jumbled around in her head. her migraine was excruciating. the rain pounded down on the windows. Ren frowned, pulling a clean cup out of her cupboard. she turned the kettle on and slumped down in a chair.

Ren clicked through her notifications. she found twitter to be annoying these days. her follower count has gone up but the many of them are just dying for her to tweet someone even remotely related to Niall.

Ren shook her head, setting her phone down. she poured herself a cup of tea and started to get ready for her day. she had meetings lined up from nine up until seven when she could finally leave.

Ren flipped through her wardrobe only settling when she found a t-shirt dress that would come across dressy but in reality she could care less. Ren threw on a jean jacket and a pair of boots and deemed herself presentable.

and so it began.

the lot of Ren's meetings focused upon her image which was annoying. Her boss, Louise wouldn't let it go. especially after her blow up with niall- in front of a lot of important people.

Ren drug her feet all day. she sat through HR meetings and tech meetings and lectures about what good interview etiquette was. apparently co-writers were spotted getting friendly with a few of their sources.

Ren all but cried when she got into her car. it was definitely one of the hardest days of her life for some reason. Louis begged her to come out but Harry had already asked to look over some songs with her.

reluctantly, ren agreed. she brought louis along because really, life is hard without her person with her.

Ren nearly collapsed on harry's couch. she whined at harry to take her shoes off of her aching feet. harry with a roll of his eyes agreed.

only then did she realize that harry wasn't alone. Niall emerged from the bathroom, greeting her with a bright smile. "long time no see, eh? how's things?"

"fine," ren sat upright. she cleared her throat awkwardly, smoothing her dress out. "and with you?"

"good," Niall nodded. "will i see you at the album release party tomorrow?"

"dunno i might have plans or something," she shrugged.

"lies," louis shook his head. "we'll be there."

"sick!" he grinned. "i'll mark you two down."

Ren knew one day eventually she'd thank louis and harry for their interjections but right now, she was beyond aggravated with them.

"so here's a few songs i've been working on," harry handed her a couple of papers. "let me know what you think."

Ren read them over trying to forget how intensely niall was staring at her. it was distracting and Ren was sure her face was deceiving her as a hot blush made its way over her.

Ren shifted in her seat. Niall watched her.

"so these are good," ren nodded. "i really like the vibe you've got going on- little bit of heartbreak, little bit of john mayer. it works."

"thanks," harry smiled.

and niall thought it was so interesting how everyone around Ren just seeked her approval. he was a little curious and somehow proud because well... he didn't really know why. Niall got her approval sometimes and that made him proud too. with harry it seemed a bit different because he was much more experienced than Niall and he seemed more put together but as it turns out, Ren keeps people put together.

"what'd you study in uni?" Niall asked before he had time to stop himself.

"i studied journalism with a minor in songwriting. i ended up getting my bachelors in it a few years ago," ren nodded. "so i do know a little bit about music."

"i never knew that," he replied quietly. "so like you could potentially have a career song writing?"

"i guess," ren shrugged. "i would never, though. because writing is really what i love."

Niall nodded. "okay."

"so how about some drinks?" Harry asked, standing up.

"i'll have a red!" Ren replied almost immediately.

"do you have any white?" louis asked, sitting up. "red gives me nightmares."

harry laughed, nodding. He went to the kitchen to start the drinks.

"i'll help harry," Ren stood up. "Niall, a drink?"

"a beer is fine," he smiled, nodding. he watched Ren walk away flustered. she shook her head as she walked into the kitchen.

louis laughed, shaking his head. "i swear some things don't change. Ren was a proper nerd in high school. couldn't talk to blokes to save her life. even now."

"so who's the boy?" Niall asked, raising an eyebrow.

"ah," Louis laughed. "the million dollar question. i won't spill her secrets."

"is it someone I know?" Niall asked. "so i can make sure he stays the hell away from her."

louis let out a strangled groan, rubbing his face. "i can't tell. she'll kill me. i'm sorry."

"well if you tell me than i can promise you that you'll have harry wrapped around your little finger by the end of this month," Niall raised an eyebrow.

Louis was torn. he stood up. "a drink, Niall?"

Niall laughed, "come on!"

louis chuckled, sitting down. "Ren is special especially to me. she- she needs to do this on her own because like this bloke she likes is very special to her and her finally saying who it is would be like her overcoming a fear or obstacle or something. Ren needs this to better herself in a way."

