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queenbirbs · 3 years

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in plain sight | Ch. 5 | Ethan x MC

Book/Pairing: Open Heart / Ethan Ramsey x female MC

Word count: 4.1k

Rating: T

Category: AU series

Warnings: language, alcohol mention

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Thursday, January 15, 10:12 a.m.

With its granite facade and scroll corbels mounted along the eaves, the building feels a bit out of place next to the Amtrak rail yard and the local vape shop. The former south terminal for the Atlantic Avenue El closed in 1912, when it became apparent that the majority of riders disembarked back at Dover Street. Since then, it’s been a bazaar; a train museum; and a wedding venue. Now, it’s an industrial-themed nightclub with tin roofing for tabletops and a penchant for caged lights and overpriced cocktails.

Or, it was. Sloane isn’t sure what will happen to the building, seeing as half of it was destroyed in the fire. She went once with friends from work and, though it was fun, she would rather not spend half her salary on pricey drinks.

Above her head, the sign -- welded together from old rail signs to spell out the club’s name -- is coated in soot. Sloane pulls her hood up at the drizzle that hisses along the asphalt. Two police cruisers are parked opposite each other, the officers leaning out their respective windows to chat. A fire captain and an arson investigator are shuffling through the soaked debris inside, exchanging theories on accelerants and trailers. With the blaze extinguished, the firefighters are busy loading up. As is Bryce, who takes one look at her, then at the two FBI agents standing near their cars, and grins.

“So, you won’t come have a beer with me but you’ll run across town for the feds? I see how it is.”

Sloane gives him the finger as she fixes her hood. Bryce’s grin only grows. She’s saved from whatever witty comeback he’s about to serve when Ethan and Baz approach, safe from the rain under their black umbrellas.

“Nice jacket!” Baz greets them with.

Bryce flips his wet hair back and flashes his winning smile at the compliment. Sloane casts him a warning look, as if she’s ever been able to stop him from flirting before. “And thank you for coming on such short notice,” Baz continues.

“No problem. Besides, you saved me from being threatened by one of the most attractive women I’ve ever met.”

“What? Why?” Ethan demands to know.

“Who?” Bryce asks with unabashed interest.

“Charlotte St. Yves, the manager of the Edenbrook.” Sloane grimaces and shrugs her shoulders. “I might have, you know, insinuated that she was killing her employees to keep them quiet about the senator’s death.”

Ethan runs a hand over his face and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Jesus, Sloane.”

“I mean, I was polite about it.” At that, Bryce barks out a laugh. She resists the urge to swat at him. “It’s not a big deal,” she assures. “So can we get to the part where you explain what’s going on?”

“This belonged to Gwyneth Monroe.” Ethan holds up a ziplock bag with a cell phone inside. “She’s one of the three confirmed victims of the fire.”

Sloane studies the phone and then glances back at the building.

“Unless that case is fireproof, I don’t see how it made it out in such good condition.”

“Her body was found in the women’s restroom, away from the main spread of the fire,” Ethan explains. “ME on scene said she died from smoke inhalation.”

“Monroe streamed a live video that expired just after nine a.m. today. Whatever she spoke about in that video could give us information on the Edenbrook employees’ deaths.”

“I don’t recall her name being on the list I have.”

Ethan shakes his head, his voice tight when he answers.

“No, she didn’t work for the Edenbrook.” Before she can order them to get to the point with their cryptic show-and-tell, he continues. “She was a software engineer for Panacea. It appears she was working on some sort of AI that would read through electronic medical records and identify drug-seeking behavior, or recommend medications and lifestyle changes, all based on a patient’s chart.”

As thrilled as she is to have a legitimate connection to Panacea, it doesn’t really sound like one. The software Monroe was creating doesn’t sound that ground-breaking either, especially when it’s already being used at hospitals nationwide.

“But the Edenbrook isn’t a hospital -- how does this link back to them?” she questions.

“Because it appears Panacea didn’t stop there. If they’re going to be pushing this software, they need it to be a cut above the rest.” Baz whips out his phone, where an article detailing an advertising deal between Panacea and Facespace is open to read. “No need to worry about HIPAA violations when patients post every meal they eat or rant about their back pain.”

“There’s a few steps missing between them cutting a deal for ad spots and Facespace giving them access to users’ profiles, though,” she points out with a frown.

“Sure,” Baz agrees with a chuckle. “But not if they can conveniently blame it on the algorithm they use to determine what ads you see. Besides, why would you argue against something that would recommend better lifestyle changes, or determine your need to get tested for Cushing’s syndrome? Maybe you or I would, but the average American social media user? They would accept the update without reading the fine print.”

“Regardless of how the software works,” Ethan cuts in before Baz can get going on one of his diatribes, “we know that’s what Monroe was helping to develop. It’s already in the testing phases because Panacea sent her what they claimed to be mock profiles to analyze. That much we’ve gathered from her other posts and user comments. What we need to know is about those mock profiles, which we think she talked about in that video.”

Fishing out the phone, Ethan moves close to hand it to her and adjusts his umbrella to shield her from the increasing rain. “We already tried the most common passcodes, according to the tech expert here.”

Sloane taps the screen and can’t help the small smile on her face at the four failed attempts message. Baz fumbles to straighten his glasses and grunts out something about not being in cybercrimes.

“What makes you think I can do any better?” she asks. “The woman was an engineer and I’m certainly no hacker. I can barely remember to check my Jabbr account and I still don’t know how bitcoin works. Don’t you guys have tech gurus for this sort of thing? Besides, even if we find anything on here, we can’t use it in court unless you get a warrant first.”

His jaw clenched tight, Ethan exhales with a sigh. His breath fogs the cold air between them.

“Which we aren’t going to get, because we already tried. Judge said that we don’t have enough probable cause. And, considering that most of our information comes second hand, she’s right. Which means we can’t take it to our tech analyst.” Rolling his shoulders back, he drags in a steadying breath and smirks down at her. “Besides,” he parrots her words, “your entire career is based on observing and listening to people. And you’ve told me what you can suss out from someone’s profile before.”

Sloane rolls her eyes at his tactic, but nonetheless pulls out her own phone. She’s never been one to resist a challenge -- something she’s sure Ethan has realized by now. Finding Monroe’s Pictagram account is easy, given her 15,000 followers. Bryce leans in to look over her profile and offer his insight. It’s hard not to miss the way Ethan’s gaze settles on Bryce’s hand on her shoulder. Ignoring them both, she thumbs down the rows and rows of posts until she reaches the bottom and works her way up. The first fifty or so are of college: sorority rush, spring break in Playa del Carmen, shaky videos of dorm rooms and nightclubs. There’s a few trips back home to the Midwest, several photos of a Jack Russell Terrier, as well as the occasional trip to Anaheim, complete with the infamous mouse ears. After graduation, there’s a celebratory vacation to Tokyo, more mouse ears, and more photos of the dog, followed by lots of computer screens with intelligible lines of code.

“So, any ideas?” Baz prompts. “After the basics, I tried Ubuntu since she has quite a few posts about it.”

“Those posts are from last year, though. Unless her phone was stolen or compromised at some point, she probably never changed it from when she first got it.”

“She should have changed it at least once,” Ethan says. “She works for a major corporation.”

“How many times have you changed yours, Mr. FBI Agent?” Sloane teases.

A reluctant sigh is all she gets in return.

Switching back to Monroe’s phone, she taps out 642539. The phone vibrates in her hand, notifying her of the fifth failed attempt. Bryce sucks in a breath between clenched teeth.

“She could have set it to erase all data after ten failures, so keep that in mind.”

“I’ve got it, I’ve got it,” she assures.

Once the keypad pops up again, she tries her second guess: 363437. The home screen blinks into view. Bryce is congratulating her and calling her Willow for some weird reason, but it all becomes background noise to her. An overwhelming number of notifications start to appear -- missed texts and calls from Sneha and Zoe and Patrick and a hundred other contacts:

text me back I need to know you’re safe -- what the fuck I saw that club burned down last night are you ok??? -- havent heard from you and ijust want to make sure your okay girl -- gwyn please please plaese call me back i’m really worried

“Sloane?” Ethan’s voice penetrates through the fogged wall of grief. His arm brushes against her shoulder, a small gesture of comfort.

“Yeah, I’m--” her voice breaks in the relative quiet of the parking lot. She clears her throat before trying again. “I’m fine. Let’s see here….” she trails off, navigating to Pictagram’s app and opening it.

Tapping through a few more screens, she finally locates the archive. The most recent is a live video with 04:11 stamped at the bottom. Sloane presses play.

The cacophonous screech of a bass sounds from the speakers. The view is a bartop, complete with unused coasters and wet napkins. There’s a stack of highball glasses with the remains of sliced lemons to one side of the frame. In the other is Monroe, her blonde waves plastered to her forehead and neck from sweat. She sips from a half-empty cocktail, spitting out her straw with a curse when she drains it.

“Heeelllloooo my lovely followers,” she croons. Brushing back some of her hair, she grins at the person next to her. With only the style of their hair visible, the rest of their features are lost to the club’s flashing lights. “No, no, sorry, I’m talking to them.”

A pink nail points to the screen; her fingertip smashes the camera, blurring the world for a moment before Monroe appears again.

“A lot of you guys were asking about my recent post and I’m doing this live ‘cause this stupid app gives you a sixty second limit on videos. So, I’m here to tell you that, con-fucking-trary to belief, following your dreams is bullshit. Don’t do it! I moved all the way to Boston for this job because I believed in them and the advancements they were making in the opioid crisis and now I find out they’re a big phony and I just…” she shoves back a chunk of hair that’s fallen into her mouth and shakes her head. “I’ve been working on this project for months -- monnnths, you guys. It’s like, like my baby! And it’s going great, the alpha’s working right? So they want me to test it out.”

The person beside her must comment on her drunken rambling, because she snaps her head around and levels a dirty look at them. “Considering there’s over sixteen-hundred people watching right now, I think someone does care about what I have to say. So why don’t you fuck off, huh?”

The person’s hands lift in a sign of surrender before they move completely out of frame. Monroe rolls her eyes and then reaches for her drink, pouting when she realizes it’s still empty. There’s a two-minute long segment of her heckling the bartender before another cocktail appears before her.

“Where was… oh, right, but like I was saying,” she continues after a long sip of the drink. “They like gave me this list, right, of all these generated profiles to test my software on. So, I run them through and the first one’s a total workaholic, declines offers to go out all the time, complains when he drinks, etcetera. My software pegs him immediately, diagnoses his alcohol intolerance, offers up a recommendation for anxiety meds and therapy, boom, done. Another one it gets in less than a minute, recommends depression meds, therapy, and a test for sickle cell. The rest take roughly about the same time and I’m over the moon, I’m sooo fucking pumped because my baby is working so well. And… and I didn’t think anything of it, but then.”

She abandons the hold on her drink to steady her phone with both hands, the video having gone a little shaky from her trembling. “But I turned on the news this week and two of these names, these people I thought were just thought up by a computer for testing… they’re real! And they’re -- they’re fucking dead! And then I got this cryptic-ass email from my boss and I don’t know what to do! So now I’m here because I’m too scared to go home… and, and I know it’s stupid of me to be talking to all of you but I don’t want to tell my friends because they’ll think I’m crazy, or tell me about how I should’ve jumped ship with my company wayyy before this, and they’re right! I just-- the money was so good that I could look the other way sometimes, you know? But that’s…” she trails off, wiping at the tears that now stream down her cheeks “That’s no excuse. It’s not! And I know it’s not, but I just don’t know what to do.”

A hiccuping sob leaves her and she covers her mouth again. The person from before returns, their hand just at the edge of the frame; the chunky ring that they wear flashes as they gesture. As if answering their question, Monroe shakes her head. She says something else, but the words are lost under the pounding music. The video ends there.

Sloane drags in a deep, calming breath, even as her nerves alight in her chest and scatter outward through her limbs. Looking up from the phone, she sees that similar feeling of dread crossing their faces, as well.

“They gave her a hit list,” she murmurs. “She’s talking about Garrison and Keller. She has to be.”

“But why kill her for it?” Bryce hisses. “Why not wait until they have access to the software? She was making it for them to use.”

“She mentioned it was in alpha testing, which means it’s not complete and probably has some major bugs.” Baz burrows into his thick scarf and sighs, fogging up his glasses in the cold. “For some reason, they must have needed her to run it now, and not in six months.”

Next to her, Ethan sucks in a sharp breath. When he looks up from his own phone, his gaze immediately catches hers.

“Because Panacea is planning on buying out Lavinium,” he says, turning the screen to show them the news article published just ten minutes before.

“What?” Bryce sputters. “Talk about a big pharma monopoly.”

“The real question is,” Baz murmurs, “what did Garrison and Keller have on Panacea that was worth killing them for?”

Voices nearby drag them out of their bubble. The chief and arson investigator are making their way out of the building; their pants are streaked in soot, their faces grim. The chief motions to Ethan, who crosses the asphalt to speak with her.

Sloane directs her attention back to Monroe’s phone. She runs a few searches through the email app, but nothing about the software appears, or the cryptic email from her boss. If she deleted them, then why keep a video detailing the software’s abilities in her Pictagram’s archive? At the sound of footsteps, Sloane locks the phone and straightens to greet the two women. This close, it’s obvious they must be related -- if not for the similar nose and high cheekbones, but the surname pinned to their uniforms. Chief Emery gives a not-so-subtle glance to Bryce’s and her press badges before hiking an eyebrow up at Ethan.

“It’s fine, Harper,” he says. “They’re with us.”

Not wasting any more time, the other Emery launches into her findings.

“The fire started in the men’s bathroom. It was designed to look like somebody being careless and throwing out a cigarette in the trash, but the burn pattern on what was left of the can and the floor around it shows evidence of an accelerant. Bathrooms usually aren’t the best place to start a fire, given all the tile and lack of combustibles. They smashed a painted shut window to bring in the much-needed oxygen. The glass on the ground outside still has blood on it, despite the waterworks. Forensics will see if it’s a match to any in the database.”

“What about security cameras?” Baz asks.

“The computer where the feeds were saved was destroyed, though the geek squad will try to pull off what they can from the hard drive.” Before he can form his follow-up, she adds: “No cloud storage, either.”

“Do you know what kind of accelerant?” Sloane speaks up. “Gasoline, kerosene?”

Fishing into her jacket, Emery retrieves a digital camera and zooms in on one of the photographs. Amongst the blackened tiles and murky puddles and melted plastic is more broken glass. The corner of a dark blue label is visible underneath the soot, along with the familiar gothic font spelling out Sea. Ethan locks his gaze onto Sloane’s, the blue of his eyes burning in the gray light. Baz frowns at the photo.

“Vodka? Are you sure? Because it doesn’t really--”

“If it’s eighty proof or higher, it’ll generate enough vapor to sustain a flame,” Emery explains. “Especially if ignited with a lighter. Considering this was a two-alarm fire that took six hours to kill, I would argue that vodka is a decent-enough firestarter.”

The group falls quiet as they chew on the information presented. With a promise to forward their reports to the FBI, the Emerys cross the parking lot to the cruisers to see about having the scene secured. Bryce is the first to peel off with a comment about getting to the airport in time. Being the kind-hearted soul that he is, Baz offers to drop him off on his way to Chelsea. Sloane doesn’t resist rolling her eyes this time at Bryce’s combined hair-flip-and-grin -- his ‘tried and true method,’ as he’d called it before.

“Well,” Ethan starts as the others drive away.

“So,” Sloane says at the same time.

Underneath the umbrella, they smile at each other like fools.

“Do you need a ride back to your office?” he asks.

“I wouldn’t say no to one.”

“Good.”

Though the CNN building is just over three miles as the crow flies, it takes a hell of a lot longer to drive there. Not that Sloane minds. When she’s driving, she’s usually on the phone, setting up an interview or leaving messages on some secretary’s voicemail, her eyes on the car in front of her in case they decide to pull some illegal maneuver, as Bostonians often do. Sitting in the passenger seat and admiring the view is a real treat. She’s lived in big cities before, but none look as pretty as Boston does when it’s had a good inch of rain. The thick blanket of gray clouds tucks the buildings in and makes the city seem smaller. There’s something about the juxtaposition of the past and the present, the centuries-old brickwork and the four Dunkins they pass. Rain drums atop the car, the wipers dispelling it with their steady susurration across the glass. It would be even better if she could get Ethan to listen to something other than opera.

“I didn’t even know Polaris had this many classical stations.”

“I have the Premium Symphony package.”

“Ah, of course you do.”

“Do you not like opera?”

“If I wanted to listen to people wail nonsensically, I would watch an episode of America’s Most Eligible.”

“You’ve never been, I take it?”

“On a reality show?”

“No,” he scoffs. “To the opera.”

At the deadpan look she shoots him, the right corner of his mouth curls up into a half-smile.

“No, I haven’t.” She was going to leave it at that, but she’s always been too curious for her own good. “What about you and Harper? Did you two ever go together?”

He makes a poor attempt to brush aside the insinuation before he relents under her steady gaze and raised brow.

“No, we didn’t. Then again, we only saw each other for a few weeks, and the only thing running was Der Rosenkavalier.”

“That’s German, right?” she clarifies.

“Yes. And my preference leans toward Italian operas.” Ethan readjusts his grip on the steering wheel and clears his throat. “Tosca is starting next month. Its story is a little melodramatic for some, but the music is magnificent.”

“Is this your roundabout way of asking me to go with you?” she teases.

“Yes. It is.”

His hands clench the leather tighter for a moment. It’s probably pathetic to be jealous of a steering wheel, but here she is, picturing where else he could be putting his hands. What a curse it is sometimes to have such a vivid imagination.

“Hmm.” She bites at her lip for show. “You know what, I’ll think about it.”

Ethan concedes to her teasing response with a soft huff of laughter. They reach her building, where he swings into a spot along the sidewalk. Throwing the car into park, he twists in his seat to face her, hesitation visible in the tight clench of his jaw.

“Can I give you something else to think about?” he asks.

“Yes.” The word leaves her mouth faster than she ever thought possible. “Yes, plea--”

The rest of her request is lost under the crush of his lips against hers. His kiss is just like him: brash and demanding. A stuttering breath escapes her when he pulls back, his eyes roving over her. His mouth opens, an excuse at the ready -- but before he can let it loose, she cuts him off with another kiss. His arm loops around her back, urging her as close as she can be. The seatbelt pinches at her chest, but she pays it no mind. Sloane tangles her fingers in the soft hair at his nape. Her name comes as an exhale, his breath hot against her skin.

The trail he blazes along her cheek and down her neck turns every thought in her head to mush. For a blissful moment, there’s only Ethan and the light scrape of his teeth at her pulse point and his fingers raking up the hem of her sweater and his delicious groan when she tugs at his hair and this weird buzzing sensation and--

“You have got to be kidding me,” Sloane whines as she digs into her jacket pocket.

Retreating into his seat to give her space, Ethan flashes her that lopsided smirk of his as she fumbles with her phone. “If this is Bryce, I’m going to…” she clears her throat and accepts the call, assuming her professional persona. “Sloane McTavish.”

“Oh, it is so nice to finally be able to speak with you, Miss Sloane,” a warm voice greets through the speaker. “I know it’s short notice, but I was wondering if we could meet this afternoon. I think I’m finally ready to talk.”

Her sluggish brain catches up as recognition turns into sheer excitement. Scrambling for a pen and paper, she barely restrains herself from making an embarrassing noise of joy. Having watched her go from zero to one hundred in the span of three seconds, Ethan quirks an amused eyebrow up at the display.

“It’s good to hear from you, too,” Sloane says. “And of course I’d love to meet up. Where did you have in mind, Mrs. M?”

Taglist: @writinghereandthere @maurine07 @choiceskatie @togetherwearerapture @openheartfanfics @lsvdw-blog

Author's notes and what-have-yous:

Bryce calling Sloane "Willow" is of course a reference to BTVS. The correct password is a character from a D*sney movie. He's got street savoir faire ;)

#choices open heart #ethan x mc #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #open heart fanfiction #Kaila writes things #f: in plain sight

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wiypt-writes · 4 years

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Riding On

Ch 12- How Very European…

Summary: Frank and Fliss set a date for their wedding and, following her all clear at the six weeks postpartum check-up, she decides it’s time to get a bit frisky…only a little someone has other ideas.

Warnings: Bad Language words. SMUT (NSFW) NO UNDER 18s!

Pairing: Frank Adler x Fliss Gallagher

A/N: Ok, so I had a LOT of fun with this one. I have never had a baby myself, but my best friend tells me some hilarious tales about all sorts of stuff- she has no filter…and neither do I in this chapter. I apologise in advance…

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Fliss Gallagher and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Riding On Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Chapter 11

Fliss smiled as she stood looking at the stretch of St Petersburgs beach. The sugar white sands, rustic boardwalks, and the blue waters of the Gulf of Mexico had made her fall in love with the place when she has first come here with Frank and Mary almost 2 years ago. It was the place her and Frank had sat on one of their early dates eating Mexican and drinking beer…and it was a stunning backdrop for the beach wedding she had always wanted.

"So the Public Access area has a large metered parking lot for you and your guests. Private condominium rentals and boutique hotels are nearby and can be a great option if you and your guests want to walk to your Wedding ceremony." The wedding planner, a small woman named Bobbi spoke "Or if you fancy there's also Pass-a-Grille or Upham..."

"No." Fliss shook her head and turned round, her eyes shining as she looked at Frank who was stood next to her. "I love this part of the beach and it’s special to us. It’s perfect. " Frank's hand tightened around hers and his mouth turned up into a smile. "I like it too." "Well that was easy!" Bobbi smiled "are you 100% sure you don't want to see the others?" "Yeah." Fliss smiled as Frank pressed a kiss to her temple. "Alright." Bobbie nodded. "So, you mentioned next September?" Frank nodded. "We don't need a brunch or reception venue, we got that covered. Just the ceremony." Bobbi nodded and tapped at the tablet she was holding. "Well that makes it a lot easier. Any specific time of day?" "Afternoon." Fliss said. Bobbi hummed before she looked at them "You're in luck. There's a slot at four pm on the twenty-sixth of September. Does that work?" Frank looked at Fliss who nodded. He turned back to the woman and smiled. "We'll take it." Bobbi nodded. "Alright. Do you wanna head back to the car and I can take the details, get the deposit paid?" "Lead the way." Frank smiled. She turned and walked back over the sand, the two of them following hand in hand. It took them about fifteen minutes or so to get the formalities out of the way, but once that was done Bobbi emailed the confirmation over and it was done. They had officially set a date. After she told them a little more about what she would need from them legally over the next few weeks she shook both their hands and said she would be in touch. They both waved her off before Fliss turned to Frank, gave a little shriek of happiness before she flung herself onto his arms. He laughed, picking her up and twirling her round, giving her a soft kiss as he set her on her feet. "Three-hundred and sixty three days to go." She smiled "Sixty-four.” Frank chuckled. "It’s a leap year next year baby." "Details, details..." She waved a hand, her gaze flickering back over the ocean as she leaned into him. He wrapped his arms around her as the stood looking at the area where they would become man and wife in little under twelve months.

“What time are you meeting Bonnie?” Frank asked, breaking the silence as he checked his watch. She should have been out for lunch with her best friend last but Mary had been violently sick on the Saturday night and really clingy to her, so they had rearranged instead for the following Saturday evening which was now upon them almost.

“Erm, half Seven. Why?” Fliss looked up at him, her shades covering her eyes.

“It’s Four now. Fancy a walk?” he nodded towards the sea.

Fliss hesitated, truth be told she wanted to get back to Alex. This was the first time they’d left him with someone else, and whilst it was her parents and she knew she could trust them implicitly, she was still a little on edge about being apart from him.

“Just a quick fifteen minutes.” Frank softly coaxed, knowing exactly what was on her mind “Then we can go and get the kids.”

Fliss nodded and the pair of them removed their shoes before they linked hands again, stepping onto the sand which was hot on their feet. The pair of them cursed and hopped from foot to foot, mumbling about how they really should know better now as they hurried to the cooler, wet sand, laughing as they walked through the light waves as they lapped around their ankles.

“So where are you going tonight?” Frank asked. “Rio’s.” Fliss replied. “Same as we planned last week. Apparently the new menu is amazing. Has a grill section, we should take Mary one night when Alex is a little older.”

“We could go now.” Frank looked at her “He’s plenty old enough. Feed him before we go, he can sleep whilst we eat.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Why are you so against taking him out?” Frank asked softly.

“I’m not, I take him out during the day.”

“I mean to somewhere like that.” He stopped to look at her. “I’ve suggested it a few times that we take them both out for dinner, a treat for Mary maybe, and you’ve vetoed it.

“I know, and I feel guilty enough as it is, I don’t want Mary to miss out.” “She’s not missing out.” Frank shook his head, “She’s spoiled rotten. I just want to know what the problem is. Talk to me, Honey, please.” Fliss hesitated and took a deep breath “I honestly don’t know. I just, well if he starts crying or he gets unsettled…” “Then we take him outside until he settles and bring him back.” “And if he doesn’t settle?” “Then we get the food wrapped up and take it home.” He shrugged “Lissy, babe, it’s not a big deal. You’re over thinking all of this. He’s a baby, he won’t know where he is, and if he did he wouldn’t give a shit.”

“Sorry.” She mumbled.

“Hey, there’s no need to apologise.” He took both of her hands. “I don’t wanna make you feel bad I just want us to enjoy our family time, you know. I couldn’t do any of this with Mary when she was a baby and I don’t want that for you.”

“I do enjoy family time.” She shrugged. “I honestly don’t know what it is Frank. I just feel safer with him at home. There’s no one there to look at me when he starts crying and be sat there judging me about what he’s crying for…” “Babies cry.” Frank shook his head “It’s what they do. Fuck what anyone else thinks.” “I wish I could be as relaxed about it all as you.”

“You keep saying this like I’m some kind of baby guru.” Frank arched an eyebrow over his shades “And I’m not. I had no fucking idea what I was doing with Mary. Still don’t. Look at the mess I made with the court case, sending her into Foster Care…”

“That was different.” “No, it wasn’t.” Frank shook his head. “I did what I thought was best at the time, but I screwed up. And we’re gonna screw up with Alex along the way and most likely Mary again as she gets older, it’s just a fact of life. But as long as they’re happy, safe and loved that’s all that matters.” “I know, I know.” Fliss took a deep breath as they turned to walk again. “I just don’t want to let him down. I don’t want to let either of them down. And I know I’m being stupid, I mean take earlier for example. When we left him with Mum and Dad, I cried for like half an hour.”

Frank chuckled softly. “I know, I was there.”

“Everyone told me I’d be glad to get some time away, but I’m not. I miss him already and…it’s pathetic, I know.”

“No, you’re just a new mom.” He smiled, squeezing his fingers around hers. “It will get easier, I promise.”

“I thought about cancelling tonight.” She admitted. “I was secretly glad last week was a no go, I mean I would have preferred it not to be because Mary was sick but I wasn’t ready. And that’s not because I don’t trust you with him because I do, and I know I’ve left you with him before when I’ve nipped out but it’s just…”

“Lissy, stop.” Frank shut her rambles down, dropping a kiss to her temple. “You don’t need to explain, I get it. Honestly I do, but you said you’re driving tonight so you can leave when you want to. Don’t cancel, Honey.”

“I’m not going to.” She shook her head “Bonnie would kill me. She’s really down at the moment.”

“Yeah?” Frank asked as the continued to splash in the shallow water.

Fliss nodded “She hasn’t told me what’s wrong. I’ll see if I can get it out of her tonight.” Frank pulled her closer, his hand leaving hers as he curled an arm round her shoulder and they continued to walk, talking as they did so. Eventually they reached the part of the beach which curved around the bay and headed over to the boardwalk so they could walk back to the car. As soon as she got back to her parents’, Fliss felt her earlier anxiety ebb away completely as Alex was fast asleep in the bassinet in the kitchen whilst Mary was playing in the pool with Bill and Steve. The entire family was over the moon when they announced they’d booked the date and Verity went off at 100 miles an hour talking about dresses and flowers until Bill gently reached over and squeezed her knee, reminding her it wasn’t her wedding. But neither Fliss nor Frank minded, it was nice to have their family so enthusiastic.

When Frank announced it was time to leave, Mary started protesting saying she wanted to stay the night. Frank refused, as she’d stayed the night before and he didn’t want Bill and Verity feeling obliged, but as usual Verity beamed and told her of course she could say. So they left her there and took Alex home. Once he had been fed, Fliss headed up for a shower and then contemplated what she was going to wear. Whilst she had lost the remainder of her baby bump so to speak, she was still bigger than she had been beforehand so her usual jeans didn’t quite fit yet. When she’d complained to Frank about it and said the last time she had been this size was after her accident, he had gotten a little frustrated at her, telling her that if she dared go on some stupid diet to lose it as fast as she had back then he would be seriously pissed at her. She’d bitten back, snapping at him that she knew it was out of the question. She didn’t want to for starters, as she had been so miserable when she’d been emotionally manipulated into doing so by John, and this time there was Alex to think about. If she was feeding and nursing him she didn’t want to be on some stupid crash diet. Besides which, she wasn’t eating that differently to how she had been before she was pregnant. It was the lack of exercise, as it had been back then. Frank had apologised for snapping, and she’d done the same assuring him that she would be sensible. She knew that she would lose most of it once she could go back to work and start riding again and if she didn’t, well, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. Frank was constantly telling her she was beautiful and besides, what’s a few extra kilos when you have a gorgeous baby boy to show for it?

In the end she opted for a strapless, floaty lemon dress which she had worn in her early pregnancy days that flared out under her breast line and stopped just above her knees. She paired it with a pair of tan, leather gladiator sandals and left her hair down in the soft waves it dried in post her shower. She applied a little make up, smiling to herself at the fact this was probably the first time she had worn it since she had given birth. All in all, she couldn’t deny it was nice to actually feel like Fliss and not just momma bear even though the two went hand in hand now.

Grabbing her purse and dropping her lip gloss and phone inside she headed out of the bedroom and down the stairs. Frank was sat on the sofa, Alex napping in the little basket which lay on the coffee table. He looked up, blinking at her appearance and smiled softly.

“You look fantastic.”

“Thank you.” She smiled, heading over to give him a quick peck.

“You sure you don’t want me to drive you?” He offered again, nodding to Alex “He’ll sleep on the way.”

“No, honestly I’m not drinking. Well, maybe just one.” She shrugged.

“Back to grape juice instead of apple, huh?” Frank quipped and she smiled, running her finger over Alex’s rosy cheeks.

“Something like that.” She said, absentmindedly looking at her baby.

“Liss.” Frank spoke in a little warning tone, watching her and she turned to him “Go, we’ll be fine.” “I know, I know.” she nodded, taking a deep breath. “I’m going, I promise…” He chuckled and she gave him another kiss before she headed towards the door, she took a final look back at her baby and fiancée, the latter making a shooing gesture with his hands and she laughed, before she turned and walked out of the room. He heard the front door close behind her and let out a sigh of relief. He’d half been expecting her to back out but she hadn’t, she’d gone. Thankfully. He was desperate for her to go out and enjoy herself, she needed to see other people outside of their little family unit, it wasn’t healthy for her to be as isolated as she seemed to have made herself. He’d actually gotten a little worried to the point that he’d even asked his own Mother for advice and she had assured him that Fliss would settle, pointing out that it was nerve wracking being a new mum. He’d been surprised to learn that Evelyn hadn’t left him with anyone until he was almost four months old for fear something would go wrong, and that had comforted him a little to understand that this wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. It had been slightly different with Diane as she’d leaned on him to help her a lot, but then again most things with Diane had been different.

He leaned back on the sofa, picking up the remote, his eyes falling once more to the basket.

“Just you and me tonight, Son” he muttered, flicking to the TV finding the sports channel, selecting a re-run of a Red Sox game on one of the sports channels. “Time to start your education.” *****

“Oooh, how exciting!” Bonnie exclaimed as Fliss smiled, having just told her about them booking their wedding “It sounds amazing, that’s a gorgeous stretch of beach.”

“Yeah, it’s special to us so…” she smiled, and looked up as the waiter came to take their drinks order.

“Erm, do you want wine?” Bonnie asked.

Fliss hesitated for a second, before she shrugged “Just the one.”

Bonnie smiled and ordered them a bottle of Chardonnay and a large bottle of water. Once the Waiter was out of ear shot Fliss leaned forward “This way I don't need to pump and dump.”

Bonnie laughed “I always find that odd. I mean pumping and dumping doesn't get alcohol out of your system does it?” “No, but if I wanted to go out and get drunk I’d have to wait until I was sure all the alcohol had left my system before I fed him again.” Fliss shrugged “He’s already bottle fed at night so Frank can help and I wake up and my boobs are like fucking water melons so you can you imagine what they would be like after like twelve hours or whatever if I didn’t.” she shook her head. “But one glass, well my mum, midwife and Doctor Google say if I'm not feeding in the next two or three hours I should be ok.”

Their chat turned to Mary’s adoption, Fliss filling Bonnie in on how they’d begun the process legally now, Greg sorting and filing the paperwork and contacting her biological father earlier that week. So far they had heard nothing but they should start to see things progress fairly quickly once he had given his consent.

“And even if he doesn’t, Greg seems confident the court would find in our favour, Mary having been in Frank’s care since she was six months old.” Fliss shrugged, thanking the waiter as he placed the two bottles on the table. “So we’re not concerned, it would just be a lot easier and smoother if he does the right thing, you know?” The waiter finished filling both their glasses then placed the wine in the ice bucket before he then poured them each a water and asked them for their food orders. They placed them, Bonnie opting for scallops and the ribs, Fliss deciding on calamari and the steak. Once he was gone Bonnie looked at Fliss, picking up her glass.

“Do you think he will? Object, I mean.” Fliss paused, pondering for a moment “I don’t think so, I mean why would he? He made no effort to find Mary before the court case and now, even though he knows where she is, he still hasn’t so…” she shrugged, picking up her drink.

“Well…” Bonnie leaned over, holding her wine glass up “Here’s to it going smoothly and your first girl’s night out since becoming a momma.”

Fliss smiled and clinked her glass against Bonnie’s, before she took a sip and let out a soft moan “God that tastes sooo good.” “Well you could always dump the car as well as the milk.” Bonnie gestured to the bottle that lay in the ice bucket and Fliss laughed, shaking her head.

“Maybe next time.” She pulled out her phone and took a snap of her glass, sending it to Frank with the caption “Ok, so it tastes as good as I remember…” before she dropped her phone on the table.

They chatted a little more about general things, what Fliss had in mind for the wedding, the type of dress she thought she wanted, colour for bridesmaids, most of which she couldn’t answer as she had no idea really. It was odd that it was going to be her choice, but exciting none-the-less. At one point, her phone buzzed and she picked it up, letting out a chuckle at Frank’s reply to her earlier message. It was a photo of a beer bottle and a baby bottle side by side on the kitchen counter along with the words “Boy’s night in.” She showed it to Bonnie who gave a snort and Fliss placed the phone down and looked at her.

“So, what’s going on with you? I can tell you’re down.”

Bonnie fiddled slightly with her cutlery, before she shrugged “Simon’s being odd. I mean odder than normal before you say it.”

Fliss smiled and waited for her to continue.

“The last week or so, it’s like his mind is elsewhere. I’m beginning to wonder where it is, or more to the point who it’s with.”

Fliss frowned, her wine glass paused slightly in front of her mouth “You think he’s cheating?”

Bonnie shrugged “Honestly, I don’t know. Something’s going on.”

“I don’t think he would.” Fliss shook her head. “Is he not just stressed with work? Frank can get a little sullen if he’s got a lot on.” “Maybe.” Bonnie mused “He’s just normally so attentive and fun. Oh, ignore me. I’m likely thinking too much into it, it’s probably nothing.”

“You should ask him straight.” Fliss said, looking at her “Tell him how you feel, give him a chance to explain. If there’s one thing the whole Vegas incident with Frank taught me is that things ain’t always what they seem Bon. It’s bound to be something really simple that’s just playing on his mind.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Bonnie nodded “I’ll ask him.”

At that point their starters arrived and they both started to eat, and Bonnie grinned. “So, anyway, back to your dress…you’d look fantastic in a straight, little lace number.” By the time they had finished eating and chatting, Fliss was wearing a bright, bubble-gum pink meringue complete with crystals and a sweetheart neckline to get married in-“because, you know- watermelons…” and the bridesmaids were all going to be in lime green. Fliss had told Bonnie to be careful what she was suggesting, as she didn’t think the woman’s skin tone would take kindly to be dressed in such a colour, at which point Bonnie had nearly choked and her eyes had filled as Fliss smiled and nodded, confirming that she’d just asked Bonnie to take the job. After a loud acceptance, Bonnie had jumped up and hugged Fliss, drawing curious glances from the tables around them.

Fliss dropped Bonnie at the condo she shared with Simon, along with an instruction to call her if she needed to chat again, and then she headed back home arriving just after eleven. Letting herself in quietly, she made her way into the family room and paused in the doorway, smiling at the sight in front of her. Frank was led on the sofa, Alex clutched to his chest with two strong hands, the baby boy fast asleep.

“Before you panic…” Frank spoke, making her jump a little “I’m not asleep. Just resting my eyes.”

“I wasn’t panicking.” Fliss said, honestly “I know you’d never let him fall.”

Frank cracked open his eyes and smiled. “You have a nice time?” He asked as she walked towards him. He gently shifted so he was sat up, Alex still held to his chest securely as Fliss sat next to him, peeking at the sleeping baby.

“Yeah, I did.” She nodded “The food was good. We definitely need to go.”

“Did you find out what was bothering Bonnie?”

“Yeah, she said Simon’s being odd with her.”

“Odder than normal?”

Fliss snorted, “That’s exactly what Bonnie said.” She took a deep breath. “She thinks he’s playing away.”

“Si?” Frank looked at her. “No, absolutely not. In fact, she couldn’t be further from the truth if she tried.”

“What do you mean?” Fliss frowned and Frank hesitated.

“He told me last week, and this cannot go any further as he will kill me, but he’s gonna propose.”

Fliss’ mouth dropped open before her face split into a grin “No shit?”

“Yes shit.” Frank nodded, smiling “Told me when he was drunk in Fergs.” Fliss leaned back against the cushions on the sofa, and her smile slipped a little “Oh crap.”

“What?” “I told her to talk to him, ask him what the problem was.” “Sensible advice in normal circumstances.” Frank shrugged “Don’t sweat it, it’ll be fine.”

“So when’s he gonna ask her?”

“No idea.” Frank shrugged “He didn’t say.”

“Did he not ask for ideas?”

Frank snorted. “I’m the last person he should be asking. I was carrying your damned ring around for weeks trying to find the right moment. I almost did it by the tree at the Rockefeller centre, and then that ass hole beat me to it.”

Fliss gave a soft laugh as she shook her head “The way you did it was perfect.” “Yeah, I got there in the end.” He grinned.

At that point Alex stirred a little, making a few gripey noises before he began to get more restless, rooting against Frank’s T-shirt. “Think he might be hungry.” Frank smiled “Good timing Momma.”

Fliss chuckled and took Alex in her arms, adjusting her top as Frank stood up, heading to the kitchen “You want a drink?” he tossed over his shoulder.

“Yeah, camomile tea if there’s any going?”

Frank put the kettle on to boil and watched from the counter as his girl nursed their baby, a deep sense of contentment brewing in his stomach, along with the usual low-key arousal he felt whenever she was doing anything with their son. Seeing her interact with his baby, the baby she’d carried and given birth to was purely amazing and he loved watching it. He made her a tea, grabbed himself another beer and then sat down next to her as she finished up feeding and he offered to take Alex to wind him as she sorted herself out and had her drink. Eventually he settled again and went back down, leaving the two of them to snuggle up on the couch. They stayed together for half an hour or so before Fliss yawned and said she needed to sleep.

“I’ll take him up. You coming?” she asked.

“I’ll be up shortly.” Frank promised as she sat up, cracking her neck.

“You gonna watch porn and jerk off?” She teased and Frank sighed, shooting her a look.

“You’re not funny.”

“Not trying to be.” She shrugged, leaning over to kiss him softly.

“What would you do if I was?” He mumbled against her lips and she paused, pulling back slightly, arching her eyebrows.

“Well, I’d probably have to remind you that the real thing is much better.” She said, her hand gently cupping at his crotch.

“Okay, you need to stop.” Frank’s voice was a low whisper before he let out a groan as she ignored him completely, her grip growing harder. His hand wrapped gently around her wrist. “Lissy, seriously…” “Oh, shut up.” She mumbled, before she shook off his grip and snaked her hand into the waistband of his shorts, taking his hardening member in her hand. She gave it a light pump or two before she pulled at his shorts, and he lifted his hips slightly to allow her to pull them down.

“Baby, seriously, you don’t-.” His protests died in his throat as Fliss bent down and took him to the back of hers.

*****

“Well, I’m happy that everything seems ok and back to normal.” The Ob Gyn smiled at Fliss as she moved away from where she had been examining her “So if you feel ok in yourself, no physical pain, nothing…” “Nope, nothing at all.” Fliss shook her head

“Well then Miss Gallagher your life can go back to normal” she smiled, “Well, as normal as it is 6 weeks post giving birth.”

Fliss smiled “So I can start riding again?”

“Yup, as long as you make sure you take it easy. As with anything, you won’t have used certain muscles in a while so be careful.”

“Ok.” Fliss nodded.

“Are you going to continue breast feeding?” the woman asked and Fliss nodded.

“Yeah, which is something I wanted to talk to you about. What contraception can I use?”

“There’s condoms obviously, I can prescribe the mini pill or there’s the IUD.”

“Is an IUD safe?” Fliss asked, “I don’t want to use condoms and to be honest, with my baby brain I’ll probably end up forgetting my pill. That’s what led us here in the first place and that was before I’d had a baby.”

The Doctor chuckled. “To be honest, the most effective contraceptives are intrauterine devices and they’re perfectly safe despite what you might read on the internet. The Mirena IUD releases a very small amount of hormone into the uterus, where it works locally and it won’t affect the quality and quantity of breast milk, and it’s also safe and effective for five years. It’s a good choice, one I prefer to recommend when I can.”

Fliss nodded “Ok, that seems like a good choice. How do I get one fit?”

“I can do it now if you want.” The woman smiled “And the best bit is it works immediately.” “Straight away?” Fliss looked at her “So…” “Yep.” The Ob Gyn smiled “You can go straight home and jump his bones if you so wish.”

Fliss laughed, and contemplated the woman’s words for a second. She did want. Truth be told she’d been low key horny since she’d blown Frank off on the couch a fortnight or so ago, but hadn’t wanted to rush anything, choosing to wait instead for the all clear at her 6 week check-up. Now, well, there was nothing stopping them getting physically close again and the thought drew a smile to her face. She couldn’t wait to have her Sailor holding her again.

“Okay, yeah” She nodded to the woman who smiled.

“I’ll sort the paper work, grab my kit and be right back.” The doctor smiled.

Driving home Fliss had all sorts of thoughts about how to make their night special. Romantic candles perhaps, maybe a little nice underwear…that is if she could find any that fit her still.

But of course, best laid plans and all that. In reality, the evening unfolded like any other, with shitty diapers, breast pumping, and a dinner eaten while taking turns bouncing a six week old baby in their laps as he had chosen that particular night to be awkward about settling after his feed, it was almost as if he could sense what Fliss had in mind and was doing his best to veto her plans.

Around nine pm once Mary was in bed and Alex had been bathed, changed and fed, Fliss slipped away to prepare her body for its first round of postnatal coitus. She took a bath to unwind and shaved her armpits and legs. She also considered tackling her lady bush, but realized that her razor wasn’t sharp enough for that jungle right now so Frank was just going to have to deal with the crotch afro if he wanted a bit.

She climbed out of the bath and wrapped herself in her robe, heading into the bedroom where she dried off and set about her skin care routine before she decided to go the whole hog and paint her toenails a deep crimson colour, replacing the shimmery baby pink that she had done a few weeks ago as celebration she could finally see her damned feet again. Then she shed her robe and stole a quick look in the mirror. All things considered she conceded she didn’t look too bad. She wasn’t so much bothered by the extra pounds but more so slightly disturbed by the way they seemed to have positioned themselves on her body. It was almost like small, flesh-coloured bread loaves stapled to her belly. But, like she knew she could sort most of that out with riding and getting more active again, what she wasn’t sure exercise would do anything for was her breasts. They were large, which in itself wasn’t a problem, on the contrary in fact, as Frank was a self-proclaimed boob man, but her nipples had starburst over her breasts without any clearly definitive ending points. She was debating whether or not to try and put a little foundation on them, to tone down the nipple extravaganza but stopped herself, realising she was being utterly fucking ridiculous.

This was Frank she was preparing for. The man she’d been with for years, her fiancée whose baby she had carried and given birth to. And she knew he loved her, starfish nips or not.

She set about finding some suitable underwear. She had a few nice sets, some she had bought for herself, some Frank had purchased for her but as she laid them out on the bed she knew she wouldn’t feel comfortable in any of them. Continuing her search she finally found a pair of black lace briefs that skated along her ass cheeks and a black sheer negligee that she had worn a few times pre- pregnancy, in particular one very raunchy night where she’d surprised Frank by wearing it in the kitchen one evening when Mary had been at Roberta’s, cooking their dinner as if it was perfectly normal to be dressed that way. Dinner had ended up burnt, the smoke detectors going off, and they’d sat curled up with a Thai take out and all the windows open in an attempt to rid the place of the smell of cremated lamb chops and potatoes.

She shimmied into it, and to her delight it fit, even if her breasts were a little larger. They spilled over the top but her cleavage looked Elizabethan in a sexy way, and she grinned as she knew exactly what Frank was going to say about that. Finally, she removed her hair form its high bun, which had served nicely to give it some volume and fluffed it up and decided that the overall effect was actually pretty good.

She lay back on the bed, grabbed her phone and turned it into selfie mode, angling it just right so that she could get the full effect before she checked it, and fired it to Frank with a downright filthy message accompanying it and lay back to wait.

***** Frank had nodded when Fliss had said she was tired and needed to go to bed, and promised he’d be up in an hour or so, wanting to give her the time to just unwind. She’d been for her 6 week check-up and had assured him that everything was fine, but her general demeanour told him she was keeping something from him.

Trying not to think about it too much, he settled Alex down and flicked over to catch a re-run of Game of Thrones. It was the Battle Of The Bastards, his favourite episode of the entire series, and he was just mumbling to himself, calling Rickon Stark a ‘dumb ass mother fucker’ for not zig-zagging when his phone went. He absentmindedly reached for it, wondering if it was Simon telling him he’d finally grown a pair of balls and proposed, but it wasn’t, it was Fliss.

He opened the message and as soon as he saw the image he spluttered and the soda he had just taken a drink of dribbled straight down his shirt.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” He choked, wiping at the spilled Fanta, as he stared at the photo. His girl was led on the bed, in a sheer negligee, her hair fanning over the pillow, eyes bright and mischievous and the shot was angled to give a perfect shot of the top of her cleavage. It was accompanied with the words. “Oh I forgot to tell you, your favourite legs are back open for business…”

“You devious little minx, Miss Gallagher.” He mumbled, suddenly understanding exactly what it as she’d been hiding from him, and his cock stirred in his pants. In a flash her was up off the sofa, shoving Thor out of the door so he could pee before he locked up, gathered Alex in his arms and made his way up the stairs as fast as he could, letting the dog into Mary’s room as he was scrambling at the door to get in.

“What kept you?” Fliss asked as he walked into the room, gently placing Alex in the bedside crib, making sure the blankets were arranged carefully.

“Well you kinda caught me off guard.” He smirked, lifting an eyebrow as he gently lowered himself over her on the bed, tugging her hips and pulling her down slightly before he propped himself up on his elbows, caging her between his arms and legs. “You look sexy as fuck, momma bear.” Fliss let out a grin as his lips met hers, and his eyes lowered to her cleavage and he gave a groan. “And I’m not supposed to touch these?”

“No.”

“At all?”

“Not unless you want a face full of milk.” She looked at him.

“Is it strange I find that a little kinky?” Frank grinned and she blinked, shaking her head with a snort.

“You have issues.”

“Yeah and right now they’re in the trouser department.” He mumbled, dropping his lips to hers “I nearly choked when you sent me that message.”

“You like?” She purred gently and he let out another groan and nodded.

“I did, I do. A lot.” His lips pressed to hers again. The kiss quickly became heated, his hands tangling in her hair has he held her head still, and then he felt her pull away a little, and he frowned as she looked at him, biting her lip.

“What’s wrong?”

"Is it weird that we’re like gonna have sex with our baby in the same room? Can he see us?” she asked, her head rolling to look at Alex. "No, he can't even focus yet, and it’s not weird. I’m a modern man.” Frank replied, his hand cupping her cheek and turning her face back to his. “This is how it’s done. It’s probably very European of us actually." "Frank I'm from England." She rolled her eyes. "Lissy." Frank sighed softly, “Look, if you don't wanna..."

“No I do, I really do.” She took a deep breath “Sorry, I just…” “It’s okay.” He gave her a soft smile, before his lips found hers again. In between the dizzying kisses Frank moved his right hand, his fingers gently tracing up the outside of her thigh and under the hem of the sheer lace slip she was wearing, and his mouth moved to lightly trail kisses across her bare collar bone. With a soft sigh she nodded, acknowledging his unasked question and his lips moved downwards peppering warm, open mouthed pecks across the swell of her cleavage, careful to take his time and stay gentle. Fliss let out a shaky whisper of his name, her hands tangling into his hair as he moved his affections upwards slightly, skimming his nose up her sternum, nudging her chin back so he could turn his affections back to her neck. This time her gentle whisper became a loud groan which she stifled with her hand as he nipped at her neck and he felt her shiver underneath him.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, looking down at her. She nodded and with a wicked quirk of his eyebrow he stood up, scrambling out of his clothes as fast as he could before he fell forwards again, his hands pulling down her underwear, lips kissing at the spot just below her ear.

Fliss was utterly gone now, consumed by the sensations she hadn’t felt in so long and she tilted her head back, sighing softly as Frank continued to nibble at her neck, settling himself above her. His fingers gently dropped between her legs and he felt her slick against the tips as he gently coaxed at her clit, continuing until she was nothing short of a writhing mess clawing at his back, aching for him. They locked eyes as he took her left hand in his, and slowly worked into her, both moaning simultaneously at the sensation, Fliss’ eyelids fluttering shut as she felt him fill her before the flickered open again and she looked up at him.

“Go steady.” She whispered and, with a gentle nod, Frank began to move his hips slowly, displaying nothing but absolute tenderness in his thrusts which weren’t measured in the slightest. His free hand kept hold of her hip, keeping her as close as she could possibly be, enjoying the sensation of once more being inside her, in top of her, surrounded by her.