"yeah but... she's so vague about it," Niall shrugged. "and i just don't see why it's a big deal if I know. you know and harry knows and even liam knows. i know we're not like best friends but i don't get why it has to be a big secret- oh." Niall's eyes widened.

Louis's eyes widened too- his in fear for what Ren would do to him. "Niall you can't- i didn't tell you! i did not utter those words to you, do you hear me?"

"she..." Niall trailed off. "i didn't think- i didn't think she fancied me. she's so standoffish sometimes and it really messes with me but fuck, louis. do you know what this means?"

"that i'm absolutely dead," Louis cried. "that i'll never get my person. that Ren will kill me before i even get to fall in love!"

"no!" Niall laughed, sitting up. "everything's gonna work out!"

Ren and Harry came back seconds later. Ren handed Niall his drink and sat back down across from him. Harry handed Louis his with a wink. (louis was melting)

"so what did i miss?" Harry asked, settling back in his seat.

"nothing much," Niall shrugged. "louis and i chatted about the album party."

"yeah?" harry asked. "should i bring a present?"

"for what?" Niall laughed.

"dunno," harry shrugged. "congratulations? i like to give gifts."

"gifts aren't necessary but i appreciate the thought," Niall smiled. "just bring yourself and i'll be thrilled."

"are you excited for the party?" louis asked, sitting up. "heard Beyoncé's gonna be there."

"yeah she is," Niall chuckled. "she's a good friend. i stayed with her and drake a few years ago. they're fuckin wild."

Ren finished her glass of wine and stood up, heading back into the kitchen. she came back with the bottle this time and promptly sat back down.

"rough day," harry explained.

Ren shook her head, "you've no idea."

"everything alright?" Niall asked.

"did you know that ignorant newly hired employees have caused lots and lots of pain for our office," Ren shook her head. "because of the habitual flirting, HR has decided that the sexual relations between interviewers and interviewees has been banned and so we sat through a three hour seminar on why it should be banned."

"so like... anyone you've ever interviewed?" Niall asked. "like you couldn't shag someone you interviewed."

"arse if i know," Ren shrugged, pouring another glass of wine. "i was watching netflix as the stupid bloke went over it."

"and apparently my image is hurting magazine sales," ren shook her head. she paused, chugging the glass of wine. "and so i've been put on temporary leave until things settle down."

"i had no idea..." Niall trailed off. "my team... they... it wasn't supposed to hurt you."

"well it did," she shrugged, pouring the last of the wine into her glass. she frowned, shaking her head. "the hell, harry? it's gone."

"i think that's enough anyways," Harry nodded. "remember what we talked about?"

"oh bugger off!" Ren shouted, leaning back.  "i can drink as much as i very well please."

"yes well i was informed that you didn't want to embarrass yourself tonight," harry raised an eyebrow. "or did you just lie?"

"i don't bloody care!" ren cried. "i'm nearly fired, the boy i fancy barely even looks at me, my mum refuses to talk to me, what have i got to lose?"

Harry sighed, "ren."

ren finished her last glass of wine and grabbed her purse off of the table. "lou grab my shoes. i'll drive you home."

"no way in hell are you driving," louis stood up. he took her keys from her and tossed them to harry. "sit down, we're gonna be here for a long time."

"louis!" she whined stomping her feet. "i just wanna go home."

"i'll-i'll drive you," Niall stood up.

"no!" ren whined, trying to push him away.

Niall sighed. he picked Ren up, throwing her over his shoulder. he grabbed her shoes and her purse and headed for the door.

"let me go!" Ren shouted, kicking her feet. "everyone's gonna see me bum!"

Niall shook his head, opening the front door. "i'm taking you home."

"how do i know you won't kidnap me?" ren asked, voice softer.

"i promise," Niall told her. he set her down next to the passenger side of her car. he unlocked the door with an arm wrapped around her waist partly because he didn't trust her, and party because it was way too much fun to make Ren blush.

Niall buckled Ren in and closed the door. she looked angry but maybe it was just because Niall had taken her liberties away for two seconds.

Niall got in the car and sighed. "where do you live?"

"not telling," ren turned away, lips curling into a smile.

Niall laughed, "Ren, tell me."

"i forget," she shrugged, still smiling.

"you're not even drunk enough to forget," he laughed. "tell me."

"just drive and i'll tell you," Ren told him.

"i don't believe you but fine," he laughed, starting the car.

needless to say, ren was hungry so was it really her fault that she got her house and mcdonald's mixed up?

Niall shook his head, laughing. "ren this is mcdonald's."

she gasped, unbuckling her seatbelt. "what? i was almost positive this was my apartment."