Meanwhile, Fliss was just as lost, but in her own thoughts. For some reason as good as she had felt before, now she was starting to panic a little, that stupid voice in her head mumbling all sorts of dumbass thoughts.

Okay, this feels familiar. Sex feels the same. Does it feel the same for him? Is he taking longer than normal? Oh shit, maybe I’m super stretched out and it’s terrible. Maybe I’m different now, and I’ll never be as good. Maybe I was never THAT good to start with though? I’ll ask… “Is it good? Is it the same as it was?” She gasped out and Frank stilled, looking down at her.

“What?” He panted slightly. "I asked does it feel the same? I mean..." Frank leaned down, gently rubbing his nose against hers. “It’s great … it feels really good.” He reassured her and she nodded.

“Okay, you can go a bit faster…”

“I don’t want to.” He mumbled, giving her a deep kiss. And he didn’t. He was enjoying the slowness of it all, and he kept his lazy thrusts aimed perfectly on her spot, drawing those delectable sounds from her throat. Fliss’ senses were on fire, and she broke the long, lazy kiss that they were sharing to stifle a moan against his shoulder when she felt herself starting to unravel.

And then…

A loud cry came from the basinet. They both stilled, looked at one another, and glanced over to the side of the bed. Silence, no movement bar the waving of a little arm.

"He's going to cry.” Fliss stuttered between her deep breathing “If he cries, do we stop? Is it child abuse if we keep going until we finish?" "He's stopped." Frank turned his head back to her. “What if there's something wrong and we’re here just boning."

Frank shut her up with a languid roll of his hips and she gave a soft gasp, her hands grasping at his biceps.

“Liss, he’s fine.”

“'We’re the kind of negligent parents…oh fuck.” She whimpered as he tilted his hips again. “The one’s you’d see in a movie like Trainspotting."

He shook his head, pulling out a little before he sank back into her, her body moving with his slightly and she looked up at him.

“When the police ask what happened, do we lie? Or do we say we were having sex while our baby quietly suffocated a few feet away?”

“For fucks sake Lissy.” Frank spluttered in frustration. “You gave me a blow job the other week on the sofa and he was asleep in the basket on the coffee table.”

“That was different” “How?”

“We were on the couch and I wasn't naked.” “You’re not naked now.” He shook his head. “Will you shut up and let me make you feel good?” Her random, stupid worries stopped and she closed her eyes, nodding, and he started his movements again. It didn’t take him long to get them back to where they were, his thrusts deep and he picked up his pace ever so slightly, her hands flying to his bare back as she gripped him tighter, wanting to feel all of him, as close as she possibly could. His lips found hers and she took the kiss, it left her breathless as the heat began to rise in her belly and she let out a soft moan, which he swallowed with his mouth where it morphed into his own low, mumble of her name as he felt her clench around him.

The sheets rustled underneath them both as their pace continued slow and languid until the very end when Fliss’ let her head tip back, her throat bared to Frank in utter bliss as she came hard, the world spinning around her, her moans soft and breathy as her legs trembled, sheer pleasure spearing through her entire body. At that, after actively fighting back his high for what felt like an age, Frank gave a low grunt which tuned into a gasp as he clung to his girl, spilling himself into her, his hips slowing to a stop as he collapsed forward.

“That was fucking great.” His voice was muffled as his face pressed into her neck, and Fliss felt herself flush. She let out a chuckle as her hands gently slid up his back and into his hair.

“Yeah, we still got it Sailor.” She quipped and it was Frank’s turn to chuckle as he moved and pressed a soft kiss to her lips.

And then Alex did erupt into a full on screaming fit. Frank found himself thanking his son that he’d at least had the good grace to wait until he’d finished. He rolled off Fliss, landing on his back, hand running through his hair as she sat up and scooped Alex into her arms, sitting up against the headboard with him held to her, in the bed where his parents’ sinful deeds were likely still detectable. Frank looked at her, then to Alex whose tiny face was creased up in a loud wail as Fliss held him to her chest, trying to soothe him and he arched an eyebrow. "I take it the post sex snuggling is out?"

**** Chapter 13

#riding on #frank adler #frank adler x ofc #frank adler x original female character #gifted #gifted fan fic #chris evans #chris evans characters

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1dffchallenges · 4 years

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It’s All Happening

Written By: @luminescencefics

Characters: Frankie/Harry

Summary: If Frankie Goodhart had one secret in her life, it would be that she spent her summer writing album reviews to Rolling Stone, hoping one day they’d give her a shot. If she had a second secret in her life, it would be that she was constantly chasing love, never knowing what it felt like to be truly immersed in another person. She blames this on her ever-growing record collection filled with love songs.

Harry Styles had a lot of secrets in his life, but if he had to share one, it would be that he was trying his hardest to balance his life while being on the road with his band. Just as he’s starting to feel like he’s begun to balance the ever-shifting scales of his life, Frankie shows up, and suddenly he doesn’t want to keep his secrets hidden any longer.

Well, except one.

Inspired by Almost Famous, a 70s au about a girl whose job required her to ask the hard-hitting questions and a boy who did everything he could to avoid them.

March 1973 - entry no. 1

Most mornings in the Goodhart household typically started with some sort of screaming match between Frankie’s mother and her older sister, Mary. You see, Mary had a penchant for rebellious behavior, or so their mother believed. She liked listening to rock music and kissing her boyfriend Greg outside in his Chevrolet Nova past curfew. Mary graduated high school four years before Frankie did, and her mother had begged her to go to college. But instead, Mary took that time to “find herself,” and put off enrolling into schools on the west coast in favor of finding her own place in the world.

Cynthia Goodhart had a lot of rules in their household, but two that stood out the most (and practically ruined Mary’s life) were: no rock music and no popular culture influences. Cynthia believed that her children did not need those things to rot their brain, and instead played classical music and watched films that she had seen numerous times before to ensure they were censored appropriately and recently introduced soy to their diets.

“This is why dad left you!” Mary would say whenever their mother would find a hidden record that went against her arbitrary rules.

“You’re so ungrateful, I didn’t raise you to be so cruel!” Her mother would respond, and Frankie would sit on the top of the carpeted stairs and watch it all unravel below her.

Truth is, Frankie didn’t know why their dad left. She was too young to remember what life was like with him around, but Mary always told her that it was their mother who drove him away with her incessant rules and authoritative outlook on life.

“I’m never going to end up like her, Frankie,” Mary would say after their fight, squeezed beside her little sister in her twin bed. Frankie would just hold her hand tightly and agree, even though she didn’t really think her mother was all that bad.

A few weeks later when Mary announces that she’s leaving Santa Monica and going to San Francisco to become a stewardess, Frankie isn’t all that surprised. It was only a matter of time until Mary left. Their mother didn’t take this well, of course. She wanted Mary to go to college and find a nice boy to start a family with. She didn’t want her running off to San Francisco with Greg to travel a world so far from what she had known.

Before the Chevrolet Nova skids out of the driveway and Frankie never sees her sister again, Mary runs up to her and gives her the tightest hug she could muster. Frankie holds her with all of her grip, wishing that she didn’t feel that she had to run away in order to be her own person. But it was out of Frankie’s control, so she could only wish the best for her older sister.

“Frankie,” Mary whispers in her ear, “look under my bed. That suitcase is yours. Everything you’ve ever wanted to know, every question you have, the answers are there. I love you. I always have.”

After Mary is long gone and her mother has cried out all of her tears, Frankie slips into her sister’s room and lifts up the ruffled bedskirt to find an old brown leather suitcase. She opens it and inside is Mary’s secret cache of rock albums spanning decades. Frankie heaves it into her room and plucks Tommy by The Who on her record player and plays it softly, and in that moment she feels as if her life is finally starting.

***

May 1973 - entry no. 2

Frankie was sitting in her bedroom listening to

Exile on Main St.

by the Rolling Stones trying to clear her head. She was suffering from a bit of writer’s block, and she was feeling a bit uninspired at the moment.

During the middle of “Torn and Frayed,” Frankie hears the landline start ringing from the kitchen downstairs. Her mother was currently in the shower, and deeming the call to be rather important as it was after dinner time, Frankie trudges downstairs to answer before the ringing has ceased.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Lester Bangs here. Is this Frankie Goodhart?” A deep voice says on the other line.

Frankie pauses, scrolling through the rolodex in her brain trying to remember if she knew anybody with that name. Suddenly, Frankie sucks in a breath, realization dawning on her.

“Hello? Do I have the wrong number or something?” The voice repeated, clearly losing patience. Frankie was currently speaking to the Lester Bangs, top music editor at Rolling Stone magazine. Also known as, the name she had scribbled on the past fifteen manilla envelopes she sent out to the magazine up in San Francisco.

“Er, yes. Hi, this is she,” Frankie mutters, trying to sound sophisticated.

“Awesome. I work at Rolling Stone and we just came across your review for Bowie’s Aladdin Sane record. Ace work,” Lester says quickly, and Frankie can feel her heartbeat in her throat.

“Oh cool. Thank you,” Frankie replies, quietly jumping up and down on the tile flooring of her kitchen.

“Are you currently writing for any other publication? Please don’t tell me those bastards over at Creem snatched you up,” Lester asks.

“No, uh, nothing like that. Just freelancing, at the, er, current moment,” Frankie says. She lowers her voice an octave so she doesn’t sound like the eighteen year old high school graduate she clearly was. She was sure that Rolling Stone would want nothing to do with her if they knew the truth.

“Good to hear. On the envelope in front of me it says you're based out in Santa Monica. Tonight there’s a show at The Troubadour. The Nocturnals are performing and if you’re up for it, we’ll give you fifty dollars to write a review on it. Eight hundred words.” Lester spoke so quickly that Frankie couldn’t even discern what he was actually saying to her.

The Troubadour. A live show. The Nocturnals. Fifty dollars.

The words replayed over and over in her mind like a broken record. She had no idea that this could even happen to her. Before she could reply, Lester spoke again.

“Fine. Seventy dollars, but I can’t go any higher,” he sounded exasperated with a hint of desperation laced in between.

Just as Frankie was about to respond with a resonant yes, she hears her mother’s voice on the other telephone from her bedroom through the tinny speakers.

“Francine? Who on earth are you speaking to at this time?”

Frankie’s heart drops.

“Uh… Hello?” Lester asks, completely confused as to why there were two voices on the line. Before her mother could blow her cover, Frankie drops the receiver onto the kitchen counter and sprints upstairs to her mother’s bedroom, slamming her fingers on the lever to end the call.

“It’s a friend from school. Sorry it’s a late call, I’ll get off the phone in a minute,” Frankie rushes out, before turning back on her heel and grabbing the other telephone in the kitchen.

“Hi Lester, sorry, that was my, uh, assistant. Yeah. She’s sort of new at answering the phones and such,” Frankie shoots out quickly, lying straight through her teeth.

She needed this phone call to end immediately.

“No worries. I’ll expect a review mailed over by tomorrow so it’s on my desk by Monday morning. Any questions?” Lester asks in a way that sounded like he really didn’t have the time to answer.

“Nope. Sounds good,” Frankie says sounding completely out of breath.

“Expect to hear from me on Monday. Good luck,” Lester says, hanging up before Frankie could even consider responding.

Frankie’s first reaction was to start squealing in excitement. The second was, shit, what am I supposed to say to my mother?

***

Somehow, Frankie convinces her mother to drive her down Sunset Strip towards The Troubadour for the live show. If there’s one thing Frankie Goodhart could never do in this world, it would be to hurt her mother. Granted, she knows her rules are a bit obscene and that she can be a bit overbearing at times, but at the end of the day, she was her mother. And that was the main difference between Frankie and Mary—Mary thought running away was the answer to everything whereas Frankie believed honesty was most important.

Which is why Frankie was currently sitting in the front seat of her mother’s baby blue Lincoln Continental parked illegally across the street from the concert venue. She had spilled the beans about her writing cohorts to Rolling Stone, and even though her mother didn’t like the idea of it, she appreciated the fact that Frankie was trying to make something of herself. And there’s no denying that seventy dollars was a lot of money for any eighteen-year-old.

“Please make good choices. I’ll be here to pick you up at ten on the dot,” her mother says, staring at Frankie sharply.

“I will, mom.” Frankie makes a move for the door handle, watching as the crowd of teenagers and twenty-somethings huddle towards the front entrance. It’s loud and she can smell cigarette smoke and marijuana in the air. She knows her mother can too, and she knows that she’s about two minutes away from a full-blown heart attack, so before she can escape the confines of the car, she gives her mother a gentle reassuring squeeze.

With her tape recorder in one hand and her pocket-sized notebook in the other, Frankie starts walking towards the front entrance. Before she can get too far, she hears her mother bark out one last order.

“And Francine? NO DRUGS!”

Frankie feels her cheeks burn up as the people in front of her turn around and snicker at her mother’s frame hanging out of the Continental. They jokingly repeat her mother’s warning, with some even holding up a lit joint at her, cackling away.

If there was a hole in the pavement, Frankie would admittedly jump into it.

She makes her way to the front entrance with no luck. The show was sold out, and she didn’t have a ticket. Before Frankie can start to panic, she reassess the venue and sees that around the back there was some sort of loading dock. She turns the corner and is situated at the top of a ramp, with a group of three girls at the bottom giggling to themselves near a steel door.

“Are you new?” Frankie hears a voice from behind her.

She turns and is face to face with one of the most beautiful girls she’s ever seen in her life. Her blonde hair is long and curly, cascading over her shoulders and down her back effortlessly, ending just above two hollow dimples. The girl towers over Frankie, and when she looks down at her glittery go-go boots she understands why. Her long legs are toned and smooth underneath her leather mini skirt. She’s wearing a silver halter top that is so sheer Frankie can see her nipples through the thin layer of material. Over top is a pink velvet trench coat with frills on the lining, a garment completely inappropriate for the California heat in the beginning of summer.

That doesn’t matter though, because this girl emits confidence that is almost palpable. Frankie compares her own outfit to this girl’s, her long ivory legs and knobby knees hidden beneath her flared denim bell bottoms, her pointed boots with the small heel making her seem taller than she actually was. Her white cropped t-shirt is almost childlike compared to this girl’s daring choice, and when Frankie looks up she’s a bit embarrassed to be seen with her.

“Uh, I guess. I’m supposed to be writing an article about The Nocturnals for Rolling Stone, but I found out a bit late and I don’t have a ticket,” Frankie explains, holding up her tape recorder lamely. She really wishes she thought this entire thing through.

“Ooh, a journalist,” the girl echoes, reaching into her translucent plastic purse to grab a cigarette. She’s effortlessly cool in a way that should be intimidating to Frankie, but for some unknown reason she emits warmth.

“Cherry!” Frankie hears from down below the ramp. Suddenly the squealing trio starts running up the pavement and Frankie watches as the curly blonde skips down to meet them in a group hug. They’re all wearing some sort of sequinned ensemble, and Frankie can only assume that they’re groupies.

“Who’s this, Cherry?” A girl with jet-black hair and deep brown eyes asks, pointing at Frankie. Her long fingers are covered in jeweled rings and she has a fair amount of kohl liner surrounding her eyes. She’s wearing leather and is not as warm as the blonde girl.

“I’m not sure. I think she’s new, girls,” the blonde girl, presumably Cherry, says. She sounds much older than she looks and it’s almost obvious that she’s the ring leader of this troupe of glittery girls.

“I’m a journalist. I’m not a, uh, grou…” the words fall out of Frankie’s lips before she can finish the sentence. The girls in front of her hang their mouths open in shock, and Frankie feels as if she has said the wrong thing. The blonde girl has a hint of a smile on her face, as if the whole interaction is amusing to her.

“Don’t you dare say groupie!” The black-haired girl shrieks, practically jumping out of her skin.

Frankie feels bad, suddenly.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that, I mean I just—”

“—Assumed?” Cherry finishes for her.

Frankie shrugs her shoulders because she isn’t sure what to say. She feels bad for assuming the worst out of these girls, but she really couldn’t blame herself considering they were standing at a back entrance wearing far too much eye makeup than they should be. Frankie hated to judge people, because she didn’t deem it fair. But, she genuinely didn’t know any better. And she really didn’t think that these girls would be offended.

“You’re talking to Cherry Bomb here. She changed the groupie way of life forever. Before Cherry, girls were just throwing themselves at rockstars and sleeping with them just for the hell of it. Cherry here inspires people, man. They write songs about her! It’s much deeper than just sex, honey,” the girl with black hair says, pointing at Cherry as if she was a fine painting in a museum that you weren’t allowed to touch.

In some ways, she sort of was like that.

Cherry just smiles. “It’s about the connection. You’ll see,” she says.

Before Frankie could apologize again and leave, the large steel door opens and another pretty girl with brown hair and shiny pants comes out, holding a bottle of champagne in one hand and a cluster of backstage passes in the other. The girls all start running towards the door, and Frankie is about to turn around in defeat before she feels a small hand latch onto her forearm.

“Aren’t you coming?” Cherry asks with a grin.

Before she could respond, Cherry tugs on her arm and the two girls are running through the steel door into the large venue. The other four girls start walking ahead, sharing sips from the large bottle of champagne, but Cherry hangs back, slowing her strides so she’s matching Frankie’s slow gait.

“So, what do I call you?” Cherry asks as they continue walking down a long hallway.

“Frankie,” she responds, looking up into Cherry’s silver eyes. “What do I call you?”

Cherry laughs. “Cherry should be fine,” she says, her words twisting as if they were a riddle.

Before Frankie could respond, they’re suddenly being thrust into a much smaller room. The air is stale with cigarette smoke and the effervescent scent of boy. Inside the makeshift dressing room, Frankie recognizes the girls from outside lounging around men of different ages. They’re laughing and drinking straight liquor from the bottle and Frankie tries her hardest to conceal her uneasiness.

Because in front of her were The Nocturnals, and she had a job to do.

She notices the drummer and the bassist, Jett and Rod, sitting on a torn up leather couch sharing a joint between the two all while entertaining Cherry’s friends. A girl with hair as dark as coals sits in front of a mirror applying red lipstick and Frankie recognizes her as the keyboardist and backing vocalist, Veronica—the only female in the band. A man with dark green eyes and long brown hair looks up and smiles when Cherry walks into the room, and Frankie realizes that he is Eddie, the lead guitarist.

Frankie did her research.

Before she could start conducting her interviews, a husky voice from the other side of the room calls out, stopping Frankie dead in her tracks.

“Cher, who’s your friend?” he asks.

Frankie’s head snaps up and immediately her blue eyes latch onto a pair of green. They’re much lighter than Eddie’s, and if Frankie was standing closer, she would be able to see the turquoise ring that outlined his pupil. His hair is shorter than the rest of the men in the band, albeit still curling around the tops of his ears. He’s the only member of The Nocturnals with a bare face, sans facial hair, and Frankie is taken aback by his youthful features. He’s wearing white wide-legged trousers and a bright pink shirt tucked under the waistband, barely buttoned up, showcasing his toned stomach and chest. His sleeves are rolled up and Frankie can almost make out the shapes of his tattoos, but before she can inspect them further, she’s completely aware that she’s been staring at him far too long.

Him, also known as Harry Styles, the lead singer of The Nocturnals.

Cherry hasn’t said anything, but with one look in her silver eyes, she’s said an entire string of words to Frankie without even opening her mouth.

Frankie suddenly feels a fire start to grow in her stomach.

“Harry, this is my friend Frankie. She’s a journalist,” Cherry announces loud enough for the rest of the room to hear over the beginning riffs of the opening band’s first song.

“A journalist?! Who let her in? She’s the enemy!” Eddie yells over from the couch. It’s clear that the rest of the band feel the same way about having a reporter around, and Frankie’s confidence suddenly starts wavering.

“Oi, calm down Eddie. She looks harmless enough,” Harry says slowly, suddenly appearing right in front of her. His voice is low and his eyes have a twinkle to them and Frankie’s throat has become increasingly dry.

“Hi Frankie, I’m Harry. Nice to meet you,” he says, towering above her from his stance.

Frankie shoots her arm out for a handshake. “Hi Harry. Nice to meet you, too.” His hands feel warm in her grasp and she’s shaking his so hard that the bangles on her wrists clang together like tambourines.

“If you have the time, I’d love to ask you a few questions before you—”

“—Five minutes!” A voice interrupts. Instantly, the band starts standing up and running around the room, grabbing various instruments and beginning to tune them accordingly. Roadies come in to grab amplifiers and microphone stands, and everything starts twirling together like a whirlwind and Frankie is losing grasp on what she’s supposed to be doing here in the first place.

The band starts walking towards the stage and Cherry grabs Frankie’s arm again, giggling a bit to herself. They catch up to Jett, and Frankie can see through his red-rimmed eyes and his glazed over stare that he’s stoned out of his mind, but he smiles at her and gives her a small nod, and Frankie feels a bit more welcomed.

“So who do you write for?” he asks, grabbing his drumsticks from the back pocket of his blue jeans and running his fingers over the shiny wood.

“Rolling Stone,” Frankie replies quickly.

He stops walking for a moment and looks up with wide eyes. “No shit? I’ll come find you after the show. Give ya a real interview,” he says excitedly, before giving her one last parting nod and approaching the rest of the band.

Frankie feels a bit out of sorts, but Cherry is still standing by her side and she feels an odd sense of comfort in that. The band is doing some sort of pre-show ritual and Frankie starts scribbling it all down in her notebook because it seems like the right thing to do. She watches the huddle break apart in front of her, and the band starts walking out onto the dimly lit stage.

She can hear the roars of the crowd, can practically feel them vibrating through the thick leather of her boots. And just before Harry steps on stage, he looks over his shoulder and gives her a wink, and the fire inside Frankie’s stomach turns into a full-blown blaze.

***

The show is everything and more. Frankie started by lingering in the background, letting the rest of the friends of the band stand closer to the side stage viewing area. After their first song was over and the crowd was cheering louder than anything Frankie had ever heard before, she feels Cherry drag her towards the front where she can get a better view of the band.

“How are you supposed to write an article standing all the way back there?” Cherry asks with a grin. They’re standing so close together that Frankie can feel the frills on her jacket tickling her cheekbones, but she doesn’t mind.

“Good evening, everybody,” Harry says after they’ve finished their first song of the night. He’s nothing but confident up there, a true frontman, and Frankie is a little bit in awe of him. “We’re The Nocturnals. I hope you like this next one,” he says and the crowd cheers. He looks over towards Eddie with a nod and he starts picking at the fret, playing a loud solo before the drums crash in and the second song starts.

It’s the third single off of their album and Frankie isn’t ashamed that she knows all the words. She would be lying if she didn’t think it was a good album. She remembers running to the other end of the boulevard into Tower Records before they closed to purchase it. Frankie must have played it for a week straight on the record player in her room.

Frankie starts scribbling in her journal, balancing on one foot while her knee is raised in a ninety degree angle acting as a makeshift desk. Her head is darting up, down, making sure not to miss a moment, but also making sure she’s capturing it all for the article.

“Enough of that, Frankie. Just watch,” Cherry says, whispering in her ear. Her small hands put pressure on the notebook over Frankie’s thigh, pressing down so her boot-clad feet touch the ground again.

“But I have to—”

“—Just watch. It’s the best way to experience the music.”

And Frankie does just that.

***

The show finishes with an encore of their number one hit single, “Too Much.” It’s electrifying and Frankie is glad that she listened to Cherry’s advice and watched the entire thing with wide eyes, remembering every moment of it. She could feel everything—the thumping of the bass, the rattling of the cymbals, the zing of the keyboards. But Harry’s voice—that was something she couldn’t wait to write about.

Frankie’s raking through the thesaurus in her mind trying to think of other words to describe his voice. She scribbles down guttural and gravelly, grating and gruff, throaty and raspy before she’s hearing it right in front of her.

“Did you enjoy the show?” he asks, and Frankie is trying her best not to stare at the sweat dripping down the sides of his forehead, past his cheekbone, and pooling at his deep collarbones.

She blinks.

“It was amazing. Perfect, almost,” she replies.

“Almost?” Harry repeats, tilting his head downwards. Frankie watches as a bead of sweat travels down the bridge of his nose and she feels the warmest she’s ever felt this entire night.

Frankie reaches out to grab her tape recorder. Just as her finger is hovering over the record button, Harry shakes his head, tutting in disapproval.

“Not now.” And with that he walks away.

Frankie searches around for Jett, remembering that he promised her an interview after the show. Surprisingly, it goes a lot better than her attempt with Harry, and not long after, Rod decides to pitch in and add some remarks about the performance. Reapplying her makeup from the vanity behind the group, Veronica agrees to speak to Frankie and somehow she’s surprised that this group of people who once called her the enemy suddenly have an inkling to speak to her.

Harry reemerges suddenly, swapping out his pink dress shirt for a black one. It still isn’t buttoned appropriately, and he’s still looking at her with a twinkle in his emerald eyes that Frankie has never seen before. She watches as one of Cherry’s friends tries to give him attention, but his eyes are locked on Frankie’s, and she knows that this is the moment she needs to get his interview before the clock strikes ten.

“Do you have time to talk?” Frankie asks, approaching the pair cautiously.

The auburn haired girl rolls her eyes, but Harry just nods, shooing her away. Frankie feels bad.

They sit in the farthest corner of the room, her notepad and pen at the ready, her finger hovering over the record button. Harry’s watching her intently, inspecting her close enough that he can see the nervous shake of her hand, the small quiver of her lip.

“So, what has inspired you to make music?” Frankie asks, wasting no time.

Harry blows out a breath. “That’s the first question you ask me?” He reaches his hand out for the bottle of whiskey on the table, slugging it without pouring it into a glass.