"your hungry?" Niall asked.

Ren nodded, sitting up. she smiled so eagerly that like Niall couldn't possibly say no. Niall chuckled. "very well."

for a brief moment it felt like this was what he was meant to be doing. and then Niall felt a pang of sadness hit him because the chances of this happening were slim.

"you have to put your shoes on," Niall told her, handing her shoes.

ren rolled her eyes, begrudgingly taking them. "don't boss me around, alright?"

"whatever you say," Niall chuckled.

Niall and ren walked into Mcdonalds a few moments later. he thought for sure they'd be recognized. then they were.

"can i have two number ones, uh extra fries," Niall ordered. "ren what do you want?"

Ren laughed, leaning against the counter. "funny."

"no," Niall laughed. "uh also a chocolate milkshake, a large soda and hm... ren anything special you'd like?"

"i want a chocolate milk," she straightened up, smiling.

"how old are you," Niall asked, eyebrow raised.

"i'm twenty six!" she cried. "twenty six year olds and everyone can enjoy chocolate milk!"

"whatever you say," he laughed.

"what's this stigma with chocolate milk?" ren asked. "anyone over the age of seven is ostracized?"

Niall laughed, "for a second i was fooled that you were actually sober but now i'm not so sure."

ren rolled her eyes at him. "i need to call Louis."

"why?" Niall asked.

"to tell him where i'm at. i'm sure he's wondering why in the hell you've kidnapped me," ren shook her head. "he's gonna be pissed."

"the only one pissed is you," he laughed, taking her phone. he shoved it into his pocket. "we're gonna eat and then i'll take you home."

"sir, your order is ready," the cashier said, pointing to the food on the counter. "was there anything else you needed?"

"no i think we're good," Niall smiled. "thanks though."

"no problem," he smiled.

"and hey, i uh i saw you taking some photos just- don't post them for a while, yeah?" Niall asked.

"oh i uh- okay," he nodded.

"thanks," Niall smiled, handing ren the empty cup (as she was begging to hold something)

Niall knew he rags would get their hands on this and somehow he really didn't care. he knew ren would but that was just a problem to worry about tomorrow.

sure enough, when Niall woke up the next morning, their faces were plastered on the sun. Niall couldn't find it in himself to be bothered by it.  

Ren looked more drunk than he realized as they walked into the restaurant. there were some good photos, he wouldn't lie. most of them was Ren hanging off of Niall or ren stealing Niall's food or Ren falling as they tried to leave.

ren rolled over, eyebrows furrowed. she smelled like fast food. for a moment she was confused before the events of last night came rushing back to her.

louis sat down next to Ren and chuckled. he leaned over and pulled a french fry out of her hair. "rough night?"

"just tell me how bad it is," Ren mumbled, pulling the sheets up to her chin.

"well," louis pulled her phone out. "i found it to be very endearing- Niall did too however the general public thinks it was hm unclassy? trashy? not cute."

"well i had a bad day," ren grumbled.

"fixed it," louis announced with a smile.

'bad days make for even drunker nights LOL soz.'

"wow you handled that with grace and nonchalance," ren snorted, sitting up. "oh bloody hell. niall's party is tonight isn't it?"

"it is," louis laughed. "and we're going now get up you've a meeting today."

"with who?" ren asked. "i got fired."

"you got fired?" louis asked, confused.

"well after last night i'm pretty sure i've been deemed unfit to represent the magazine," Ren shrugged.

"well it's with niall's producer, Liam and the sales director," Louis shrugged. "dunno. the meetings in a couple hours. shower yourself you smell like fast food."

Ren grunted, getting out of bed. "you're a really great friend, Lou."

"thanks peaches," he kissed her on the head. he frowned, pulling another french fry out of her messy curls. "seriously, ren did you bath in them last night?"

Ren laughed, "i wouldn't be surprised, honestly."

"so you are credited with helping Niall with six songs?" Jim, sales director asked.

"yeah i guess," ren nodded.

"yeah there was Wolves, Where do broke hearts go, erm Olivia, Never enough, Girl Almighty, and Better than words."

"right," Ren nodded. "yeah six."

"so here i have your royalties," Jim said, handing her a very large check. "i just need you to sign this paper stating that you've indeed received them and from here on out we can't be held accountable for the money."

"um okay," ren replied dumbly, she sighed the paper hesitantly.

Liam gave her a smile, "ya alright?"

"uh yeah," she chuckled. "i just- i didn't expect this."

"enjoy," Liam smiled. "go on a vacation. treat yourself."