“Well, on your debut album your song ‘1969’ clearly comes from personal—”

“—What inspired you to write?” Harry asks, completely ignoring Frankie’s question.

“Excuse me?” She says, completely thrown off guard.

Harry just shrugs his shoulders, smirking at her from his position on the leather seat. He takes another swig from the bottle and Frankie tries not to stare at his bottom lip that has become shinier from the liquor.

“I’m the one meant to be interviewing you, Harry,” Frankie says shyly.

“What if I want to know more about you, Franks?” His gaze is unwavering and Frankie is sure he can see the flush working its way up her neck, before settling over her freckled cheeks.

Before she could respond or even begin to pry into the mysterious mind of the frontman of The Nocturnals, Frankie chances a glance over at the clock and sees that it’s 9:58.

Shit. Her mother.

“What?” Harry asks with a chuckle.

Shit. Frankie said that outloud.

“Nothing. I just have to go,” she says quickly, closing her notebook and tucking her pencil behind her right ear. She presses the pause button on her tape recorder, holding it tightly in her hand until her knuckles turn white.

“You have to leave? Already?” Harry’s eyes are wide at Frankie’s fumbling, and for once he’s actually confused that a girl who looks like her isn’t throwing herself at him.

“Yeah. Thanks for the interview, even though I can probably only quote a few words,” Frankie says offhandedly. She stands up and Harry follows suit. She’s not sure what type of parting she should give him, so she settles with an awkward wave, before running out of the dressing room and back through the steel door.

She can hear the honking of the Continental from the same illegal parking spot, and Frankie sighs as she starts picking up her speed on the loading dock, knowing that the longer she takes to reach her mother, the more frantic the honking will become.

“Frankie! Wait up!”

Frankie turns around and sees that Cherry and her wild blonde hair are running up to her. Frankie looks at Cherry’s hands, wondering if she had left something backstage. But when she’s standing in front of her, she is empty handed. Cherry reaches a small hand out and grabs the pencil behind Frankie’s ear, before stealing her notebook from her hand and flipping open to an empty page.

“You need to call me,” Cherry announces once she’s done scribbling her phone number down. She returns all of Frankie’s items back to their original place.

“Really?” Frankie asks, completely shocked. She couldn’t picture a world where a girl like Cherry would ever even consider being her friend.

“I need a new crowd,” Cherry says with a shrug.

Frankie just smiles, nodding her head with a promise to call her. She hears the Continental honking again but chooses to ignore it. Instead she watches Cherry walk backwards down the loading dock, giving Frankie the most infectious smile she’s ever seen.

“Can’t you feel it, Frankie?! It’s all happening!” Cherry’s arms are outstretched and she starts twirling around, before giving one last wink and walking through the steel door once again.

Frankie can feel it. It’s all happening.

***

June 1973 - entry no. 3

On Monday morning Frankie receives a call from Lester Bangs praising her for her review about The Nocturnals show. It went so well that Lester and the other music editors at Rolling Stone wanted to send Frankie on their West Coast tour for a month. They wanted her to follow the band on the road and write a featured article piece about the mysterious new British rock band that was taking over the industry by storm. It was scheduled to be printed in the middle of the magazine, spanning over three pages.

And they wanted Frankie to write it.

“How are you going to pay for it? Who will you stay with? Is it even safe?” Her mother asks after Frankie gets off the phone with Lester. He still didn’t know that she was an eighteen-year-old girl living with her mother. And her mother didn’t know that Lester offered to pay an eighteen-year-old girl still living with her mother a lot of money to write this piece.

It was just easier that way.

“The magazine will cover my hotel expenses. I’d obviously stay with the band, but in my own room. It’ll be safe, you know me—I stay out of trouble,” Frankie says, answering each of her mother’s questions one by one.

“But, Francine, how will you—”

“—It’s my dream, mom.” Cynthia Goodhart purses her lips. She’s thinking so hard that Frankie can practically hear the wheels turning in her head. After a few moments, her mother walks over and hugs her tight.

“You better call me every night. I want to know where you are and know that you’re safe. And for the love of god please—”

“—No drugs,” Frankie finishes for her mother. She hugs her back even tighter.

Three days later, Frankie’s mother has just dropped her off at Long Beach Arena in Los Angeles. Her duffle bag is swung over her shoulder, and for the first time in her eighteen years of living, Frankie Goodhart is alone.

And she’s shocked at how excited she is.

The Nocturnals are scheduled to play a gig at the arena tonight, and Frankie remembers her instructions. She’s meant to seek out their manager, Bryan Greenberg, and retrieve her all access pass for the next month. Then, he’ll show her the hotel accommodations, give her a room key, and she’s off to start her assignment.

The band has been informed of her role. She remembers Lester telling her that a few of them were not keen on the idea of having a journalist follow them around for a month, but after hearing that they were going to be featured in the next publication of the magazine, their outlook immediately changed.

“Rockstars,” Lester said over the phone, “They’ll do anything for some decent fuckin’ press.”

On her way into the arena, Frankie bypasses a behemoth of a vehicle. It’s monstrous and gunmetal grey and looks like it’s about to fall apart at any moment, and when she squints she can make out the lettering spelling BERNIE on the side near the door. It reeks of marijuana and booze and she can only assume that this is their tour bus.

Before she can continue to walk by, she hears her voice.

“Frankie!” It’s Cherry and Frankie is surprised that she’s actually happy to see the tall blonde girl. She’s wearing another outrageous assortment of clothing, full of frilly layers and white patent leather. Her lips are stained red and she’s wearing opaque pink sunglasses and when she wraps her thin arms around Frankie’s neck, she instantly hugs her back.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Cherry says, and Frankie’s glad too.

When they untangle themselves, Cherry grabs onto Frankie’s arm and drags her towards the arena, mumbling something about the lingering smell of sex inside of Bernie. Frankie doesn’t bother to ask her what she means, instead allows Cherry to drag her inside the venue.

Frankie tells her that she has to find Bryan and Cherry just shakes her head, explaining to her that Bryan isn’t any fun before five o’clock. Frankie takes her word for it, and not long after have the two entered a backstage area filled with tables and chairs and an assortment of food. Various crew members lounge about eating craft services, and as her eyes sweep over the room, she sees the band in the far corner.

“The enemy is approaching,” Frankie hears Eddie call out ominously from the table. Veronica and Rod snicker beside him, and Frankie tries not to let their words affect her.

She has a job to do.

Cherry shushes them before sitting next to Rod, running her fingers through his long blonde hair that falls past his shoulders. Frankie watches them, fully aware that the only reason Cherry is here is because she’s sleeping with the bassist. But then she remembers her conversation with Cherry’s friends outside of The Troubadour, and she pushes those feelings deep down, only hoping for Cherry’s sake that Rod cares about her the same way she cares about him, even though he has a rumored fiancée back home.

Frankie is trying not to judge.

Before she can say anything, she hears shuffling behind her. She feels the hairs on the back of her neck stand up because in front of her is four-fifths of the band, so that only leaves Harry, who has suddenly appeared behind her. Frankie hates that she can feel his presence before she can actually see him, and when he gives her a throaty hello, she can practically see the goosebumps prickling her skin.

“Heard you were comin’. Glad you’re here, Franks.” Frankie is fully aware that Cherry’s eyes are on her, and all she can do is stare at her new friend, completely out of her own element.

“Hi, Harry,” Frankie offers shyly, finally allowing him to enter her frame.

Before she could examine him fully, another man approaches the table. He’s shorter than Harry, a stocky little man with a permanent frown etched onto his face. His hair is thinning, practically balding in some spots, and he looks utterly exhausted.

“You the journalist?” He asks Frankie. His accent is high-pitched and squeaky, and Frankie blinks once, twice, before realizing that he’s actually addressing her.

“Yeah, hi. Frankie Goodhart.” She extends her arm even though he makes no effort to try and shake it. Frankie suddenly feels small, even though she’s taller than the man in front of her. His eyes are raking up and down her body, and Frankie squirms under his gaze.

“Christ, Rolling Stone hires kids now?” He chuckles to himself and Frankie really wishes the ground would swallow her up right then and there.

“Enough Bryan. They wouldn’t have sent her if she wasn’t good, right?” Harry comments, finally taking the spotlight off of Frankie. She’s grateful that the attention is off of her now. All she wants to do is start gathering quotes for her piece.

If only things could be that easy.

***

The show was once again incredible. Frankie watched from backstage, standing on Cherry’s side. She followed her advice again, only jotting down pivotal moments in her notebook. Most of the show, she spent mouthing along to the lyrics.

She didn’t want to admit that she was a fan.

“You can’t let them know you’re into their stuff,” Lester told her on the phone three days earlier. “They’re gonna want to buy you shit, be your friend. All of that. You can’t let that happen. Once they’ve got you, you’re fucked.”

After the show is over, the backstage area of the arena is buzzing with people. Cherry’s friends showed up right after the opening act was finished, and currently they were traipsing around the green room as if they owned the place. Jett sat sandwiched between two of them, sharing a joint and sips of champagne right from the bottle. Frankie had just finished talking to Veronica, who surprisingly was a vessel of knowledge. Before she could finish making her rounds, Rod storms in angrily, with an annoyed Harry trailing behind him.

“You really had to stay out on stage the longest when we were giving our bows, Harry?” Rod asks, and suddenly the entire room begins to grow quiet.

“What’s going on?” Bryan asks.

“Fuckin’ Harry’s out here craving all the attention, that’s what’s going on! And you’re so far up his ass you can’t even see it!” Rod’s full on screaming now, and all Frankie can do is just sit and watch.

“Everybody says ‘oh look, it’s Harry’s band! Look how talented Harry’s band is! As if we’re not a fuckin’ unit!” Frankie watches as Harry’s eyes grow darker. Bryan is trying to calm Rod down, but it’s no use. He’s completely uncaged.

Before he can say anything else, his eyes suddenly fall onto Frankie’s.

“I’m not sayin’ anything else with the enemy around.” It’s final, absolute. The words resonate in her brain and for the first time since arriving, Frankie’s second-guessing taking this job in the first place.

Rod storms out after that, and Frankie tries to ignore the green eyes trying to search for hers. She doesn't want the attention right now. What she wants is to retreat back into her hotel room and reevaluate how the next month of her life will go.

While everybody else heads back to the hotel, Frankie notices that Harry stays back, choosing to spend the night in the bus.

***

June 1973 - entry no. 4

The entire bus ride to Tempe, Arizona is uncomfortable.

Tensions are still high from Rod and Harry’s fight after the show in Long Beach last night, and Frankie watches as they sit on opposite sides of the bus, eyes covered in sunglasses facing the windows.

Eddie sits close to Harry, automatically taking his side because he’s his older brother. It makes sense, and Frankie watches it all unravel in her seat beside Cherry. She’s thankful that the blonde girl has decided to sit with her instead of Rod, because Frankie is still struggling with fitting in. This whole enemy ordeal is really starting to make things difficult for her.

Once they hit a rest stop, Jett offers Frankie some of his potato chips and for the rest of the ride he talks to her about music and the process of recording their first album. Veronica joins in, recounting the story of how she joined the band after watching them play a show in Phoenix.

“They were decent,” she tells Frankie, her American accent standing out.

“She makes us better,” Jett says, nodding at Veronica appreciatively.

In the dressing room before the Tempe show, battle lines are drawn up. Harry and Eddie stand on one side, chain-smoking cigarettes and keeping to themselves. Rod and Cherry sit on the other side, and Frankie watches as Cherry soothes Rod’s anger by running her small fingers down his back. Veronica and Jett play the roles of peacemakers, alternating between each side, trying to get everybody in the mindset for a great show.

And as Frankie watches from the sidelines, she’s shocked that it is in fact a great show.

During their last song, Frankie watches Harry grab the water bottle resting on the riser where Jett’s drum set was. She almost misses the dramatic eye roll Rod gives him, seemingly annoyed at whatever Harry was planning on doing. As the lights are dimmed low and Eddie starts playing a riff, Frankie watches Harry fill his cheeks with water.

He can feel her gaze on him. As soon as Jett starts hitting the kick drum, Harry’s green eyes meet Frankie’s. He gives her a quick wink before turning over towards the crowd, leaning back on his legs and spitting the water up into the air as the instruments all clash together.

Frankie tries to ignore the tingling beneath her skin.

After the post-show adrenaline rush has worn off, The Nocturnals retreat back to their pre-show state. Eddie tries to entertain Harry while the rest of the band keep Rod as far away from him as possible. Frankie just observes, scribbling notes down in her journal, before Cherry approaches her cautiously.

“Do you think you could do me a favor, Frankie?” Cherry asks. Her voice is soft and her eyes show a little bit of apprehension, and Frankie immediately snaps her journal shut.

“Of course. Everything okay, Cherry?” Frankie is concerned because for the first time since being introduced to Cherry, she’s asking Frankie for help.

“Could you talk to Harry, maybe? He seems to be fond of you. Maybe you can get through to him about the whole Rod situation.” Frankie suddenly understands that the only reason Cherry is concerned about Harry is because Rod is involved.

“Uh, I don’t know if I’m really the best person—”

“—The thing is, they’re both alphas. Harry takes control and Rod doesn’t know how to function without it. They need each other, Frankie. The band needs them. Sometimes it’s tough getting through to Harry, but do you think you could try it just this time? For me?”

Frankie doesn’t know how to say no to people. Which is why she finds herself approaching Harry outside of the hotel while the rest of the band grab beers from Bryan’s cooler and stretch out around the pool outside of the building.

“I don’t want to do the interview right now, Franks,” Harry says quietly once he realizes that Frankie has stayed back to chat with him.

“We can just talk. Completely off the record,” Frankie says, throwing her journal and tape recorder deep into the depths of her messenger bag around her body.

Harry looks at her with his eyebrows raised. “Oh yeah? So what, we’re just gonna talk as friends?” He’s teasing her now and Frankie just rolls her eyes.

“If that’s what you’d like, sure. Friends,” Frankie agrees, surprisingly meaning every word.

“Alright. Come with me.” Harry leads them to a quieter area away from the pool. It’s a makeshift smoking area, and when Harry reaches into his denim pocket for his pack of Winstons and offers one to Frankie, she shakes her head no. Harry gives her another long look before shrugging his shoulders and lighting the stick between his cherry lips.

“Are you here to try and make me feel better?” Harry asks smugly.

Frankie shakes her head, growing annoyed. “No. Cherry just asked if I could—”

“—Oh so Cher put you up to this?” Harry interrupts, and Frankie has decided that this is just something she has to get used to around him. The constant interrupting, constant avoidance of questions, constant staring.

Frankie just sighs. She’s not quite sure why Cherry thinks Harry is fond of her, considering they can barely get through a conversation without him ignoring her questions and directing them towards Frankie instead.

They’re quiet for a few minutes. Harry finishes his cigarette, stubbing it out with the sole of his boots before Frankie opens her mouth.

“Why do you put up with it?” It’s quiet and she’s not sure if she should have even asked him that in the first place, but she’s curious.

“I thought this wasn’t an interview?”

“It’s not. Off the record, strictly.”

Harry stands up straighter, no longer leaning on the fence surrounding the smoking area. His shoulders turn so he’s standing directly in front of Frankie, eyes falling past her uncovered shoulders to her thin yellow tank top, before falling down the lengths of her ivory legs under her jean shorts. She screams of innocence and Harry suddenly feels like he can drop his rockstar façade and finally be truthful for once in his life.

“I do it because I have to,” Harry says slowly.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Harry,” Frankie replies, blue eyes staring deep into green.

Harry just laughs to himself quietly, shaking his head.

“Sometimes you have to do things because they’re expected of you. Like love, for instance.” He’s speaking as if he has all of the answers in the world and Frankie can’t quite fathom how that could possibly be true.

”What do you mean?”

“Well. You’re expected to love your boyfriend, right?” Harry’s asking her in a way that doesn’t come across as fishing for information. Frankie suddenly wonders if he thought she was the type of girl that would have a boyfriend. That she was capable of enthralling the other sex.

“I don’t have a boyfriend.” Frankie’s suddenly shy, and Harry looks at her as if he’s seeing her for the first time.

“Well, any of your boyfriends. You were expected to love them.” Harry doesn’t need Frankie to tell her that she actually has never had a boyfriend in her entire life. Her silence tells him more than he needs to know, and Frankie hopes he can’t see her fidgeting under the moonlight.

“I wouldn’t know.” Frankie says it so quietly that Harry almost missed the words leaving her lips. He suddenly feels his age for the first time—twenty-three and hyperaware of the pretty girl with freckles on her face who has never been in love before.

“You’ve never been in love?” He sounds shocked, and Frankie starts wondering if there’s something wrong with that. Sure, she’s had a few opportunities to try and fall in love, and sure, she was almost close to it with her prom date a few months prior, but the truth still stands. It’s a feeling that Frankie’s heard endless times play over in the songs on her record player.

It’s the one question that she’s never found the answer to in Mary’s collection.

“Not truly, no. I mean, every song I’ve ever heard has talked about love as if it’s supposed to be this monumental explosion of feelings. It’s supposed to be all-encompassing. We’re supposed to crave it, chase after it, live for it. So when you say that you’re expected to love another person, I don’t know what you mean. Because you shouldn’t be expected to do something that’s supposed to consume you.”

Frankie chances a look over towards Harry and finds that his eyes aren’t set on hers. Instead, they’re looking over her head, fixated on the trees behind her. He has a distant look in his eyes as if he understands exactly what Frankie is telling him.

Suddenly, his eyes lock back on hers. But this time, the glint is gone. Instead he looks sad almost, nodding absently at whatever Frankie had just said.

Frankie has another sleepless night.

***

June 1973 - entry no. 5

Frankie began to grow quite fond of Bernie on the drive from Tempe to Las Vegas.

Somehow, The Nocturnals had a strong affinity for the nearly broken down grey touring bus they’ve been sequestered to for the past few months. Jett proclaimed that Bernadette had magical powers, and they preferred to travel to each venue by bus because they performed much better after sitting in the bristling heat for hours on end.

Frankie thinks that Jett needs to lay off the weed.

Each band member had their own little corner of the bus. Eddie always preferred the middle so he could jump from conversation to conversation wherever he was needed. He didn’t like feeling left out. Veronica was happy towards the front as long as she always had a window. She always said her lack of a penis allowed her prime window seating. Nobody disagreed.

Rod liked the back of the bus because that was where he could sneak off and make out with Cherry without anybody else watching. Sometimes he would sneak his hand down her skirt and Cherry would giggle as if he was telling her the funniest joke in the world. Harry on the other hand always chose to sit in the front seat behind Bryan who was always driving. It was an unwritten rule that nobody else could sit there. It was also an unwritten rule that Harry always needed to be close to Bryan.

That is where Frankie finds him when they’re about twenty minutes away from the Las Vegas Convention Center. His long body is taking up two seats with his head leaning against the glass window. He has his black sunglasses on but Frankie can see that his eyes are open through the tinted frames.

“Starin’ is impolite, Franks,” Harry says after a few moments.

Frankie blushes, looking down at the floor. “I’m still waiting for your interview, Harry.”

He shuffles a bit while he’s mulling this over. In the two week span of Frankie’s time on tour with the band, she’s gotten one on one interviews with everybody but Harry. Whenever she attempts to reach out to him, he always wanders off. Lately, he’s been switching the roles and asking her questions instead.

She doesn’t like feeling vulnerable around him.

And with her deadline approaching soon and the final three shows looming in the distance, Frankie was starting to grow impatient.

“After the show. I promise,” Harry says, before turning his attention back out towards the window.

Frankie ignores Cherry’s gaze as she slinks into the seat in the back left of the bus. But Cherry is anything but adamant, and not even ten seconds later, Frankie can feel the tips of her blonde curly hair grazing Frankie’s exposed shoulders.

“He’s making this extremely difficult,” Frankie admits, slumping down further into the seat.

Cherry nods. “Give him time, Frankie. He’ll come around eventually.”

Frankie only wishes that were true.

***

The show in Vegas is nothing short of a disaster.

Frankie notices the mistakes more so than the audience members mainly because she’s been watching The Nocturnals perform the same show for two weeks now. From the second they walked onto the stage, there was a disconnect amongst the band members. Jett and Veronica did the best they could trying to appease both Harry and Rod, but it began to crumble halfway through their set. Rod began to overdue his solos, throwing the timing off for Harry. The worst part was when he started oversinging the backing vocals, almost making Harry sing the wrong lyrics.

The dressing room was quiet after the show. And for the first time since touring with the band, Frankie had no desire to ask anybody questions.

“Well guys, that was—”

“—A fuckin’ shitshow,” Harry says, interrupting Bryan.

Eddie stands closer to Harry, trying to calm his little brother down. Everybody knows that it was bound to happen, because Eddie always puts Harry first. But this seemed to spur Rod on, because immediately after Eddie puts an arm around Harry, Rod flies out of his seat and points an accusatory finger at the both of them.

“I’m so fuckin’ sick of you two. Every time there’s a disagreement, Harry is never at fault in your eyes, Ed. It’s about fuckin’ time you realize that your brother is singlehandedly ruining this band.” Rod’s words are venomous and Frankie practically flinches with each syllable.

“Well, maybe if you stopped being so jealous of H, we wouldn’t have this problem!” Eddie retorts, stepping in front of Harry and squaring his shoulders towards Rod.

“Jealous?! Of that prick? That’s fuckin’ rich.”

The rest of the argument seems to blow up in front of Frankie, but for some unknown reason, she chooses not to stare at Rod and Eddie yelling at each other in the middle of the room. Instead, her blue eyes fall onto Harry, who hasn’t said a word throughout this entire exchange. He looks as if he wants to be anywhere but here, and as if he can feel the heat of Frankie’s gaze on him, he tilts his head towards her and stares right back.

“If you don’t get your ego in line, Harry, I’m fuckin’ walking,” Rod says. Frankie watches Harry’s eyes snap back towards the bassist, and instead of responding, he just shakes his head slowly. Suddenly, Harry starts careening towards the exit, a bottle of whiskey in one hand and Frankie in the other.

“Harry…” Frankie says, but it’s useless. He’s walking so quickly and swallowing back whiskey so fiercely that Frankie has no choice but to hold onto his hand tighter and allow him to lead her out of the arena, past Bernie, and down a few roads until the flashing lights are fading into the distance and the honking of vehicles has practically ceased.

Frankie isn’t sure what to say because up until this point she hadn’t really considered her and Harry friends. Their conversation in Tempe only made Frankie more confused, and every time Cherry tells her of Harry’s fondness of her, she thinks that her friend is seeing things.

But now, standing hand in hand with him, Frankie begins to think differently.

His hands are shaking when he drops hers, and instead of speaking, he just takes another swig of the bottle. His cheeks are flushed and Frankie isn’t sure if it’s from the alcohol or something else, and then before she can dissect him any further, he stops abruptly and turns to face her.

“Do you ever feel like you need to get away? Like things are just happenin’ too quickly?” He’s back to asking her questions again, and Frankie isn’t sure how to respond.

“Shit, I shouldn’t be tellin’ you any of this.” He suddenly runs the hand that used to hold hers through his curly hair out of frustration. Harry starts pacing back and forth in front of Frankie, and she’s very aware that they are far from the venue.

“It’s fine, I won’t—” Frankie cuts herself off because she isn’t quite sure what she’s trying to tell him. She already promised to talk to him off the record back in Tempe, and deep down she really wants to tell him this again. But she’s losing focus on her assignment, and she’s doing everything that Lester Bangs told her not to do.

Harry’s green eyes are back on hers and he’s suddenly a lot closer to her than he was previously. But before he could say anything, a car pulls up and his eyes shift from blue to the approaching vehicle.

“Whoa, you’re Harry Styles!” A boy with straight blonde hair says. He’s driving a car and looks to be a few years younger than Frankie, and the rest of his friends seem to be as shell-shocked as the driver.

“Just Harry, s’fine,” Harry replies, stepping away from Frankie and smiling at the group of boys.

“Would you wanna come to a party? My parents are out of town and my house is down the street,” the blonde kid offers. Immediately, Frankie starts to shake her head, expecting Harry to follow suit. Instead, she bafflingly watches as Harry grins at the group before jumping into the backseat of the car.

“Harry!” Frankie shoots out, beginning to chastise him.

“C’mon Franks, let’s have some fun,” Harry says, grabbing her from the sidewalk and pulling her into the van. The group of boys cheer and begin asking Harry a million questions, but it might as well be white noise because Frankie’s eyes are looking into green and she finds herself agreeing to this ridiculous plan because she’s found that she can’t say no to Harry no matter how hard she tries.

And when he hands her the whiskey bottle and promises that she’ll like it, she drinks it without even thinking, smiling back at Harry when his eyes go wide.

***

A few hours later, Frankie finds that Harry is impossibly drunk. He’s stumbling throughout a high school party, fluttering from the living room to the kitchen and back. The teenagers are handing him plastic cups filled with a concoction of various liquors, and while Frankie has only had one cup, it was enough to make her feel warm and light, so she stopped after that.

She has just walked out of the bathroom when she realizes that Harry is not where she had left him. Nervously, Frankie begins checking each room in the house, praying that she didn’t just lose the frontman of The Nocturnals at a high school party in Las Vegas. Once she rounds the stairs, she hears his laugh from the first door to her left, and when she walks in she finds him sitting on a desk chair surrounded by a group of kids with glazed eyes and a bong sitting in the middle of a circle.

“And that is why you shouldn’t mix acid with vodka. It’s just—Franks! There you are! Thought I lost ya.” Harry blindly reaches out for Frankie’s hand, pulling her towards the group. She stumbles until she’s sitting right beside him, and he’s grinning at her with a mischievous look in his eyes.

“I made new friends,” he says softly, gesturing towards the group of stoned teenagers on the floor below him.

“I can see that,” Frankie responds, seemingly unaware of their close proximity. Harry’s arm is resting lightly around her shoulders, and if she leans in just an inch more, she could smell the whiskey on his lips.

“Maybe I’ll start a band with them. What d’ya think? They’d probably be more fun, anyways,” he mumbles, his slurred words meshing together.

Frankie isn’t sure what to say, so instead she just drunkenly laughs, standing up when Harry grabs her arm and leads her out of the room and into the backyard.

They walk further until they’re sitting at the top of a hill under a mesquite tree. The party is barrelling on below them, and when Frankie looks up at the sky and notices that the inky night has turned into a deep blue, she can assume that it’s the early morning.

Harry sighs contentedly beside her, sitting down close enough that their sides are touching. Frankie can feel his hip rest with hers, her shoulder pressed against his bicep, their thighs touching. The warmth from the alcohol flowing through her body suddenly becomes warmer, and Frankie can feel the flush on her neck begin to creep upwards.

“I never get to do this,” Harry says after a few minutes of silence.

“Do what?” Frankie asks.

“Act like a kid. Drink with my mates in our parents house. Be young, I guess.” Frankie cocks her head to the side and acknowledges the sadness on his features. She’s suddenly aware of the fact that Harry is the youngest in the band but never gets to feel like it because he’s constantly on the road, working with people much older than him, arguing about ridiculous things that shouldn’t matter in the long run.

She begins to feel bad for the rockstar who she believed had everything.

“You really didn’t miss much,” Frankie says, nodding her head towards the group of high school students surrounding a keg.

“No? Isn’t high school supposed to be the best years of your life or summat?” Harry asks, genuine curiosity dripping from his mouth.

Frankie just shrugs. “I sure hope not.”

Harry shifts his position and Frankie misses the warmth when she can no longer feel his body pressed against hers. His big hands reach out towards her forearms and pull so that she twists to the side, their knees knocking together. Harry’s sitting in front of her and his eyes are twinkling brighter than the stars and Frankie isn’t sure where else to look.

“Why are you so different from every other girl I’ve met?” Harry asks. Frankie tilts her head down, trying to hide the blush forming on her cheeks. She feels Harry squeeze her forearms, and she’s suddenly aware that his hands haven’t left hers.

“I don’t know how to answer that,” Frankie says shyly.

His hand reaches out towards her chin, tilting it up so that she’s no longer hiding from him. Frankie watches his heels dig into the grass, allowing him to heave himself forward so that their legs are slotting, his knees surrounding hers. They’re much closer now, and she can see the glint in his eyes has turned into adoration and she suddenly feels frozen.

“Frankie Goodhart,” he whispers, “That would make for a good song.”

His fingers drop from her chin and Frankie can feel him getting closer. He’s angling his torso towards her and his shiny lips are getting closer to hers and she’s instantly panicking because shit, she thinks, this shouldn’t be happening.

And just before his mouth can close around hers, she backs away, and the look in Harry’s eyes fades. Instead, he’s staring at her, dull green eyes and all, and she suddenly feels empty inside. He stands up abruptly and begins walking down the hill back towards the street. Even in his drunken stupor, Harry somehow remembers how to get back to the carpark where Bernie is waiting with the rest of the band. They’re silent as they walk into the bus, the yellows and purples of sunrise filtering through the windows.

Harry chooses to sit near Rod, a sign of a truce. Frankie sits in the back, ignoring the looks Cherry gives her. For once, she just wants to be alone.

***

July 1973 - entry no. 6

Everybody besides Frankie seemed to be in high spirits on the journey to the San Jose Civic Center. The feud between Harry and Rod seemed to be an anecdote, something they could joke about during the long drive. Frankie watches from the back of the bus, a permanent scowl on her face, completely confused at the last ten hours of her life.

She was confused by the almost kiss, for starters. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to kiss Harry, because of course she wanted to. But when his mouth was inching closer towards hers and his irises were so wide all she could see was mossy green, the only thing running through her mind were Lester’s warnings.

“Don’t get lost in the madness of it all. They’re gonna eat you alive if they know that you’re a fan. They’re gonna want to be your friend, lure you into their world. Stand your ground. The second they hear you write for Rolling Stone they’re gonna shit their pants. Don’t let us down.”

So she panicked. And when Frankie saw the frown on his face, she could feel her heart fall towards her feet inside her body. Frankie was never the type of girl that boys chased after, especially boys that have the world at their fingertips with blonde/auburn/black haired beauties throwing themselves at him. What would Harry want with a freckled-face eighteen year old high school graduate who had little to no experience with the opposite sex? It would be utterly laughable for the two of them to end up together.

But she would be lying if she hadn’t been kicking herself the entire journey to San Jose, regretting ever pulling away from him.

“Why are you so pouty?” Cherry asks from beside her. She opted to sit with Frankie mainly because Rod and Harry were rekindling their friendship with inside jokes and bottles of beer, and Frankie wasn’t all that mad that she was a second option.

“I’m not,” Frankie lies, sinking her head against the cool window. She needed her brain to stop replaying this morning's events over and over whenever her eyelids closed.

Cherry just hums beside her, knowing fully well that Frankie is lying. “I’m assuming it has something to do with Harry. He’s been looking at you like a lost puppy ever since we turned onto the freeway hours ago.”

Frankie ignores her friend the same way she’s been ignoring the warm heat of Harry’s gaze from the front of the bus.

She needs the silence to remember why she was even here in the first place. But there’s no denying that she’s so close to losing the point in the first place—feet dangling at the edge of the mountain, practically about to freefall below.

***

The San Jose show was the best one Frankie had seen yet, even better than the first night at The Troubadour three weeks earlier. The energy radiating from the stage was tangible, a thrumming of excitement Frankie could feel from the tips of her toes all the way up to the roots of her light brown hair. If she reached out to touch the handle of the steel door leading to the green room, she was convinced she would feel a zap of electricity from what The Nocturnals left out on the stage.

Harry was the best she had seen him yet. His voice was unmatchable, a perfect concoction of rasp and grit with a beautiful falsetto. Frankie was in awe, to be fair. Normally she takes turns watching each member of the band, but tonight, her blue eyes refused to move from his body.

Harry could feel her gaze. With Frankie’s eyes locked on him, he knew that he had to put on the best show of his life. He made sure to interact with the crowd, singing in a different octave so he could hear the gasps from the audience, leaning against Rod and Eddie with his head thrown back, shaking his hips to the pounding of Jett’s kick drum. Frankie��s hot gaze on Harry gave him a newfound sense of confidence, and it was palpable throughout the entire arena.

“What a fuckin’ show!” Bryan hollers from the doorway of the green room. Frankie watches as he interacts with each member of the band, even offering to take a hit of the joint Jett extends towards him. Rod even gives him a hug, and Frankie is just as confused as ever.

“Let’s celebrate!” Rod agrees, grabbing Cherry by her hips and bringing her towards his front. He drowns her giggles with a bottle of whiskey.

The band convenes in the middle of the green room, passing around a whiskey bottle and planning on throwing an after party in their hotel rooms. Eddie asks Bryan to upgrade their rooms so they can fit more people, and Jett agrees, telling Cherry’s friends to invite anybody in the area they know. Frankie ultimately feels like an outsider, having no desire to go out and drink with people who barely even wanted her around in the first place.

As she begins to gather her belongings and throw them into her tattered messenger bag to retreat to her own hotel room for the night, Frankie sees the tips of black leather shoes touch her white sneakers. She looks up slowly, her breath practically catching in her throat when she notices Harry peering down at her, a faint trace of a smile on his lips.

“Fancy that interview, Franks?” Harry says softly, and Frankie suddenly is at a loss for words. She’s unsure if it’s from his close proximity to her face, or the fact that he actually is ready to allow her to interview him, but she just nods slowly.

“You don’t want to party? I think you earned it,” Frankie mutters back, offering him an out.

Harry doesn’t take it though. “Nah, let’s get out of here,” and with that, he loops her messenger bag around his broad shoulder and places a large hand at the small of her back, tracing her out the door.

Frankie offers to conduct the interview inside Bernie, but Harry just shakes his head, “I’m sick of sittin’ on the bus.” When she mentions her hotel room being on a different floor than the rest of the band’s, Harry just wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, “Tryin’ to take me to bed already?” Frankie just rolls her eyes, wishing her skin was a darker shade so her blush wasn’t so prominent. Harry smiles, enamored that he can get her riled up so quickly, and drags her towards a small staircase on the top floor, a sign reading NO ENTRY in bright red letters.

Frankie pauses and Harry just laughs, opening the door with his hip and grabbing her wrists with his long fingers. “Live a little, Franks,” he whispers, dragging her up the staircase and onto the roof of the hotel.

The dark sky looks so vast from the roof, and Frankie cranes her neck back to take in all of the glittering stars above. She never gets to see the constellations through the LA smog, so from this vantage point, Frankie doesn’t hesitate to take it all in, her hair shining in the moonlight.

Harry doesn’t hesitate to take Frankie in, either.

“Ready, Franks?” Harry’s voice bursts Frankie’s imaginary bubble, and she fumbles around trying to grab her notebook and recorder before sitting across from Harry over a skylight. She doesn’t meet his eyes because she’s scared that if she does, she’ll forget everything she wanted to ask him.

“So, Harry. Why music?”

And it’s as if a dam has broken, split completely in half, and Harry’s words are the water that flows from the cracks. He tells Frankie that he started the band with his brother in small town Manchester, England, and they were shit at first. Tells her how the idea of a band came from the 1961 Ice Blue Fender Musicmaster their dad left behind when he left his mother when Harry was a boy. How the first few songs he wrote were about his fear of abandonment, and when he lost his virginity, all he could write about were girls and hearts and lips and feelings. He tells her things that Frankie didn’t even need to pry from him, instead, he willingly tells her how he was nervous to have five members in a band, nervous to leave England, nervous to be the frontman of a group when he was the youngest one. And when they were sat on the forty-fifth floor of a high-rise building with walls of windows in New York City, signing their recording contracts, Harry never felt more out of control in his life.

“You seem to be so confident on stage though, so in control. I mean, you just look so cool up there,” Frankie mumbles, realizing that she isn’t asking a question anymore. Instead she’s prodding for more information that she isn’t sure Harry feels comfortable doting out to her.

“I promise you, I’m entirely uncool. It’s all an act. I’m far too in my head most of the time,” Harry says with a chuckle, shifting his body closer to Frankie’s. “Sometimes, I think you’re the only person in this world who’s seen me properly. I’m just as uncool as you.”

Frankie feels herself shifting closer, too. Her finger unknowingly hovering over the STOP button on her tape recorder.

Harry notices just like he notices everything about her. He can feel the shift in their conversation, and he turns his body closer towards Frankie, asking her the question that’s been on the tip of his tongue the entire day.

“Why didn’t you let me kiss you?”

His voice is uncharacteristically shy. Frankie’s never seen this version of him—so quiet, so unsure. It startles her.

“Um,” she pauses, pressing her finger down on the button, her mind suddenly confuddled. “I’m technically not supposed to.”

“Franks,” Harry shakes his head, his mouth practically inches from hers. “When are you gonna realize life is more fun when you do the things you aren’t supposed to?”

With his mouth so close to hers, Frankie feels like she can’t breathe. His eyes are sincere and she can feel her heart beating so loudly she’s sure her ribs are bruised. And for the first time in forever, Frankie doesn’t want to follow the rules anymore.

She wants to break them.

Specifically, she wants to break them with Harry.

Frankie brazenly drops the tape recorder into her messenger bag at her feet and wraps her hands around Harry’s neck, bringing his lips to hers. He stills at first, not entirely sure if this is actually happening or he’s just imagining her kissing him. But then she starts to nibble at his lower lip and he finally reacts, wrapping one hand into her brown hair and another around her stomach, fingers spread over the ivory skin uncovered by her cropped shirt.

Frankie shudders when Harry whines at the contact, and when he feels like he needs more more more, he drags her legs and hoists them over his thighs so she’s straddling his lap. Their teeth knock together hungrily and it’s literally better than anything Harry’s ever had, and he’s had almost everything there is. Harry feels dehydrated, and Frankie’s lips are the only thing quenching his thirst. He’s never been so enraptured by another person before, and just having her body wrapped around his is practically careening him towards the edge.

When Harry’s hand in her hair pulls back exposing her neck towards him, she moans when his lips lick a thick strip from her sternum towards her chin. She tries to think of love songs that explain how she’s feeling, and when her mind becomes blank, she figures that they can write their own song, fuelled by pink lips and hungry bites and satisfied breaths.

“Jesus, Franks. You’re everything,” Harry mumbles against her lips. Frankie just nods, her hands pushing open his unbuttoned shirt and fanning against his chest. When his head falls back in a blissful sigh, Frankie marks the part of his skin where his shoulder meets his neck, and she can feel it too. That this is everything.

When Harry tries to take her shirt off and lower his hands into the waistband of her jeans, she stops, fully aware that this is her first time ever having somebody this close to her. Of having somebody want to get this close to her, to feel her, to have her in every sense of the word. And she’s terrified.

“Shit, I’m sorry, Franks. I blacked out, I forgot. You’re just—fuck. Can’t fuckin’ think straight when you’re lookin’ at me like that with your mouth all pouty and your hair all messed up. I’m losin’ it,” Harry says hurriedly, his forehead falling against her clavicle. He’s completely breathless and Frankie is in awe that she brought him to this point.

When she feels his hands running a comforting line down her back, she’s fully aware that she wants nothing more than to feel closer to Harry. It’s inevitable at this point—all of the lingering gazes, the interrupting questions, the way he can feel her gaze on him when he’s performing, the way she doesn’t want to look anywhere else. He wants to tell her his secrets. And she wants to keep them, hidden away from the world, just for her to hold.

So she reaches down and places her hand over Harry’s, dragging it down her chest and stomach, over her stomach, against the button of her pants. Harry sucks in a breath and Frankie can feel it against her neck, his lips pursing in shock.

“Frankie, it’s okay, we don’t—”

He’s silenced by her popping the button open and unzipping her jeans. His head shoots up, eyes latched onto hers, arms wrapped around her hips protectively.

Frankie shushes him with a gentle kiss. “It’s okay. You’re everything.”

And with that, Harry reaches inside of her pants, and the both of them fall apart, seeing stars that rival the constellations twinkling above them.

***

July 1973 - entry no. 7

Frankie spends the next day trying to quell the butterflies fluttering in her stomach.

After her night with Harry on the rooftop, she feels as if she’s floating through thin air. She can’t stop the grin growing on her face whenever Harry is in a five foot radius of her, and she can practically feel his smirk from a distance. When they leave San Jose and travel to Palo Alto, Frankie practically forces her body to the back of the bus, trying to put as much space between them as possible.

Because if he was any closer, she wasn’t sure if she could keep her hands to herself.

Frankie has never felt like this. She feels as if Harry is her newest addiction, and no matter how hard she tries, she just can’t fucking stop thinking about him. It’s infuriating and infatuating at the same time, incredible and unknown and so new that she’s practically shaking in her seat from the excitement whenever his green eyes find hers.

Harry feels like he’s sixteen again. He feels so light and bubbly and giggly and the whole thing is reminiscent of a first crush, that he doesn’t even recognize who he is anymore. The most surprising aspect of it all is that he actually likes it. He feels his heart swell with every longing gaze, every secret smile, every phantom touch. He can’t get enough of her. Just one taste of Frankie wasn’t enough to soothe his ever-growing appetite, and he’s not sure if he can contain himself any longer.

After an entire day of almost touching her skin, Harry feels like he’s about to burst. Twenty minutes before the show, while the rest of the band is warming up, Harry finds himself sneaking off to find Frankie. She’s on her way back from the bathroom and when he sees her he practically jumps out of his skin, wrapping his arms around her waist and dragging her into a utility closet across the hallway.

Harry quiets her shrieks with a mouth-watering kiss, and he practically implodes at the feeling of it. He’s been waiting for this moment all day, and he would be lying if he didn’t admit that it was the best kiss of his life.

His hands are everywhere and Frankie feels overwhelmed, but in the best possible way. She’s breathing him in and feeling every inch of his skin on hers and it’s crazy to think that in her eighteen years of life she waited this long to experience this feeling.

She’s just so happy she’s experiencing it with Harry.

When they hear Bryan give the five minute call, Frankie breaks away breathlessly, laughing when Harry whines at the loss of her lips on his.

“Just one more kiss please Franks,” Harry begs, wrapping his hands through her hair and pulling her closer to his mouth.

She obliges but only momentarily, before pushing him back towards the door.

“Go,” she whispers, biting her lower lip to conceal her giggles.

Harry just groans, holding onto her for dear life. “You’re gonna be the death of me, Franks.”

She watches him walk away, blowing him a kiss and laughing when he catches it and tucks it into the pocket of his trousers.

When Frankie goes to claim her spot sidestage, she’s interrupted by Cherry grabbing onto her shoulders. She can see the band rustling around in the background, grabbing their instruments and getting mic'd up, but Frankie can’t focus. Because Cherry’s eyes are blown out and she’s holding onto her so tightly and Frankie knows that whatever is about to come out of Cherry’s lips next is either going to be monumental or devastating.

“Frankie! I need to tell you something,” Cherry whispers through her brightening grin.

“What is it Cherry? Are you okay?” Frankie is worried.

“I’m amazing. Better than amazing, actually. I’m gonna tell Rod that I love him after the show. I’m gonna jump into his arms, tell him that he’s the only one for me, and that I’m so far in love with him that I can’t even breathe.”

Frankie sighs. It’s devastating.

“But… Cherry. What about his fiancée? Kids? Did you think this through?” Frankie asks, watching as her friend’s eyes fall and her mouth form a straight line. Frankie hasn’t seen this look on Cherry’s face since the night she almost called her a groupie. Immediately, Frankie feels the twisting feeling of guilt in her gut.

“He’s leaving them for me. He told me last night.” Cherry’s voice is so low that Frankie isn’t sure if she’s trying to convince her, or herself.

Frankie just shakes her head. “Cherry, you can’t think like that. How could he promise you something like that? You can’t just—”

“—I can’t just what, Frankie? What are you even trying to say? I love him! That should be enough! It’s always been enough!” Before Frankie could even get another word in, Cherry just shakes her head, stepping away from her. “I don’t even know why I bothered telling you. You wouldn’t even know what love is if it slapped you right in the face.”

Frankie pauses, mouth falling slack. “What are you even talking about?”

Cherry laughs, and for the first time, Frankie hates the sound of it. “Because you don’t even give it a chance. I see the way Harry looks at you, and all you do is keep your head down, ignoring the entire thing. All you care about is your stupid article. Well ya know what? At least I let Rod close enough to give love a chance.”

Frankie isn’t sure what to say. Part of her wants to tell Cherry about the night she had with Harry on the rooftop, or the words he spoke to her, or the way he grabbed her no less than five minutes ago. But she doesn’t. Because saying them in an argument makes it less genuine.

“Cherry, I’m just trying to help. You deserve better than Rod,” Frankie says, reaching for Cherry’s hands to squeeze in reassurance.

But Cherry just jumps back as if Frankie’s hands are scorching. “You know what, maybe you and Harry are perfect for each other. Both lonely and selfish.”

And with that, Cherry walks away, and Frankie hangs behind the crowd sidestage, feeling her chest constrict in anger. Cherry couldn’t be more wrong about Harry. He let her in, he told her things he promised he would never tell anybody else. Frankie would never let him near her if he acted the way Cherry just described.

So when the show is over and Frankie feels herself retreating back into the hotel without a word to anybody else, she practically combusts when Harry shows up at her room. His eyes are blown wide and he has concern written all across his face, because all he wanted to see after the show was her. Just as he’s about to ask if she was okay, Frankie grabs him by the back of his neck and drags him through the doorway, crashing her lips onto his.

“Franks, wait, babe, what’s goin’ on?” Harry asks between kisses, and Frankie just sighs, noticing the way her head clears and her heart feels lighter whenever he is close to her.

“I just don’t want to think right now. I need you,” Frankie says, and Harry practically drops through the floor when she utters those last three words.

I need you is the closest thing to I love you Harry has ever felt. Love to him always felt compulsory, a feeling that was expected between two people. He never had to work for it, and whenever he said the words, they never meant anything to him before.

So when he hears I need you fall from Frankie’s chapped lips, he’s floored at the way those words feel inside his chest. If words were tangible, they would be pumping the blood through his chest cavity, propelling his heart up up up until it was lodged into his throat.

He never thought I need you would mean more to him than I love you.

Not until now.

“I need you all the time,” Harry responds, grabbing Frankie and pulling her onto the bed. They kiss until they’re both only wearing their undergarments, Harry clad in tight white boxer briefs and Frankie wearing a boring nude bra and matching cheeky panties. They make her feel childlike, and she wishes that she owned something black and lacy and sexy.

But Harry could care less what she’s wearing. Just the fact that she’s laying next to him, completely opening him up until he could feel like he was properly breathing for the first time in three years is enough for him. And when they kiss until their lips feel bruised, Frankie just lays her head on his chest, revelling in the feeling of his warmth.

“Thank you,” Frankie whispers against his skin.

“For what?” Harry asks, running a finger absentmindedly through her hair. Just one touch is never enough for him.

“Being here. Being you.” It’s trivial and shouldn’t really mean much, but to Harry it means everything, and he sighs blissfully at the thought that just being himself was more than enough for this beautiful girl.

“God, Franks,” Harry says slowly, resting his chin against the top of Frankie’s head. “I feel like I’ve known you my entire life.”

And when she’s wrapped around Harry in every sense of the word, she can’t help but think that if this is how she were to spend the rest of her nights, she wouldn’t want it any other way.

***

July 1973 - entry no. 8

The term bittersweet comes to mind when Bernie rolls into the Fillmore in San Francisco.

Bitter because it’s her last show with The Nocturnals. Bitter because Cherry hasn’t looked at her in two hours, and she doesn’t want to leave with her friendship falling to pieces in front of her. Bitter because she feels like she’s truly found herself, and she doesn’t want this feeling to escape when she arrives back in Santa Monica. Bitter because she won’t be spending her nights wrapped with Harry anymore.

The sweet part is all Harry, Frankie hates to admit. His sweet smile, the taste of his sweet lips, the way his hands feel sweetly wrapped around Frankie’s middle, the way she won’t hear him say her sweet nickname Franks.

Frankie looks over towards her right and smiles at his sleeping frame tucked next to hers. Her heart practically stilled when he chose to sit near her in the back of the bus instead of his usual spot behind Bryan in the front. If anybody felt a certain way about it, nobody mentioned it, which made Frankie relax into the ripped leather seat. When Harry’s warm hand latched onto her thigh, Frankie’s heart almost stopped beating.

“Franks, ‘m tired. Can I use you as a pillow?” Harry asks, his voice thick with sleep.

Before Frankie could reply, Harry’s head was already resting in the crook of her neck, his chestnut curls ticking the underside of her chin. Frankie just smiles, knowing that this would probably be the last spare moment they have together before she has to leave after the show to write her piece for Rolling Stone.

“So soft. You’re the sweetest, Franks,” Harry mumbles before drifting off into sleep.

The hotel is conveniently across the street from the Fillmore, so while the band unloads their instruments, Frankie slinks into her hotel room to deposit her duffle bag and sort through the endless notes she had taken during her summer with the band. Most of them are scribbled in her notebook that was practically ripping from overuse, but the most important tidbits, the ones that Frankie didn’t want to forget, were written on bar napkins and setlist pages. On room service menus and gas station receipts. Frankie makes sure to stuff those into her folder, making sure they stay with her forever.

On her way back to the concert venue, Frankie hears screaming from the room Cherry and Rod share. Part of her wants to knock and make sure that her friend is okay, but after their last conversation, Frankie’s convinced that she’s probably the last person Cherry wants to see anyways. So she saunters back to the Fillmore, rushing to try and find Harry to lift her spirits once again.

But what she sees does the complete opposite.

Bleach blonde hair. Pretty red dress. Deep hazel eyes. Brand new patent leather pumps. A handbag that definitely cost more than the entire ensemble. Matching red lips.

Red lips that were attached to Harry’s.

Frankie freezes. She can feel her heart burst, but not in the way that it has been used to doing the past few days. Instead, it’s a painful burst. She can feel shards slice through her beating flesh, ripping her open and spluttering on the concrete flooring.

Suddenly green eyes are latched onto hers.

And suddenly, they’re the last thing she wants to see.

“Oh, hello! You must be the reporter everybody has been telling me about. Frankie, right? It’s so great to meet you! This is such a great opportunity for everybody,” the pretty girl is saying, but Frankie isn’t registering anything.

All she’s registering is Harry’s hands jumping away from the girl’s waist. His green eyes wide and pleading. His uncomfortable shuffling behind her.

Frankie snaps her mouth shut, trying her hardest to pull herself together. “Hi, yes. I’m Frankie. Nice to meet you, er…”

“Roslyn. I’m Harry’s girlfriend.”

Frankie tries her hardest to keep a straight face, but she’s practically breaking at the seams. She doesn’t even register two sets of feet stopping short behind her, doesn’t even acknowledge her shaky hand slipping into Roslyn’s, doesn’t even feel the heat of Harry’s eyes on hers, of everybody’s eyes on hers.

She feels like the biggest idiot in the world.

Before she could sink into the floor, Frankie feels a small hand settle on her back, blonde ringlets falling onto her bare shoulder. She shuffles back, feeling the warmth of Cherry’s embrace behind her. She knows that Cherry’s heard everything, and with one look into Frankie’s eyes, Cherry can see her reflection through the tears that threaten to fall.