"i think i just might," Ren chuckled. "thanks so much."

"no problem," Liam smiled. "will i see you tonight?"

"uh maybe," she shrugged. "dunno if Niall wants to be seen with me after last night."

"oh please," liam chuckled. "trust me, it's funny more than anything. don't worry about it. people will forget about it by next week. come. it'd mean a lot to niall."

"yeah i might," ren nodded, sitting back in her chair. and she just might have the time of her life tonight.

Louis and Ren showed up together. She wore a blue dress that louis said fit her in all the right places. she wasn't entirely convinced but that wasn't the point. Ren wanted to have some fun and Louis promised her a good time.

as soon as Harry spotted Louis, he dragged him away to talk to everyone. Ren went to the bar, ordering a martini. she sat down and drank it slowly. she was too sober to properly have fun especially with all of these important people around.

Ren spotted Beyoncé dancing with her husband and even Selena. Ren tried not to be jealous as she talked to Niall. he looked very interested in what she had to say.

Ren rolled her eyes, ordering another drink. Charlie sat down next to her with a grin. "drinking all by yourself?"

"yeah," she chuckled. "my friends went off. I think? not sure. i shouldn't have come."

"Niall horan parties are where it's at," Charlie told her.

"i guess," Ren shrugged. she looked around. "i feel like everyone's staring at me."

"oh," he chuckled. "the article?"

"you saw it too?" ren all but cried.

"yes," he laughed. "i can assure you they're all looking at you because of that dress and not that stupid article."

"right," she chuckled, standing up.

"charlie!" a voice shouted. ren cringed. she thought she was ready but really, she wasnt. "glad you could make it."

"wouldn't miss it for the world," charlie grinned.

"ren," Niall greeted her. "feeling better?"

"uh yeah," she forced out a smile. "i suppose."

"good," Niall smiled. "you look, great by the way. new dress?"

"yes actually," Ren played with the hem of her dress. "i seemed to have received quite a bit of money recently? know anything about it?"

"ah," Niall chuckled. "the royalties. they're treating you well i hope?"

"they are," ren nodded. "to a new dress and a fresh manicure," she held her hand up for proof.

"good i'm glad," Niall nodded.

"so..." charlie cleared his throat. "ren wanna dance?"

Niall watched her intently waiting for her answer. he held his breath. Ren looked torn. she frowned, setting her glass down.

"i uh-"

"come on you love this song!" charlie exclaimed. "remember when we-"

"charlie no," she shook her head. "i'm not really in a dancing mood."

"well come find me later," he told her, kissing her on the cheek.

“so you slept with him," Niall commented quietly.

"months ago before I’d ever met you- before I even wrote the article,” Ren told him. "i didn't sleep with him again it was just stupid i don't know why he'd bring it back up i told him it was..."

Niall wondered why Ren was so desperate to get him to believe her. well he knew. Niall wanted Ren to figure it out herself, as Louis had said.

"i believe you," Niall nodded, eyes softening. "charlie's a great guy and if you wanted to dance with him then i think you should."

"no i don't," she shook her head. "he'd just complicate things more. i'm trying to clean my image up, you know?"

Niall nodded, "yeah i get it."

"yeah," ren nodded. "i actually brought you something."

"no you didn't have to..." he trailed off.

Ren waved him off, reaching over the stool to grab the gift. she handed it to him with a smile. "it's nothing big."

Niall opened it carefully he smiled when he finally got all of the paper off. "ren."

"you left some of your notes behind and i was gonna give them back but i figured this was a bit nicer," she shrugged.

Ren framed a few of the lyrics they wrote together. it wasn't anything big but niall's heart swelled because Ren took the time to make it and she was excited to give it to him.

"thank you," he smiled. he pulled her into a tight hug. "this means a lot."

"no problem," she replied quietly.

"you know this album couldn't have happened without you," Niall told her. he set the picture frame down on the bar.

"that's not true," she shook her head.

"no it is, though. you were always there to push me and help me find these things within me. i've written the most vulnerable music because of you. i don't think i can ever repay you for that."

"Niall all of that was in you... you were just too afraid to go against the brand your team made for you," ren shook her head. "but i'm really proud of what you've become."

"thanks," Niall smiled. "so i was hoping you'd consider touring with me."

"i don't know," ren sighed. "there's some things i really have to do... for myself."

"it'd mean a lot..." Niall told her, voice filled with hope.

"at this point i'm not even sure i have a job anymore," ren shook her head. "and i've been doing a lot of thinking. i got a job offer in london to write for the Daily Mirror."