“Frankie, did you bring the necklace you borrowed from me last night?” Cherry asks. It’s an out, an excuse to drag her away from the absolute nightmare unfolding in front of her. Frankie can barely shake her head back, instead she’s gripping onto her friend for dear life, feeling that if she wasn’t anchoring her into the cement flooring she’d be sinking.

“Wait, Cher! Franks, I—”

“—Don’t. We’ll see you after the show,” Cherry says. And for the first time since knowing her, Frankie shivers at the coldness dripping from her mouth.

The two girls don’t bother to hear a response. Instead, Cherry whips through the exit door of the venue and drags Frankie back into the comfort of her hotel room. Once she’s sitting on her flimsy mattress and the door is deadbolted, Frankie finally cries, painful sobs ripping through her chest. She hunches over, feeling her chest constrict at the lack of oxygen rushing through her respiratory system. But she doesn’t care. The hurt she felt watching Harry kiss another girl feels worse than this.

“Frankie, shush, it’s going to be okay,” Cherry says sadly, wrapping a thin arm around Frankie’s shoulders.

“It’s not going to be okay. Cherry, I can’t breathe. Oh my God, I’m so sorry. Wait, I should be apologizing, Cherry I—” Frankie’s rambles are cut off by Cherry kneeling in front of her, holding her glistening face in the small palms of her hands. Cherry smiles, and when Frankie looks hard enough, she can see that it doesn’t meet her eyes. And she instantly knows that something is wrong.

“Wait, Cherry what’s wrong. Did something happen?” Frankie whimpers, holding her hands on top of Cherry’s, trying to squeeze the truth out of her friend.

“I think we should get out of here. What do you think? Let’s get away from it all,” Cherry says, gesturing at the front door where Frankie’s duffle lays untouched. Frankie feels herself nodding, grabbing Cherry in one hand and her bag in the other, walking outside of the hotel with a shattered heart.

Before they can get too far, she hears his voice. And that’s all it takes for her to feel the shards rip through her skin again.

“Franks! Please you’ve got to listen to me, please!” He’s pleading and Frankie feels disgusted that he’s calling out for her when his beautiful blonde-haired girlfriend is waiting for him inside just as she’s been waiting for him at home while he’s been wasting his time with Frankie.

“Cher, please let me talk to her, I’ve gotta—”

“—Goodbye Harry,” Frankie says softly. It’s final. Absolute.

She’s not sure who’s heart is breaking more, and honestly, she can’t bring herself to care. All she knows is that she feels as if Harry had shown her a world unlike any other—bright and unknowing and enticing and full of new wonders and surprises. But at the same time, he introduced her to heartbreak and pain and suffering and emptiness.

Frankie doesn’t look back as Cherry drags her towards the street, hailing a taxi and shoving them both into it. She doesn’t look out the window when the tires peel from the pavement, falling into traffic on the motorway. If she did, she would see Harry’s heart crumpling into the ground, his chest heaving in pain, his eyes watering.

Because they were both the closest to love they had ever felt in their lives. And Harry had ruined it. And the worst part of it all?

Frankie should have known better.

***

Inside the departures terminal in San Francisco Airport, Frankie finally wipes all of the water from her eyes. She’s pretty convinced that she’s cried all of the tears her body could produce, so with one last shaky inhale, she lifts her head from the crook of Cherry’s neck, wiping her nose with the back of her hand.

“Thank you, Cherry,” Frankie whispers to a girl she never thought she would ever call a friend.

“I should be the one thanking you, Frankie,” Cherry admits, laughing softly to herself. It isn’t genuine, and Frankie can see the pain hidden behind her silver eyes.

“What happened?”

“You were right.” Cherry doesn’t need to explain more, but Frankie feels her heart aching for her friend. She feels horrible about their fight, but she feels even worse at the fact that Rod hurt Cherry.

“Why doesn’t he love me?” Cherry asks, and Frankie wonders how the two of them had gotten to this point. Both broken and scarred over two men who couldn’t love them the way that they needed to.

“I don’t know the answer to that, Cherry. But I do know that you never needed his love. Because love doesn’t feel like this. Love is supposed to be the thing that people write songs about, and you’ll find it one day. We’ll both find it one day.”

Cherry just nods at her brown-haired friend she’s grown to love in the span of three weeks. She hugs her tightly, hoping that this embrace will help heal their shattered hearts. Because even though they didn’t find love with Rod and Harry, they found love between each other. And that’s something worth remembering.

“Thank you,” Cherry mumbles against Frankie’s hair.

“Of course. I’ll always be here for you, Cherry,” Frankie replies, squeezing her friend a little tighter.

“I know that, and I will too.” Cherry stands up, grabbing Frankie’s hand one last time. Her suitcase is in the other, and she has a distant look in her silver eyes. “I just can’t do it here.”

Frankie smiles, knowing all along that Cherry was too good for this place. “I know. I hope you find what you’re looking for,” she says with a promise.

Before Cherry runs off to purchase a one-way ticket to a city far away from California, she turns back around, her eyes glistening. She reaches down to grab Frankie’s hand one last time.

“Aubrey Lennox,” she whispers.

“What?”

“My name,” Cherry replies with her infamous grin. “Is Aubrey Lennox. I’ll call you when I’ve found a place.” And with that, Aubrey walks off, giving Frankie one last parting glance.

An hour later when the hollowness inside Frankie seems to slowly start dissipating, she sees Mary in her stewardess outfit, a million questions at the tip of her tongue. With one look at her little sister, Mary knows something is wrong, and when she tells her that she’ll take her anywhere she wants to go, Frankie only has one place in mind.

She wants to go home.

***

August 1973 - entry no. 9

Frankie writes the Rolling Stone article the night Mary finds her in the airport in San Francisco. After promising her little sister that she’ll bring her home after she checks in with Greg and feeds their cat, Frankie stays up all night, clacking away on her sister’s old Smith Corona Classic 12 typewriter, writing three thousand words about her time with The Nocturnals.

She writes about their origin. She writes about their dazzling stage presence, the way they build off of each other, the way they trust each other wholeheartedly throughout each show. She writes about their growing tension. She writes about their poor management. She writes about how they’re debut album was incredible, chart-stopping, and the main reason why they’ve been successful. She writes about the promise of their second album being better than the first, and how she couldn’t imagine them breaking up any time soon, and how their music is for all the uncool people in the world.

It’s amazing and honest and truthful, void of spite or hatred or bias. She tells their story the way it should be told—open and honest and real. When she delivers it to Rolling Stone, they tell Frankie it’s going to be on the front page. They love the way she portrays The Nocturnals as normal people, chasing the high they provide for those who pay to watch their show.

But when they make out the call to fact check her piece, they deny everything.

“Did you talk to Harry Styles?” Frankie asks, growing frantic. She figured the least he owed her was to be honest and allow her to write their story.

“He was the one who denied everything.”

After that phone call, Frankie returns home with Mary. Once she’s opened the door and said hello to her mother, she locks herself in her room for three days and doesn’t leave.

Frankie didn’t think her heart could withstand any more pain, but she was wrong. She feels a bone-aching tiredness shiver through her body, the hollowness making her feel as if she was just barely there on most days. She can’t sleep because her pillow isn’t the rising and falling of Harry’s bare chest, the soft snoring from his mouth, the gentle caress of his hands over her arms.

Her anger overrides her feeling of emptiness in regards to her heart. She’s crushed at the fact that Harry lied to her about Roslyn, but even more so, he continued to lie when he denied her story from Rolling Stone. She hates him in these days, wishing she could tell him how much of a coward he was to his face.

And when she can’t sleep at night, she hears Lester’s words reverberating through her brain, don’t get too close, don’t get too close, don’t get too close.

Frankie wishes she just fucking listened.

***

The next morning, Frankie is lathering a thin layer of butter over her charred toast when the doorbell rings. She doesn’t make a move to answer it, and when Mary approaches the kitchen with a twinkle in her eyes, Frankie knows that whoever is at the door is waiting for her.

“Mary, no—”

“—Go answer it, Frankie.”

Frankie gulps her dry toast down her throat, letting it fall onto a paper towel with a soft thud. She walks slowly to the front door, hoping that whoever it is could see the state of disarray she was in and would presumptively leave her alone.

Once she reaches the foyer, she hears a gruff laugh, a noise she’s never heard before.

“Holy shit, you’re a fuckin’ kid.”

When she looks up, it’s no other than Lester Bangs in the doorway. His long hair is parted to one side, brown eyes covered in black wayfarer sunglasses. His brown leather jacket hangs off his arms, and she’s shocked that he would come all the way from San Francisco to talk to her.

“Cat’s out the bag,” Frankie shrugs, realizing that she’s too tired and too hurt to keep up her adult façade. She’s fully aware that her plaid pajama bottoms and high school t-shirt give away the fact that she is actually eighteen years old.

But somehow, Lester doesn’t seem to mind.

“Had a feeling. You write like you’re experiencing shit for the first time in your life.” Frankie tries to ignore the truthfulness to his words.

“Yeah, well… What are you exactly doing here, Lester?” Frankie asks.

Lester holds up his left hand and clutched inside is the August edition of Rolling Stone’s magazine. On the front cover is a picture of The Nocturnals: Harry, Eddie, Veronica, Jett, and Rod, posing in front of a red backdrop. On the left hand column reads THE NOCTURNALS: Sex, Drugs, and Life on the Road. And right under that, in glossy red print, reads Written by: Frankie Goodhart.

Frankie starts to feel the hollowness inside of her fill up.

“Harry Styles called and told us that everything you said was true. And that he’s sorry, for some reason,” Lester says, holding out the publication for her to keep. She runs her fingers over the words, smiling for the first time in a week.

“Wow, uh, I don’t know what to say,” Frankie says, floored.

Lester laughs and produces a second copy, holding out a Sharpie in the other. “Mind if you sign mine? Figured it’ll be worth a lot once you make it big, kid.”

Frankie laughs, before shakily reaching out and signing her name in big swoopy letters. Before Lester leaves, he tells her to keep sending him her album reviews, and that whenever she figures out what she wants to do with her life, he’ll always be waiting for her call.

A few days later, the hollowness doesn’t feel as painful anymore. Frankie distracts herself by hanging out with her sister, spending time with her mother, listening to new records, telling Mary the in’s and out’s of her time on the road. She leaves out a certain curly-haired boy with green eyes that broke her heart, but Mary knows that Frankie will tell her over time, once she’s finished mending the scars he left her with.

When Mary announces that she’s heading back to San Francisco, her departure isn’t as sad as the first time. Cynthia and her daughter seemed to have found common ground with Mary’s outlook on life, and with a promise to be back for Thanksgiving, Frankie starts to feel like the ground isn’t as shaky as it was a month earlier.

“Want to go to Tower Records with me? One last time before I go, for old time’s sake,” Mary whispers in her sister’s ear when their mother is busy making lunch.

Frankie nods, and the two girls set off across the boardwalk.

The sun warms Frankie to her core, and she suddenly starts to feel the weight being lifted from her shoulders. She feels more in control of her life now than ever before, and walking side by side with her sister, she no longer feels hollow. Instead, she feels excited. Excited for her future. Excited for the idea of endless possibilities and newness.

“You should come with me to San Francisco, Frankie! I can get you a stewardess position and we can travel the world together. Live like we never have before. What do you say, kiddo?” Mary asks, rifling through the “M” section of the new releases in the record store.

Before, Frankie would have done anything to be closer to her sister. But now, in the after, she feels a new sense of home in Santa Monica.

“I think I’m gonna stay here. Go to college at UCLA. Probably study English, if they’ll let me,” Frankie announces. And for once, she actually means what she’s saying.

Mary smiles at her sister, her thumbs crossing over towards the “N” category.

“Whatever you end up doing Frankie, just remember that you’re doing it for yourself. And that no matter what, I’m in your corner. Always have, always will.”

Frankie reaches an arm around her sister, holding her close. She hopes that Mary can feel the love she has for her through her embrace, and when Mary smiles, she knows she can feel it.

“Oh, I haven’t seen this before,” Mary says, coming to a stop on a record in the middle of the “N” bin.

Frankie watches as her sister pulls out a black vinyl wrapped in a pink and blue sleeve. The band she spent weeks on the road with is written on the top, with the picture from the Rolling Stone cover in the middle. When Frankie’s eyes scroll towards the bottom of the record, she can feel her breath catch in her throat when she reads the name of the title.

GOOD HEART.

#1dff #movies challenge #harry

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popopretty · 5 years

Text

BSD Chapter 80

Kami wo kodosu - Part 3

It’s the continuation of the last chapter. We finally learnt who Kamui (or who we thought were Kamui) was and I’m not sure about everyone but it was a nice surprise to me.

Neither English nor Japanese is my native language so there will be some mistakes here and there. Please let me know if you spot any :)

The raw is released monthly in Young Ace magazine that has been digitalized and can be bought online so if anyone is interested in catching up with the chapter in real time, please let me know and I will be happy to help :)

SPOILERS AHEAD

- Dazai and Fyodor are playing number guessing in jail. The game becomes so easy it’s boring that Dazai suggests trying another thing. Fyodor then asks if he has time to play around like that, while the ADA is sinking like the sunset (which is only beautiful for a moment before disappearing). Dazai answers that he does have time because he has nothing to do other than watching over Fyodor in jail, so that a certain person can move freely. Dazai refers to that person is “one who surpasses all ability user, the strongest man of the ADA”.

- Back to Fukuzawa and the masked man on the rooftop. The masked man takes off his mask and he turns out to be Ranpo, Fukuzawa asks him if the other members are targetted also. Ranpo explains that since Kamui is acting so quickly, he has decided to go along with Kamui’s plan and rescued the other members on the way.

- Fukuzawa asks Ranpo why he has been disappearing ever since the beginning. Ranpo tells him the only reason he would ever be in crisis, is that he wants the enemy to think he is in crisis. He then explains to Fukuzawa how he was able to escape from the attack by jumping out of the window and disguising himself using the coat of the person he just knocked down when jumping (lol). After that, he has been doing the normal job of a great detective, and trying to solve the case. During the investigation, he discovered the plan to kill off the ADA members but he didn’t have enough time to save everyone at the same time. That’s why he decided to go along with the enemy’s plan and “rewrite” it. He stole the gun prepared to shoot Kunikida and destroy the electronic locks from outside of the building, and then rescued Kunikida after throwing the gas bomb. For Yosano, he replaced the engine of the car with an electric engine, that has almost no sounds. He also used a speaker to imitate the engine sound so that noone realized that the engine had been replaced. He then caused the explosion to trick the soldiers to get off the car while he himself approaches the car and drive it off quietly. Lastly, in order to save Katai, he made Katai read a novel written by Poe so that he is pulled into the novel world. The guy that goes with Ranpo from the last chapter also takes off his disguise and he turns out to be Poe. Poe wants to talk about how he also helped out a lot with the rescue process but Ranpo says to leave it later because he is busy lol. Ranpo then asks if Fukuzuwa has any order to him and instead of telling Ranpo to “solve the case”, Fukuzawa orders him to “destroy” it, because that’s already too much.

- In a venue where the a press conference is being prepared, a director and a journalist (or st of the sort) are talking to each other about how the ADA event has become the world-wide concern, and has caused a chaos that can rewrite the meaning of the word “terrorist”. The female journalist says that she has noticed something, that despite the amount of news that has come out, there is no information on the “motive” of the crime, the reason why the ADA did all of these things. And to find out that “motive” is their main purpose as journalists. In the middle of their conversation, all of the sudden Ranpo appears in the press room, freaking out everyone. The press is broadcast live so the people everywhere, including the police stations can also view it.

- The journalists in the room panic and try to escape but the doors are locked. They wonder if it’s yet another act of terror with them as the hostages. Ranpo tells them to ask serious questions if they are real journalist. So the female journalist a while ago stands up and asks why the ADA did all the terror acts. Ranpo then goes on and explains how the ADA was set up, to which the girl demands proofs. Ranpo tells her that there are various evidences he has collected and sent to all the police offices, including the fingerprints, hair samples at the scenes, the timetable of the hostages, the buying history of those chains, and many other proofs that show it is impossible for ADA to commit the act of terrors. Upon hearing that, office Minoura who is also watching the broadcast asks his people about those documents, only to find out they have been tossed into the trash bin, without noone even looking at them. Ranpo also explains how the “page” has made noone want to believe in the guiltlessness of the ADA, what the “page” is and its role in the incident.

- He is stopped there because the police force has arrived and stormed into the pressroom. Before being taken away, Ranpo tells everyone not to think with their position or their occupation, but think with their own souls, not about ADA’s righteousness, but about what Ranpo himself has done over the last 12 years, how he has solved countless cases that noone couldn’t, how many people who are capturing him were actually saved by him. And that if such great detective decides to become a terrorist, will he even make such stupid mistakes that turn him into a wanted criminal like now? His statement shocks everyone. He then is handcuffed and taken away, when the female journalist asks him to have one last statement, to which he said “It’s easy to become a great detective. Just see with your own eyes.” Minoura is seen rushing out of the office upon hearing those words.

That’s the end of this month’s chapter. Ranpo is so cool isn’t he? I like this chapter because it is actually proving what Dazai said to Fyodor a few chapters ago “Humans are not such boring existences”. Little by little, people are getting out of the control of the page and siding with ADA, against all odds.

Thank you for reading until here :) See you next month.

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #spoilers #summary #bsd spoilers #edogawa ranpo #dazai osamu #fyodor dostoevsky #edgar allan poe

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joon-ipersgirl · 4 years

Text

O5 - “the coveted client”

genre: mafia!au, angst, fluff, slow burn, mystery-thriller

pairing: namjoon x reader (f)

word count: 4.6k

warnings: cursing

summary: charismatic. beautiful. fearless without question. the ambitious team of seven young men in charge of spiral, downtown district's hottest new club, go above and beyond to provide 100% satisfaction to their clients.

after an eventful night out, you have no choice but to join the team for property damages greater than your intern salary. challenging a series of events that can no longer be left to coincidence, secrets threaten to burst at the seams as your professional and private life collide, and another - more sinister - debt is added to your total.

how far are you willing to go to pay back your pound of flesh? remember nothing is ever as it seems...

a/n: hello friends. here is part 5. leave a comment on how you're feeling about this story. i'm debating on discontinuing it from tumblr. thank you vi for reading as always. enjoy everyone :)

full masterlist // series masterlist // previous // next

Training tonight @ 6pm. Don’t be late. You read the incoming text with a grin. Even in text, Suga is straight to the point. Shoving your phone back into your pants pocket, you leave the small kitchenette and head back to your small desk with a fresh cup of coffee in hand. You can still remember the looks of horror on the boys’ faces after Suga announced your immediate hire and it’s been two weeks since then. Was it wrong to take pleasure in their discomfort? Probably. Would you stop? Never.

“Is that a smile I spy on Miss Y/N Y/L/N’s face? The Devil must be here to collect his wife,” Paul exclaims as you sit back down. You laugh and prop your chin on your hand as you stare at him over your desktop screen.

“Can a woman not just be happy, Paul? Why does it have to come at the expense of a man?” you ask, a fake feign of hurt in your voice.

“Of course women can. Just not you,” he says with a shrug of his shoulders. You shake your head, your smile still present on your face. Paul would not ruin your good mood.

“Ouch. That one might have hurt if I actually gave a fuck about your opinion of me,” you say while reorganizing the folders Manager Kim had dropped onto your desk from the day before.

“Y/N! Language!” Laura chides as she walks into your cramped office space. You roll your eyes and flip through the countless papers on your desk to order them in order of priority.

It’s honestly a miracle that none of you manage to murder each other while you work though it’s crossed your mind several times. JM Events and Affairs is a lucrative event planning company, but apparently could not afford to at least place its clerks in a room larger than 500 sq ft. Being entry level is a struggle most days, but eventually it would all pay off and you would become a successful event planning guru. For now though, you’re stuck here with the imbeciles you had to call co-workers.

“Manager Kim wants to see us in her office,” James says as he pokes his head around the wall of the cubicle, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. “Now,” he emphasised. He doesn’t wait for you to follow.

Paul shoots you and Laura a raised brow of confusion as you grab your notepads and file down the long corridor to Manager Kim’s well decorated office. She’s an older woman who’s been in the business longer than you’ve been alive. She credits her success to always staying ahead of the trend even if she didn’t create it, though most times she did. Her style is impeccable and she is meticulous as she is jovial. She’s, quite simply, a genius.

James has already taken a seat in one of the two plush grey chairs in front of her large, industrial sized desk. Rows of colorful binders are organized on her desk - no doubt detailing the new events the company is planning on hosting. Manager Kim enjoys the arts and it’s evident from the variety of paintings that hang on the wall. Today, she’s dressed in a powder blue knit sweater that matches whatever shade of nail polish she wears tucked into a pair of belted, high waisted wide leg pants. Her matching steel toe boots peek from underneath.

“Ah, good. You’re all here,” she begins as she sits behind her desk. You gesture for Laura to take the other available seat as you stand behind James and Paul stands next to you.

“We have a new client considering the company for an event. He’s very important for future networking opportunities so I expect the very best work from you.” Manger Kim usually wasted no time getting straight to the point and today is no different. “In fact, I’ve been monitoring your work very closely because I knew a client like this would be coming very soon,” she stands from her desk, navy blue binder in hand.

“What kind of event is he planning on having?” James inquires, his pen ready to take notes.

“He didn’t give specific details, but I’m sure if we can book him for this minor event, he’ll give us the main one. I’m quite sure of it.” Manager Kim snaps the binder shut and smiles at you all. Her white blonde bob is immaculate, not a single strand out of place.

“Should we start drafting ideas now?” Laura asks.

“Yes, I need several drafts from each of you by 4pm this afternoon. Please have them -”

“Are we just supposed to forget about the other events we have coming up? This guy didn’t even give us any major details for effective planning!” Paul interrupts. Manager Kim turns to look at him.

“Well Paul, if this client is of no importance to you -” Paul tries to backtrack, but to no avail as Manager Kim continues on “- I will not need your drafts or your portfolio.” She beams at him and Paul blanches. You grimace.

“As I was saying. Please have your portfolios and 4 drafts submitted to me by 4pm today. They should be in priority order and include everything from food to colors, entertainment and venues. Remember, the customers knows best -”

“- but finesse, finesse, finesse,” you, Paul, James, and Laura finish. Manager Kim should have that framed and put on her wall.

“Lovely. Goodbye,” she waves no longer looking at you, already lost in her grueling event editing process. You knew better than to loiter and the four of you head back to your small workspace.

“You really fucked up there Paul,” you say as you sit down at your desk.

“Thanks, Y/N,” Paul deadpans. He drops his head quite heavily on his desk. Laura winces.

“It’s okay, Paul. Maybe you can still show her something and -” she starts.

“You know Manager Kim isn’t the forgiving kind,” James interrupts. “There’s nothing more he can do,” he finishes nonchalantly.

“I hate to agree -” you begin.

“No you don’t,” Paul cuts in.

“- but James is right. Manager Kim is all about quick thinking and Paul failed that test. He’ll have another time to redeem himself, but he has to sit this one out. You should be happy, Laura. Less competition,” you say with a shrug and flip open your notepad to start drafting.

“Do you even have an empathetic bone in your body, Y/N?!” Laura hisses as she walks over to rest a hand on Paul’s shoulder.

“Sometimes,” you reply. “But everyone has to eat and I refuse to go to sleep on an empty stomach.”

Laura looks disgusted at your answer and she goes back to consoling Paul. James had left the conversation a long time ago and you admired his ability to ignore almost everyone around him. His coldness and detachment made him ruthless in an unsuspecting way and you’d learned the hard way not to underestimate him. Laura would learn eventually that while people thought it was the strong who survived, it was really those who were able to adapt to any environment that really thrived.

It’s after lunch that you receive an email from Manager Kim requesting for you to meet her in the lobby in fifteen minutes without any further explanation. You ask no questions and sit in the lobby, counting the people that come out of the elevator that were not Manager Kim. It’s already 1:24 pm and you’ve just started your third draft. Creating on a time crunch with no real guidance is no walk in the park and you try to keep your frustrations under control as you run through possible color combinations for the event.

“Y/N! There you are! Let’s go,” Manager Kim calls as she exits the building without checking to see if you follow.

You scramble to grab your purse and notepad, scurrying across the lobby in the high heels she insists you wear. Manager Kim is already seated in a company car as you yank the passenger side door open and fall into the seat.

“Very good,” she says and wastes no time pulling into traffic. You awkwardly try to secure your seatbelt as she zips through the small spaces between cars. Gods protect you from this woman and her hazardous driving.

“Where are we going?” you ask after you manage to situate your purse, coat, and notepad in your lap comfortably.

“Downtown. We’re meeting with the client.”

“We?!” you repeat, surprised.

“That’s what I said isn’t it? We’re also late,” she says as she makes a sharp right turn onto Matthews St. You barely miss hitting a cyclist and you send up another small prayer for you to make it to your destination safely.

“What about the drafts and portfolios? Aren’t you going to review -”

“Did I say I wasn’t?” She glances over at you from the corner of her eye and you close your mouth. You would not fail this test.

Manager Kim pulls over into an impossibly tight space in front of a large corporate building that reads Hastings and Lewis. A well established law firm if you remember correctly. It has to be at least 14 stories high and exudes the architect’s vision of simple modern design with large windows and exposed steel structural support. You both exit the car and you align your steps with hers, your heels clicking in time against the marble flooring as you enter the building. You say good afternoon to the doorman who simply nods at you in greeting.

“Hello. How can I help you?” the receptionist asks behind the raised desk, her head barely visible.

“Yes, hello. My name is Madeline Kim. I have an appointment to speak with Mr. Cavallero at 2:15pm.” You glance at the clock behind the receptionist. 1:53pm. You bite your lip to hold your outburst. To be early is to be on time, you could hear her say.

The receptionist smiles and nods as she searches her computer for the appointment. “Yes, here it is. Please have a seat. Someone will come and get you shortly.”

Manager Kim nods and perches in one of the available seats. You shake your head as you take a seat next to her, ignoring the itching in your palm to pull out your notepad and finish your drafts. You can tell by the way Manager Kim is sitting, not scrolling through her various binders or the calendar on her phone, this is a formal interview and you would not be the one to fuck it up. There would be time to finish the drafts. You would make sure of it.

“Ms. Kim?” A young man in a sharp, black suit stands in the center of the room smiling at you. 2:05pm. Right on time. “If you could follow me this way, please.” He turns towards the golden elevators and you follow behind him. “My name is Lewis Carlisle and I am the assistant to Mr. Cavallero,” he tells you as he pushes the button for the 10th floor. He sticks his hand out for each of you to shake.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Mr. Carlisle. Thank you for having us. This is my assistant, Ms. Amani Jung.” A lie, but you go with it.

“A pleasure to meet you,” you say with a bright smile and a firm handshake. He returns a smile of his own.

The elevator doors open and you follow Mr. Carlisle through the open workspace plan. This is the kind of place that promoted collaboration and teamwork. How could it not when the light airy feeling made you want to turn to your neighbor and ask them what they thought about a particular problem? JM Events and Affairs should have hired their interior designer. Maybe some of their employees wouldn’t struggle as much to meet their deadlines.

“Mr. Cavellero unfortunately will not be able to meet with you in person today -” Manager Kim’s smile tightens at his words “- but he did relay all of his expectations for the company brunch,” Lewis says as he holds open the door to a small meeting room. It’s in the center of the floor and the walls are made of pure plexiglass. It screamed expensive.

“How wonderful,” Manager Kim comments as she sits down and sets her purse down on the ground.

“Would either of you like something to drink? Water? A Coke?”

“ A water with light ice will do, thank you,” she says.

“I’ll take a bottle of water, please,” you reply and sit down beside Madeline. You discreetly pull out your design notepad along with your actual note-taking pad. Lewis nods and promises to return quickly with your drinks as well as the file containing the event details.

“You seem upset,” you comment while scribbling down the words brunch and law firm onto a new blank sheet for your fourth and final draft, your brain already conjuring up ideas.

“What makes you think that?” she asks, turning to you slightly as she too sets up her own note-taking station.

“Your smile failed to meet your eyes,” you say nonchalantly. From the corner of your eye, you see her break into a grin as Lewis enters the room, a cup of water in one hand, a bottle in the other, and a slim manilla folder tucked underneath his arm.

“Thank you again, Mr. Carlisle,” Manager Kim says with another bright smile, her hand in his as they shake hands again.

“You’re very welcome. I’m sure Mr. Cavallero will love what you put together for brunch,” he replies.

The meeting seems to be a success and you’d gained some much needed insight for your fourth draft while being Madeline’s “assistant”. You’re no longer paying attention as you exit the meeting room and head back towards the main elevator, Madeline and Lewis making polite conversation. You run over all of your drafts as you check the time discreetly. It’s 3:20pm. You would still have enough time to review your plans and work on the others files Manager Kim had assigned. You grin in victory.

“Mr. Cavallero!” Lewis exclaims as the elevator doors open.

The man is an older gentleman with neatly groomed hair and warm brown eyes. His coal grey suit is neatly pressed, a sharp crease present in the center of his pant leg. Definitely high quality and only dry-cleaned. His smile displays a set of perfect of white teeth. As he steps out of the elevator, holding it open so it wouldn’t close, the Armani Exchange watch glitters under the artificial lights.

“Mr. Carlisle. I assume this must be our event coordinators. I’m sorry I couldn’t meet with you. An emergency meeting was called for a major case,” he apologizes.

“I understand, Mr. Cavallero. Things are sometimes out of our control. No need to explain,” Madeline says with a smile as she enters the elevator. You follow behind her. “Mr. Carlisle was quite capable. I will have Miss Y/L/N send over the final details for the event by Friday for your approval.”

Mr. Cavallero’s eyes shift over to you and he smiles. “I look forward to it. Enjoy the rest of your day, ladies.” He let the doors go as Lewis tells you goodbye, the doors closing off the last of his words.

Manager Kim’s shoulders visibly relax as you descend to the lobby, but you make no comment. Though their conversation was brief, something had clearly transpired between them. Madeline seems to have noticed you watching her as she inhales and fixes her posture. She was back to business.

“I assume I don’t have to tell you not to say anything about this meeting?” she asks as she nods her thanks to the doorman, your steps once more in sync as you exit the high rise building.

“What meeting?” You say with a grin as you wait for her to unlock the company car.

The heat of the staircase in Spiral welcomes you again like a familiar friend after not seeing them for a long time. There is still the hustle and bustle of vendors dropping off boxes as the final details of the new designs are being put into place. People couldn’t wait to see how Spiral had fared after the robbery - which you still didn’t believe was actually what happened - and it seems like Friday’s opening night couldn’t come soon enough. Even Paul and Laura were considering stopping by after all of the shit they talked before.

You enter the main space and glance around, looking for one of the boys. Your purse bag is heavy from the event files and you head over to set it on top of the bar while resting your aching feet. Paul, Laura, and James could not believe you’d managed to turn in your drafts and portfolio at exactly 3:57pm after being gone so long; they would eventually learn to not underestimate you. You glance around again and notice a group of people sitting in one of the newly upholstered booths quietly chatting to one another across the way. Were these the new employees?

“Already lounging on the first day of the job, Y/L/N?”

You look to your left as you shrug off your heavy overcoat and see Honcho coming around the bar, a pile of clothes in his hands.

“Of course not. I just wasn’t sure who to report to,” you say with a shrug.

“Well, you’re looking at him,” he replies with a grin. You have to stop your mouth from falling open. Of all people, it had to be him? “What? Are you disappointed?” he asks as he continues across the room to the small group. You grab your stuff and walk over after him.

“No, I just thought -”

“Thought it would be Suga? As much as you like to charge in and demand shit sweetheart, Suga is a very busy man and doesn’t have the time to appease you all the time. Sit,” he commands with a jerk of his head. You narrow your eyes at him, but obey. It’s only then that you notice the other five persons staring at you in confusion as you bickered. You swallow the urge to huff in annoyance as Honcho begins speaking.

“Thank you all for being on time. Congratulations on being hired. I’m Honcho and I’ll be your manager at Spiral. You’ll meet the rest of the guys later. These are your uniforms. We have a strict adherence uniform policy, so please do your best to be dressed in your proper attire. If you have long hair, it will be tied up or back in a bun or ponytail. Ladies, we ask that you wear red lipstick to match our colors. We’ve also given you options for bottoms: a skirt or pants.” Honcho holds up a pair of each for demonstration. “Whatever you decide to wear is up to you. We only ask that all your shoes are closed toed and we would prefer no sneakers; we’re trying to sell a vibe here. Any questions?” He doesn’t wait for anyone to speak up. “No? Great. If you could introduce yourselves to each other, that’d be fantastic.” He looks over to the boy on the other side of the booth.

“Uh, hi. My name is Micah. I’m 21 and recently graduated from college.” He tosses up a small wave before pushing his glasses further up his nose. He’s narrow shouldered and naturally blonde. Cute, if you will. They would chew him up and eat him alive if he continued to be so timid.

“Hey, I’m Luca. I’m 23 and a graduate student at Oberman.” Luca definitely fit the vibe Spiral os going for with his dark hair and dark eyes. He would have no problem wooing the numerous women who would walk through the door. A great business move in your opinion.

“Hey y’all, Savannah here. I’m 22 and working part time while in school.” Another blonde hair, blue-eyed coworker. How fun. The bubbles in champagne had nothing on her as she beams at the rest of you around the table.

“I’m Jack. I’m 24 and I guess I’m here to save up for a new car? Need some extra cash,” he finishes with a bashful grin. The girl next to you snorts. Jack is a big man with broad shoulders and you would assume he was hired as additional security based on his size. Imagine a man as big as him bringing over your strawberry mojito? Exactly.

“Giselle. 21. Law student. Loans have to pay themself off somehow right?” Luca laughs and Giselle smiles. Yuck. If you weren’t already sick of the office romance - if you could call it that - between Laura and Paul at JM, you were going to have to endure another one here? Gods be with you.

“Y/N Y/L/N. I’m 22 and an event planner,” you say nonchalantly and turn to Honcho, waiting for his next instructions.

“Not going to tell us the reason you’re here?” he smirks and you roll your eyes.

“You’d like that wouldn’t you?”

“I’d like a lot of things, Y/L/N. In fact, I can think of a few -”

“Gross,” you say, interrupting him, your face turned down in disgust. He laughs.

“Always think someone wants something from you, huh?” He shakes his head, still chuckling. “Everyone, go get changed and I’ll explain your duties to you once you get back.”

The six of you ease out of the booth, grabbing your uniforms as you head to the restrooms to get changed. As you follow Savannah and Giselle, you can’t help but scan the hallway for anything you could have missed as the memory of your second night here flashed across your mind. There had to be something that you were missing.

“I hope these uniforms are cute,” Giselle grumbles as she steps into an empty stall.

“I’m sure it’ll look great,” Savannah chirps.

You step into your own individual stall and drop your stuff on the floor. Slipping out of your heels, you step out of your slacks and tug off your blouse. You hold up the uniform shirt. It’s a plain black t-shirt with the letters in red spelling out Spiral in a spiral formation. The pants are made of a faux leather shiny material. They look tight and the sides have cut outs with strings laced in them from hip to ankle. The skirt is exactly the same. You sigh. This was really the vibe?

You dress quickly and tug on your Doc Martens. Honcho would have to wait for the lipstick. Exiting the stall, you see Savannah trying to adjust the strings on her pants while chewing her lip.

“Is it supposed to be this exposed?” she asks, checking herself out in the mirror.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure,” Giselle says exiting the stall and tugging down the hem of her skirt.

“So much for equality in the workplace huh?” you say. The two of them laugh.

The three of you return to the main space, Micah, Luca, and Jack already back at the booth with Honcho. Their eyes widen when they see you.

“Looking good ladies,” Honcho calls with his traditional large grin. Of course he would comment.

“Yeah, yeah. What’s next?” Giselle asks as she wiggles her way back into the booth, trying to cover her modesty.

“We’re going to take a tour of the facilities, get you acquainted with the space, and fill out the last pieces of paperwork. We’ll also have you help with some of the decorations; don’t worry, you’re going to get paid for this session. Then, we’ll see you on Friday for your shifts,” he replies. “Alright, let’s go.”

Again, he doesn’t wait for you to follow. As you’re setting your belongings down to catch up with the rest of the group, you spot Jin heading towards the bar. Just the man who you needed to see.

“Are you coming Y/N?” Savannah calls to you as the group heads up to the second level.

“Yeah, I’ll be right there!” you lie, knowing damn well you’re going to ambush Jin. You pretend to search for something in your purse as you double-check the group is far enough on the second level to not notice you not following before you head over to Jin.

“Well hello Jin,” you say as you wiggle your way onto a bar stool.

“Y/N,” he says with a chuckle. “What can I do for you?”

“Just answer a few simple questions.” you smile as you rest your chin on your palm.

“Alright,” he replied skeptically.

“Where’d you move the body?” The bottle of Aperol nearly slips out of his grip as he turns to look at you.

“Excuse me?” There’s no laughter in his voice.

“The body of the man in the bathroom,” you clarify. “How’d you get it to disappear like that?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he replies, busying himself with stocking up the bottles of alcohol under the shelf. He won’t meet your eyes. You know he’s lying; his body language says it all.

“Oh come on, Jin. You can tell me. It’s not like I’m going to go to the cops or anything,” you say nonchalantly. “Clearly they didn’t seem to care since they weren’t that thorough with their questions.”

“Y/N, I really don’t know what you’re talking about. You were concussed remember? Maybe you imagined whoever you’re talking about.” He glances up at you. You roll your eyes.

“Really Jin? You’re going to use the concussion line on me? You knew that I shot him; I told you that. I just want to know where you put him and why there were no reports of a missing man from the incident on the news at all,” you say with a shrug. He finally turns to face you.

“Maybe nobody reported him missing. Maybe he slipped out after you ducked behind the bar. What does it matter? Look, it was a traumatic night. For all of us. I don’t know anything about whatever or whoever you’re talking about. Hell, you probably don’t know either. Please, don’t make this working relationship anymore difficult for yourself than it already is. Just come in, keep your head down, and head out.” His hands are splayed out on the bar and the distance between you has closed significantly from when he’d started talking as he stares you down. “Worry about the things that concern you, like repaying your debt.” His tone is sharp and final. There’s no friendliness in his face either.

“Y/L/N! You’re not getting paid to sit on that pretty little ass of yours. Get up here now!” Honcho yelles down to you over the railing of the second floor balcony.

Ignoring Honcho, you cock your head and look at Jin again, thinking. “Okay Jin. Heard you loud and clear.”

You hop off the bar stool and adjust your skirt. You say nothing further as you head upstairs. It seems as though Jin would be of no help to you, but honestly, it didn’t matter. If it didn’t concern you, why was Jin lying about knowing what man you were talking about? Why had Suga tried to discreetly cover up that paper in his office the other day? What was really going on at Spiral? You’re determined to figure it, even if you have to work extra hours to do it. What happens in the dark must eventually come to light.

full masterlist // series masterlist // previous // next

joon-ipersgirl, 2020

#bts fanfiction #bts mafia au #namjoon x reader #namjoon fanfic #bts fanfic #fic: double entendre

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holyshit · 4 years

Text

i was tagged by @imbellarosa in this fun little q&a, tysm 💕🥰

Rules: Answer 30 questions and tag blogs that you’re contractually obligated to get to know better.

Name: kay

Gender: female

Zodiac: i’ll go all out and say pisces sun, aries moon, aquarius mercury, aries venus, pisces mars, leo rising!

Height: 5′6″

Time: 5:53am (and i didn’t wake up early 🙃)

Favourite bands: off the top of my head, metric, one direction 🤪, broken social scene, alabama shakes, bloc party, fall out boy, london grammar, glass animals, daughter, arcade fire..... my mind has gone blank so probably a thousand others that i forgot

Favourite solo artists: britney spears, st vincent, banks, florence + the machine, rihanna, mitski, louis, harry, zayn, some other people???

Last movie: i don’t even remember, it’s been so long! possibly Pride?

Last show: Bridgerton!

When did I create this blog: i created this specific blog in 2015 but only started posting in september this year. my main blog was created in january 2008 lmfao

What do I post: larry, other 1d shit, and memes!

Last thing I googled: “mr. robot tunefind” bc i was looking for a song that played on mr. robot!

Why I chose my URL: i said holy shit a lot, i was a simpleton trying to find a couple good urls to save in the year 2009 (or something like that), and it was available!

Following: 539, but a lot are probably inactive at this point bc there are a bunch of ppl i followed in 2015/2016 in there

Followers: 1 💗

Average hours of sleep: probably the full 8 hours or so on a normal day! i work from home and make my own schedule so i’m grateful that that allows me to get some good sleep (for the most part)

Lucky number: 13, fuck the haters

Instruments: i do not play anything well! i can play a couple of guitar chords and i learned a BIT of piano back in the day, but never actually truly learned an instrument

What am I wearing: a green pyjama shirt and hot pink shorts, bc apparently i am a watermelon

Dream job: something that requires a decent bit of creativity, but not SO much creativity that i would never finish anything due to my intense perfectionism- like a pastry chef, florist, something in that ballpark!

Dream trip: me and my best friend always wanted to go to rio together, which is her hometown, and i’m dying for that to happen one day.

Favourite food: realistically, probably pizza. i’d say something fancier in public though!

Nationality: canadian

Favourite song: she showed her ass recently, but breathe me by sia always holds a special place in my heart. also fast car by tracy chapman!

Last book I read: honestly no clue

Top 3 fictional universes I’d live in: hmmmm. stealing one of bella’s: 1) star trek, 2) westworld (wherein i am a robot killing humans), 3) charmed so i can be a witch 🤙

i’m tagging (if you want to do this!): @becauseitrhymes, @deludedandlostcause, @cups-of-cats, @blulouisboi, @person-personified, @uhohmorshedios, @justalarryblog, @hlsugar, @comebacksoonboys

#tysm bella for thinking of me <3 #this was fun!#i still have like 5 other tags i have to do alfkjsfsd i'll probably do them scattered across the next couple days

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yoificfinder · 4 years

Note

hi! i hope youre well! do you have any personal favorite otayuri fics? thank you so much!

I'm doing fine, thanks nonnie! Some of the Victuuri fics I recced have Otayuri as a secondary pairing so do check out the masterlist if you haven't yet. And here are other fics I enjoyed with Otayuri as the main pairing:

(Almost) Made It by Mtrash (Makaria) [E, 35K] *WIP

He sees the blond young man and his first thought is - pretty.

His second thought is - he’s going to die.

(AU where they fall in love while killing zombies and trying not to get eaten. Fun times.)

adventures in personal growth series by stutter [T and E, 23K]

Summary of first fic:

When Victor was his age - younger, even, Yuri thinks, shame blooming in his chest - he’d made the whole world fall in love with him already. The long hair, the soft smile, the way he moved like he had a secret in his skin and he couldn't wait to share it with you. Yuri’s watched the tapes over and over. He could skate any of Victor’s early routines in his sleep. But he can't - the thing Victor could do so easily, the casual, guileless charisma he threw like a shadow - Yuri can't manage it on a single person, not even some moody Kazakh with a dumb haircut whose eyes are too far apart anyway -

(In Park Guell, Yuri takes a hard fall. Otabek picks him up.)

Amor Vincit Omnia by @AuthorMAGrant [E, 80K]

Otabek Altin is the Brotherhood's most diligent soldier, expertly hunting and killing the vampiric enemies of humanity, until he faces a bloodthirsty Russian punk named Yuri who kicks his ass ... and captures his attention as no one else ever has. The lines between hatred and lust blur, and the deeper Otabek falls into Yuri's world, the more he questions the Brotherhood and its orders. Now, what should have been a simple eradication trip to America has become a fight to determine whether Otabek will remain the obedient soldier of his youth or the warrior who may earn a love he's never deserved.

Cities in Dust series by @blownwish-blog [E, 52K] *Underage + aside from Otayuri, also contains Pliroy, Jjbek, and Otapliroy

Summary of first fic:

Yuri Plisetsky met them both on his knees in the boys' room. One would stay, the other could not. America was one fucked up country.

(The 80s high school au you didn't ask for.)

constellations by @worldofcopperwings [T, 2K]

His fingers drop from his hair and slide over the skin above his left hipbone. On the previously unmarked expanse of skin, there is a web of dark lines, connecting to form a geometric outline of a bear.

A soulmark. Yuri furrows his brow. He has a fucking soulmark, and it sure as hell wasn’t there when he showered before work. Which means the person the universe considers predestined for Yuri was at the venue tonight, prompting the emergence of the mark.

Yuri frowns at the bear adorning his hip. He doesn’t subscribe to the concept of soulmates. It’s complete bullshit that someone else gets to decide who Yuri should be with.

From Almaty, With Love series by BoxWineConfessions [E, 155K]

Summary of first fic:

It’s quiet here. Even if the car alarm on the neighbor’s goddamn BMW has been going off for the past twenty minutes. Quiet, even though the alarm’s got the neighbor’s dog howling like crazy, and the neighbor works second shift and isn’t there to comfort the dumb dog.

It’s quiet…They haven’t spoken to each other since that morning, when Yuri went off to go see his tutor, and Otabek went off to do whatever the hell it was he did in the mornings before he hit the rink.

“You’re used to the noise?”

“Yeah, but…I think I like the quiet too.”

Or: Yuri spends the summer with Otabek in Almaty.

hood & glove by @fahye, @hawberries [T, 12K]

"I don't mess with the fae," Otabek says.

"I'm not asking you to mess with them," JJ flat-out lies.

Howl by Anna (arctic_grey) / @finleighsaid [E, 72K]

Yuri Plisetsky may have been a seasoned figure skater at the age of nineteen, but in hindsight he should have known that a steep learning curve was due: his new coach Viktor was in overdrive over his pregnant mate Yuuri Katsuki, who was now retired and waddling around the rink like a ticking time bomb. St. Petersburg was having the hottest summer in decades, training was gruelling, and for the first time since they’d met, Yuri and Otabek began to fall out. Over what, Yuri wasn’t even sure: it was almost as if casual sex with your best friend eventually came with consequences.

OR the alpha!Yuri and alpha!Otabek love slamdown, with a side of obnoxious Viktuuri.

let's not overanalyze by @alykapediaaa [T, 4K]

“I’ve put worse things inside my mouth,” Otabek says, deadpan, prompting a strangled noise from Yuri.

Yuri hisses and tries very hard not to think about the things Otabek had put in his mouth. He fails. “I’m disowning you.”

(Or: Yuri Plisetsky has a crush. Again.)

songs about love series by sarahyyy [T, 8K]

Summary of first fic:

“Are you not going to read the article?” she asks, flopping onto his bed. “Look who ranked second, just after Phichit Chulanont.”

Otabek reluctantly scrolls down, and oh.

#2 - Yuri Plisetsky

In the embedded Instagram photo just under that subheading, a very grumpy Yuri is cuddling a very grumpy-looking cat. The caption reads: I found the cat version of me at the shelter today. #iknowisaidnomorecats #canyoublameme

(Or, the AU where Otabek and Yuri don't becomes friends in Barcelona, and there are years of pining.)

what's a mob to a king, what's a king to an emo teenager? by @crossroadswrite [T, 12K]

Yuri has very clear and specific instructions about how he should act around Prince Otabek Altin of Khazhakhstahnia, and none of them include giving him the up and down and going “What the fuck are you wearing?”

Prince Otabek Altin of Khazhakhstahnia glances down at his expensive-looking Disney Prince tunic and matching pants that look like they costed more than Yuri’s iPhone.

To be completely fair, he looks very good in it, and Yuri’s surprise was more about how good he looks than the actual clothes. Also the amount of green and gold assaulting his eyes. No one should be allowed to wear that much green and look good.

“Clothes,” Prince Otabek Altin of Khazhakhstahnia says. Then looks over at Yuri, eyeing his leopard print Vans with a raised eyebrow.

Yuri is going to fight him.

(or: the princess protection program au that was supposed to be quick and messy and short, but instead its over 10k and people have emotions.)

You Might Say I Like To Play One-on-One With You by blackmountainbones [E, 3K]

The thing is, Yuri’s seen dicks before. He’s a sixteen-year-old in the internet age; he’s seen more penises penetrate more holes than he can count. It’s not like he’s never seen a real dick, either: between all the time he spends at the rink or at the gym, he’s bound to have seen more than a few naked dongs. Nudity, Yuri thinks, is no big deal.

At least until he catches a glimpse of Otabek in the onsen and discovers that nudity is a very big deal, indeed.

Yuri's Snapshots series by @onotherflights [M and E, 8K]

Summary of first fic:

When Yuri was nineteen, things changed. He fell in love with skating again, and he finally felt like himself after the year he had endured being lost. He fell in love again later that year, but that one had been a long time coming.

I put a limit of one fic per author but I suggest you check out some of these authors' other works (especially those who exclusively write Otayuri) because there are other good stories not included in this list.

Also, as I'm searching for fics to put here (after everything that I remember off the top of my head/found in my bookmarks), I realized there are a looot I've read that I wanna rec but it's overwhelming so let me just link this ao3 search of Otayuri fics sorted by kudos as something to start with.

If anyone else has a fave Otayuri fic or author, please feel free to rec.

---

ETA - Other people's rec:

Pride and Other Madness series by @basilique

Thanks for the rec, @a-midnight-luna! ❤

#yuri on ice #yoi #yoi fic rec #otayuri

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lolabean1998 · 5 years

Text

This Better Work Part 3

Sweet Pea X OC

Summery; Hey guys, not sure how well this is going to go but I originally put it on Wattpad so its way long, but hopefully its not horrendous. Let me know what you think! So, it follows the story line kind of, it’s not exact but I have tried and it follows my OC Ali as she navigates through the hell that is Riverdale. Whilst struggling with financial, social and romantic difficulties, she has the added pressure of keeping up with school work and bonus of being thrown into the frightening world of the criminal underground.

Side Note; None of the gifs or pictures I use are mine, I’m not talented or smart enough to even begin an attempt at making my own. Thank you to those who have such abilities and if you don’t want me using them then please let me know so I can remove them for you.

Word Count; 4,525 (Give or Take)

Masterlist Part-1 Part-2

The next couple of weeks were filled with Black Hood scares, investigations and lots of homework. Ali had somehow managed to maintain her usual workload. Whilst balancing her free time between helping Betty investigate the Black Hood and aiding Cheryl in coping with the horror of living with her mother.

"So, Ali. Are you able to make some time in your busy schedule to come to the little soiree I'm holding tonight?" Veronica asked as the girls made their way to cafeteria for lunch.

"I'd love to Ronnie, but I have so much homework to catch up on and I promised Izzy I'd take her to her friends house for a sleep over." Ali apologized. "But I'll be coming to the open house thingy." Ali promised with her signature, unbreakable smile.