"but... Ren that's a tabloid," Niall furrowed his eyebrows.

"i know," she nodded. "but it's good money and-"

"but you have money," Niall argued. "the royalties- the money keeps coming from them."

"but the money is coming from you, Niall. i cant live a life knowing that where i'm at is just because of a few songs. it's like i owe you something."

"but working for a tabloid is like-is like a slap in the face don't you think? these magazines that have put you through hell, you're gonna go and work for?"

"i don't know what else to do!" she cried.

"take a break," Niall told her. "i can give you a job. a good one."

"but do you understand that you giving me a job is like- it's not what i want," she shook her head. "every time we end up sort of friends you-you always do stuff like this. why can't you just leave things be?"

"because i'm running out of excuses to see you!" he cried. "i try and i try but it's like- it's like you don't even care. i reach out and it's good for two seconds before you just close in on yourself."

"it's not as easy as you think," ren argued. "you're not exactly the easiest person to talk to."

"what's that supposed to mean?" Niall asked, offended.

"you're like- your mister popstar. you've got girls that follow you around and fans that would kill me if they could! you're not approachable and the signals you've sent me are confusing!"

okay. so Niall needed to send her explicit signals, ones that couldn't be confused for friendliness or platonicness. easy enough.

Ren was staring at niall, eyes wide with frustration. she looked like she was ready to burst. niall smiled.

"what are you smiling at?" she asked angrily.

"you," Niall replied softly.

"we are in the middle of a fight!" she yelled. "wipe that smile off of your face and argue back!"

in one swift motion, Niall stepped forward and cupped her face with one hand, her hip in another. she was nervous. Niall smiled one last time before catching her lips in a hesitant kiss. with her back pressed against the bar, Niall kissed ren the way he's imagined it so many times before. their lips moved together in sync and Niall thought this, this is what kisses are meant to be like.

Niall licked into Ren's mouth, tangling his hands through her hair. Niall was almost frantic as he kissed her. it was like the last four months of self control were coming out in full blast. Ren's soft fingers brushed against his neck and then his chin.

Ren pulled away with a blissed smile on her face. she brushed her thumb over niall's lips and kissed him one more time for good measure.

"let me... let me take care of you," Niall whispered. "write my book."

"what?" ren asked, eyebrows raised in confusion. "a book?"

Niall nodded. "i've read your articles and you've got an amazing writing style and my team has been on me about producing something personal that my fans will appreciate and i've been tossing the idea of a book around and- i want you to help me."

ren crossed her arms over her chest. "is this an excuse to see me?"

"yes," he breathed out, pulling her in by the hips. Niall kissed her again, this time more languidly without much purpose but to kiss her.

Liam pulled Niall away from Ren. "Niall."

Niall frowned. "what? i was in the middle of something."

"speech," Liam told him. he gave Ren an apologetic look. "sorry. the people are getting anxious."

Niall kissed Ren chastely on the lips. "this isn't over, understand?"

Ren raised an eyebrow, looking up at him. "are you telling me what to do?"

"yes," he told her. he kissed her again. "i am."

"you're lucky you're cute, you know that?" Ren shook her head.

"stop flirting!" Liam yelled, laughing. he had to physically drag Niall away from Ren because she was such a distraction to Niall.

a few days later, Ren found herself unabashedly at a cafe in new york city. they were sitting outside as the warm september air kept them cool. anyone could see them.

"so i don't know much about book writing," Ren told Niall. the waiter set a cup of coffee down in front of her. she smiled, "thank you."

"just think of it like a big interview," Niall offered. "it'll be easy."

"no it'll be a lot of headaches and a hell of a lot of coffee," Ren chuckled.

"yeah but like there's no deadline so it's finished when it's finished," Niall told her. he opened the menu with such nonchalance that Ren really wanted to kiss him senseless. "so you can come with me on tour."

"why do you want me to tour with you so bad?" Ren asked, leaning forward.

"because i feel guilty," Niall finally admitted. "because where you're at with your career is partly my fault. i mean, my team literally drove you to drink and i feel like i need to repay you for it."

"you don't need you to repay me for anything," Ren chuckled. "trust me. i've given you a lot of shite the past couple of months."

"i don't mind that," Niall shook his head. "but please think about it."

"i will," ren nodded. "but i'm not making any promises."

"and you'll write the book with me?" Niall asked hopefully.

Ren let out a deep sigh. her lips curled into a smile and she rolled her eyes. "fine."