"Ok, I guess since you have SUCH a busy schedule and you have managed to squeeze in the MAIN event, I can let you off the hook." Veronica exaggerated playfully as they took their seats either side of Archie.

"Hey Arch, you looking forward to the party tonight?" Ali asked politely pulling a large box of pasta salad from her bag and digging in. Archie and Veronica watched in amazement as she began to inhale her food.

"What? I'm hungry, Don't Judge Me." Ali defended innocently, her stomach growling angrily as she spoke.

"See" She cried pointing to her well-toned stomach.

"It's just amazing how such a tiny girl can eat so much!" Archie chuckled shaking his head. Betty sat opposite Ali as Archie spoke, a grim look holding her delicate features hostage.

"Hey Betty, you ok?" Ali asked through a mouthful of pasta. Frowning when Betty nodded giving her a false smile. Ali knew she had been under a lot of pressure with the Black Hood lately. But something had clearly changed for the worse.

"Can we talk? I need to run something by you about the Blue and Gold if that's ok?" Ali improvised thinking quick on her feet.

"Uh yeah sure shall we go there now while you have some free time?" Betty suggested knowing how busy Ali was. Ali nodded packing away the rest of her food and jumping to her feet. Linking arms with Betty as they made their way to the room for the Blue and Gold.

"So, you want to tell me what's bugging you?" Ali asked as they entered the small room, closing the door behind her and perching on the edge of a desk giving her blonde-haired friend a concerned look.

"Come on Betty you can tell me anything. I'm hardly one to judge. You of all people should know that." Ali smiled straightening out the light grey vest she wore under a baggy cream cardigan, her ripped, pale blue skinny jeans showing off her muscular legs.

"It's the Black Hood. He's been contacting me. Threatening to hurt my friends if I don't do what he tells me." Betty sighed looking down at her feet, rubbing her arm as she spoke.

"He says I have to sever all ties with my friends, or he'll do it his way." Betty looked as if she was about to burst into tears, causing Ali to leap off the desk pulling her friend into a bear hug.

"No matter what happens. No matter what you do. I will always be here for you. Let him try and come after me. See what happens. I didn't take 12 years of MMA classes for nothing." Ali comforted her friend, talking into her jumper as she spoke. Betty pulled away wiping a tear from her eye.

"Ali I can't put you or anyone else in that kind of danger. I just don't know what to do any more. He wants me to destroy my friendship with V." She sobbed leaning back on the desk behind her.

"If he's threatening V then she'll understand. For now, I think you should do as he says. He's a wild card Betty and I don't want you getting hurt. As far as everyone is concerned, we had an argument and are no longer friends. The only time we talk is when we're working on the Blue and Gold or you're helping me in the garage on a school project for extra credit." Ali planned taking control of the situation for Betty. She clearly needed the support.

"Everyone knows I'm crazy hard working and friendly to everyone, so it won't raise any suspicions. If the Black Hood does see through our smoke screen. Let him come after me. I have both Malachi and the Serpents protection. I'm covered." Ali winked, she made sure she covered all basis when she put a plan together. Betty stared at her in shock and curiosity when she mentioned Malachi and the Serpents.

"Who's Malachi?" She questioned tilting her head slightly, her eyebrows knitted into a puzzled frown as she crossed her arms.

"Oh, Ghoulies leader. I'm the only one that does a good enough paint job apparently." Ali answered brushing it off casually. Betty's face dropped at her statement. "What?" Ali frowned defensively.

"You're insane. You've gone completely mental. Ali you can't be friends with 2 rival gangs. Its going to end in mayhem." Betty declared.

"I'm not. I'm friends with the Serpents and the LEADER of the rival gang. If it ever came down to it Malachi would turn me to the hounds without a second thought. The Serpents however have taken us under their wing. They would never betray us." Ali explained like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Betty nodded slowly as she wrapped her head around it when the bell rang signalling the end of lunch.

"Care to walk with me to chemistry?" Ali asked offering her arm.

The day of the open house was a rush of last-minute preparations. Ali had dropped Izzy off at the Lodges place early so she could get ready with Veronica. Whilst Ali whizzed round on her bike picking up some last-minute things.

"Thank you for helping on such short notice Ali. I hope it wasn't too much trouble." Hiram Lodge thanked Ali as she handed him the box of expensive champagne.

"Oh, not at all. Always happy to help. I hope Izzy hasn't been too much trouble." Ali smiled politely, following the man inside to be greeted by Hermione Lodge, Izzy and Veronica who were all sat on Veronica's bed getting ready.

"She's been a star helping us get ready. Thank you, Ali." Hermione Lodge answered looking up from styling Izzy's hair. She had put it up in a very stylish fish tail plait with a few loose strands curled to frame her face, she wore a pale blue dress that ended just below her knees matched with an adorable pair of silver ballet flats.

"Why don't you jump in the shower whilst we finish up here. Then we can help you get ready on time." Veronica suggested pointing towards the door to the bathroom. Ali smiled giving her a salute as she bounced into the bathroom.

After a quick shower and being prodded and poked as the girls styled her hair and did her make up Ali was finally ready. Her hair had been curled and pinned to the side, so it fell elegantly over her shoulder. Showing off the black, backless, halter neck dress she wore with a pair of red ribbon heels. Veronica had given her subtle smoky eyes and classic red lips to match the red nail varnish on her surprisingly well-maintained fingers.

"Ali you look amazing!" Izzy beamed looking up at her sister. The girls all stood back to admire their handy work only to be interrupted by Hiram Lodge, who had knocked on the door to tell them their car was waiting down stairs.

"Now are you sure you'll be ok riding you're bike to the venue. I don't want you crashing and ruining your dress." Veronica teased as Ali swung herself onto her bike carefully tucking her hair into her helmet so it wouldn't get ruined.

"I'm sure V. I'll be fine besides, I can't turn up to the ball without a date and I only have eyes for Harley." Ali smiled brightly patting the handle bars of her bike before speeding down the road towards the Venue.

"You're sisters a crazy person." Veronica whispered to Izzy as they got in the car.

"Now who might you be?" A handsome dark-haired boy addressed Ali, who was stood awkwardly at the side of the large ballroom looking for her little sister.

"Hey, I'm Ali." She smiled offering her hand to shake, containing a cringe as the boy took her hand bringing it to his lips and kissing it. Maintaining eye contact the whole time. "You must be Nick St. Clair, Ronnie's told me so much about you."

"Good things I hope." He grinned returning Ali's hand.

"There are bad things too? She had me under the impression that you were a good boy!" Ali replied, smiling her cheeky bright smile.

"You know, several people have warned me about you Ali Masters. You and your contagious smile but I had no idea it was so hypnotizing." He flirted stepping a little closer. He had that aura about him that sent the hairs on Ali's neck standing on end. He reminded her of Malachi, the way he looked at her like a meal or chew toy.

"Care for a drink?" He offered calling over one of the waiters with a hand signal.

"A drink sounds pretty good right now. I'm not used to being quite so dressed up. I feel like I'm on display." Ali joked, although she was being very serious. Nick handed her a drink smiling innocently at her. She knew that smile all too well. She had used that smile plenty of times herself. It was the innocent smile of trouble.

"Thank you but I don't trust drinks handed to me by strangers. I hope you don't take offence to this. But I'd feel much better if I got my own." She smiled apologetically placing the glass on the table and grabbing another glass from a passing waiter.

"By all means, whatever makes you comfortable." Nick replied holding his innocent grin, however there was a glint of disappointment in his eyes. Ali had been stood talking to Nick for a few minutes when Izzy came skipping over looking very pleased with herself.

"Hey Izzy, what are you so happy about?" Ali grinned looking at her sisters happy face.

"Oh, Izzy this is Nick St. Clair. Nick this is my little sister Izzy." Ali quickly introduced.

"I just met Mr. and Mrs. St. Clair and they said I looked lovely and that I was one of the nicest girls they'd met." Izzy beamed proudly, making Ali and Nick chuckle.

"And why wouldn't they say that? You're the prettiest girl here." Nick complimented her.

"Mind if I steal little Izzy here for a dance? I'll be good I promise. Wouldn't want to upset the big sister." He joked waiting for Ali to give him the all clear.

"Hey, it's not me you've got to worry about. I mean sure I'll kick your ass if you hurt or upset her." Ali paused placing a hand on his shoulder and leaning in a little.

"But who do you think my sparring partner is? I'm not the only Masters with more than one black belt." She winked sending them onto the dance floor. Nicks face turning a slightly paler shade.

Her phone buzzed with a message from Betty, 'Sending Archie to do it, don't think I can face Juggie.'.

"Bugger! Betty what have you done?" Ali muttered to herself as she made her way quickly towards Veronica.

"Ronnie, thank god. Somethings come up that needs my urgent attention. I'll be back as soon as I can, but can you keep an eye on Izzy. She's dancing with Nick for now. Is that ok?" She hurried, Veronica nodded looking over to where Ali was pointing on the dance floor.

"Yeah, no worries I've got this." She confirmed looking a little worried for Ali.

"Thank you!" Ali called back already jogging to the parking lot where her bike was. Cursing her heels as she went. Throwing her Helmet on as she swung herself onto her bike and speeding off in the direction of Jugheads trailer.

She came to a swinging halt outside Jugheads trailer just as Archie was storming off. Leaving Jughead a broken shell in front of a young group of Serpents. She heard him yell something to the group. But it was hard to make out what he said with her helmet on. Jumping off her bike she threw her helmet to the ground, sprinting towards to boys. She may not like wearing heels, but she can certainly run in them. This isn't the first crisis to arise during a formal event.

"Juggie, JUGHEAD." She called but he ignored her calls.

"FORSYTHE PENDLETON JONES THE THIRD DON'T YOU DARE IGNORE ME!" She screamed running over to where he had now stopped. Frozen like a statue. She never used his full name.

"Another one of your Northsider friends. Oh joy." One of the serpents snarled sarcastically from behind a very angry looking Sweet Pea.

"Shut it snake or I'll turn you into a shoelace." Ali snapped glaring viciously at the group.

"Easy Princess, in case you haven't noticed we out number you 10 to 1." Sweet Pea warned. But Ali was in no mood for playing games.

"Then I suggest you save your selves the humiliation of getting beaten up by a single cheerleader and Shut. Up." She snapped, venom dripping from each word.

"Don't be rude, give a girl some privacy." She commanded flicking her wrists towards them and pulling Jughead out of earshot.

Sweet Pea bit his lower lip when he saw her bare back. The way it glowed in the evening sun. There was something about this girl that challenged his control. He'd only seen her a few times since the water fight night. Passing glances when she'd drop by the Wyrm to drop something off for her mother but every time he saw her it felt like his blood turned to pure sunlight.

"Dude you're staring." Fangs muttered under his breath nudging Sweet Pea's side. Pulling him back to Earth and his depressing reality. A girl like that would never fall for a guy like him.

"No I'm not. Shut up Fangs." Sweet Pea growled under his breath.

"Jughead you have to listen to me. Archie went way out of proportion there. She's not breaking up with you. Just... asking for some space. She has some stuff she needs to figure out is all." Ali tried to explain without giving it away. She knew that if he knew the real reason, he would only make things worse for himself.

"Look Ali I get that you're trying to protect my feelings. But she made it clear when she sent Archie. It's over between us. Now you need to go. You can't be here." He snapped before storming off leaving Ali stood alone by her bike.

"God damn it Jones. I am not wearing the shoes for this." She muttered angrily under her breath. Jogging back over to where the group of Serpents were now trailing off behind Jughead. Ali managed to catch up with the last of the Serpents when one of them stopped, grabbing her wrist and pulling her back.

"Where do you think you're going Princess?" The boy hissed, his grip getting tighter as she tried to pull away.

"I really don't have time for this." Ali sighed feeling very annoyed and a little threatened. She grabbed the boys wrist digging her nails deep into his flesh drawing blood. The boy let out a pained yelp and punched her. He had a strong swing and caught Ali clean on the side of her face causing her to yell out in frustration. Her cry rang clear in Sweet Pea and Fangs ears and the pair immediately bolted to the other side of the trailer to find Ali slamming the boys face hard into her knee. The side of her face bleeding and a bright red hand mark on her wrist.

"God dammit. I am supposed to be clean and presentable." She growled as she let the boy fall to the floor. Her voice shaking with rage, body slumped against the side of the trailer trying to control her trembling limbs. The boys hurriedly rushed over to her, signalling one of the other Serpents to check on the unconscious boy.

"Ali cat are you ok? What happened?" Fangs asked walking her over to the steps so she could sit down. Sweet Pea following close behind.

"I was trying to get to you so I could make sure Juggie would be ok. That you'd look out for him. But he grabbed me and when I tried to break free, he hit me." Ali choked, fighting back the furious tears that were threatening to ruin her make up. Ali never cried. She never allowed herself the luxury of showing her vulnerable side and she sure as hell wasn't about to let a bunch of Southside Serpents see it.

"I'm so sorry Fangs. I just got spooked when he grabbed my wrist. Is he ok?" Ali asked with concern, glancing over to the boy who was slowly coming too.

"It's fine Princess. He had it coming any way." Sweet Pea replied. His voice was deep and chalky but something about the way he spoke made Ali feel as though he cared. "What happened to your back? Looks like you got hit hard."

Fangs moved her slightly so he could look. Spotting a pale blue mark the size of a large fist just below the left side of her rib cage. Ali shook her head waving it off. She had calmed down now and just wanted to get cleaned up and go back to the Open house to dance with Izzy.

"Look guys I'm fine it's nothing honestly." She stood up putting her usual bright smile back on and turning to face the pair.

"Just promise me you'll look after Jughead, I know he's joining the Serpents. Toni told me. I just need to know that he's going to be ok and that someone else has his back as well. Then I can get out of your hair." She begged, her smile as bright and warm as always but her eyes were broken and desperate.

"I promise he'll be ok. Now you better go. Cinderella can't be late for the ball, now can she?" Sweet Pea replied almost smiling. Fangs had to stop his jaw from falling to the ground when Sweet Pea spoke.

"Cute. I'm no Cinderella but thank you." Ali retorted heaving a sigh of relief.

"You sure about that? All work and no play, sounds a lot like you if you ask me!" Sweet Pea remarked raising an eyebrow at her.

"Yeah but I don't need a prince charming to rescue me. Plus, I love my job." Ali called back before disappearing down the road on her bike.

"Sweet Pea in case you've forgotten. We don't even know if Jones is going to survive tonight." Fangs reminded him as they made their way back to their bikes.

"He'll survive. He doesnt have a choice." Sweet Pea growled determinedly.

Ali arrived back at the open house just in time to catch Veronica, Josie and the Pussy cats performing. She waved at them as she made her way over to her little sister. Izzy looked up at her sister shaking her head and pulling a face wipe from her cream purse and handing it to Ali when she saw the blood on her forehead.

Ali smiled accepting the wipe and cleaned the blood from her face. Mouthing a "Thank You" to her as she did. Looking back up at the stage she noticed a sudden wave of horror crash over Veronica's face as the girls gaze fell on the exit on the far side of the room. She turned to see what had her friend in such a state. Her heart froze when she saw her best friend looking very limp and out of it being carried by the one and only Nick St Clair.

"Izzy come with me NOW." Ali commanded pointing towards the exit Cheryl had just disappeared through. Izzy didn't even question it. She just followed her sister as she fought her way through the crowds. Bolting towards her bike the minute they were free from the mass of sweaty bodies. Closely followed by Veronica and the girls. Ali threw Izzy the helmet on the handle bar. Since Izzy had come by car her own helmet was still at the Pembroke. But Izzy's safety was far more important than her own.

The girls flew down the road towards Nick's hotel skidding to a sliding halt and tearing into the building. Veronica and the girls hot on their heels. Ali's heart was racing a million miles an hour as she charged up the stairs. She knew that even in heels she was faster than the elevator. Cheryl was her closest and best friend in all the world if anything happened to her there would be hell to pay. Ali's wrath would put God AND Satan to shame. Veronica was well aware of this as she bolted to Nick's room. She had to stop Ali from killing him. Even if he did deserve it.

Ali slammed into the door but it was locked. Josie and Izzy quickly began looking for a way in. But Ali was already seeing red. With one ferocious kick she sent the door flying, splinters of wood soaring everywhere.

Even in heels Ali put most men to shame when it came to kicking doors down. The girls were impressed. They crashed into the room tearing through it to Nicks bedroom. Where Ali found him stripping himself of his blazer and climbing on top of a very unconscious Cheryl. Ali wasted no time in throwing him to the ground.

Dragging him to the next room before proceeding to punch him relentlessly. Blood covering her knuckles as she pounded his once handsome face with the wooden knuckle duster hair slide she always wore. Josie, Melody and Valerie struggled to drag Ali from the boy with the help of Izzy, who held her in a firm headlock. They were almost certain if she'd carried on, she'd have killed him. Veronica sat beside Cheryl checking her over. Wrapping her in a blanket as she slowly came too.

Izzy had managed to drag Ali outside the hotel room and was now struggling to hold her down. The others had left her with Ali so they could kick Nick in the balls several times for good measure. Ali's eyes had turned terrifyingly dark and she was becoming increasingly stronger by the second.

"Ronnie I can't hold her much longer!" Izzy shouted her voice wavering with fear of what her sister might do if she got free.

"RONNIE SHE'S GETTING LOOSE!" Izzy screamed desperately pinning her sisters hands between her shoulder blades. Gripping as hard as she could with her knees as she sat on her sisters back holding her down. Josie ran out leaping down to pin Ali's inhumanly strong legs down whilst Veronica called the only person she could think of, Sheriff Keller. Within minutes of her hanging up there was the familiar sound of police sirens outside and Sheriff Keller bolted up the stairs followed by 2 of his strongest Deputies.

"Be careful with her. The only reason she's still down is because that's her sister holding her. If it was anyone else, I dread to think what she'd have done." Sheriff Keller warned as the deputies made their way hurriedly over to the girl on the floor. Flinching at every growling roar she let out. It wasn't the first time she'd been put in a holding cell to cool down. It was a rare occurrence that she lost her temper as savagely as this. Thankfully for the Sheriff it had only happened once before. However, to this day no one knows the full story behind what provoked such a full-blown flick of the switch. She had been found covered in blood sprinting down the road leading to Riverdale from Greendale barefoot.

"She's not in trouble, is she? I just didn't know what else to do." Veronica panicked watching as the men struggled to control Ali who was now handcuffed and being dragged down the stairs as she fought to get back to Nick and finish what she started.

"No, she's not in trouble. She'll stay in a holding cell for the night until she's cooled off and I'll deal with this mess tomorrow. For now though, I need to make sure my men aren't mauled to death getting her there. Is that ok? One of my deputies will be here in a minute to take statements and what have you." Sheriff Keller answered looking worriedly towards the staircase Ali had vanished down.

"I understand Sheriff Keller, we've got it here. Thank you for coming so quickly. I don't know what we'd have done if you hadn't arrived when you did." Veronica admitted before turning and making her way back to Cheryl leaving Sheriff Keller to deal with Ali.

The journey to the station was short but eventful. Ali had spent the whole journey trying to kick through the windows. It was well past midnight and apart from the occasional drunken ramblings, the station was surprisingly quiet. Until Ali arrived.

The moment she felt the grip of one of her escorts loosen on her arm, she swung herself up wrapping her legs around the guys throat heaving him to the ground with a loud thud. Sweeping the legs from underneath her second escort as she spun herself back to her feet ready to take on the three officers charging towards her. Completely unaware of the pair of eyes watching from the shadows in a nearby cell. Ali was quick to jump on the shoulders of the first officer using the wall to launch herself higher, swinging herself down slamming the man, beer belly first to the floor. Before leaping up to kick the second man clean in the chest sending him crashing against the wall and head butting the woman behind him as he fell.

"Ali I'm sorry but you leave me no choice!" Sheriff Keller called apologetically before aiming his taser and firing at Ali who released a groan as she stumbled to the ground. Fighting the unbearable electric pulses with all her might. Once the Sheriff was sure she was completely out he quickly picked her up carrying her to the nearest empty cell and placing her carefully on the bench. Throwing a small blanket over her and a lumpy pillow under her head.

"That was some fight you put up there!" An impressed voice applauded when Ali's eyes finally started to flutter open.

"Do you have to be so loud? I just got tazed in the ass and hit my head on the way down. I'm in enough pain without listening to your dumbass comments." Ali groaned covering her head with the scratchy blanket she had covering her.

"All I'm saying is those guys didn't stand a chance against you. Keller didn't even try he just pulled the taser out." The voice continued sounding amazed by Ali's performance.

"You, my friend, are a Master of the fucking obvious." Ali stated, drawing out the sentence to make sure they heard each and every syllable. Her strong English accent ring clear a whistle as she spoke.

"Easy tiger. It's not very often I dish out compliments." The voice chuckled.

"What's a Northside Princess such as yourself, doing in a jail cell anyway? Shouldn't you be dancing the night away with Prince Charming?" The moment Ali heard those words she knew exactly who was talking.

"Oh god! I should've known it was you. Aren't you supposed to be doing some weird boy scouts initiation for Jug?" Ali groaned turning on her side to try and get comfortable.

"Got caught fighting after initiation." Sweet Pea replied nonchalantly.

"Well that was stupid. What did the guy do to warrant that?" Ali asked still trying to get comfortable but failing miserably with the pillow.

"He was disrespectful to a friend and then accused me of going soft. So, I proved him wrong. What's got you all riled up anyway?" Sweet Pea asked moving to lean against the bars separating the two cells.

"But you are soft. I can't see why Fangs would require a marshmallow to stand up for him." Ali answered, her voice deep and croaky from all the screaming she had done earlier. Making it worse as she sat up to try to mould her pillow into some form of comfortable shape.

"It wasn't Fangs I was defending and I'm not soft." Sweet Pea replied shortly watching as the girl struggled to get comfortable. "You haven't answered my question."

"Oh please, you're softer than puppies. Also, Toni can fight her own battles. So, why'd you step in?" Ali snorted slumping back against the wall finally giving up all hope of ever getting any sleep.

"Try this and answer the question Princess." Sweet Pea instructed taking off his Serpent jacket and folding it up before passing it through the bars of his cell to Ali. Ali gave the boy a confused look but accepted the jacket without hesitation after a stern glare from Sweet Pea.

"One of Veronicas old New York pals, Nick St. Clair, drugged my best friend and tried having his way with her. We got there just in time to stop it but barely." Ali reported emotionlessly. Lying back down using the perfectly folded jacket as a pillow, which was considerably comfier than the actual pillow. Sweet Pea could sense there was something behind her lack of emotions. Something about her body language and the way she spoke told him she was hiding something. Not from him, from herself.

"Do you want the pillow? Its a piece of crap but its the least I can do." Ali offered pushing the pillow through the bars as she spoke. Sweet Pea nodded in thanks folding up the pillow and getting comfortable on the floor along the partitioning bars.

"Sounds like that Nick guy is a piece of work. You get any good hits in before they hauled your ass here?" Sweet Pea asked staring up at the ceiling, his eyes half shut.

"Not enough." Ali yawned, rapidly dropping off to sleep. A blanket of warmth wrapped around her as she inhaled the sweet scent of engine oil, leather and liquor from the jacket beneath her tired head.

"Good night Princess." Sweet Pea muttered before closing his eyes and allowing himself to drift off to sleep.

#riverdale #riverdale fic #riverdaleedit #riverdale serpents #riverdale fanfic #riverdale imagine #sweet pea #sweet pea x oc #sweet pea X #bad boy sweet pea #sweet pea fanfic #toni topaz #fangs fogarty #cheryl bombshell #riverdale cheryl #jughead jones #betty x jughead #fp jones

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creepingsharia · 5 years

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“We Shall Come for Your Head Soon”: Muslim Persecution of Christians, February 2019

‘Muslim men beat and raped a Christian woman and mother of four for leaving Islam. The 41-year-old woman became a secret Christian in 2017; however, threats began after Somali Muslims saw her at a church...’

by Raymond Ibrahim

Massacres of Christians

Nigeria: A number of fatal Islamic terror attacks targeting Christians occurred throughout February:

February 10: Muslim Fulani herdsmen killed 10 Christians and an unborn child. Armed herdsmen in large numbers had surrounded the Christian village around 11 p.m. the (Saturday) night before. “We heard gun shots, and this forced me and my family to remain in our bedrooms as it was difficult for us to run out of the house,” said one survivor. “The Fulani gunmen surrounded our house and were shooting and shouting, ‘Allahu akbar [God is greater].’ They killed my father, mother, two brothers, and one of my sisters-in-law.” The attack came as a complete surprise, even for the village head: “We have never had any misunderstanding with the Fulani herdsmen, so I don’t know why they attacked our village,” he said. “Ten members of my community, including a pregnant woman, were killed during the attack, thus making the unborn child to be the eleventh victim.”

February 12: In the northeast, Boko Haram jihadis invaded four Christian communities, killing several Christians and displacing many others. “I saw a man who I know to be a Christian and a member of the Church of the Brethren in Shuwa, my home town, shot to death,” said one eyewitness. “Also, Bulama, a community leader in Madagali, was shot dead alongside many Christians.”

February 26: Muslim Fulani herdsmen slaughtered at least 32 people in Maro, a Christian village in north-central Nigeria. Churches were also damaged and a boarding school shut down. “We ran out of the church building as the shooting was going on,” said a woman who was in a Bible study class when the raid began. “Many have been killed, and I have not seen my family members since morning. I have escaped out of the area.” Another local Christian said, “The armed herdsmen are shooting anyone they see and are setting fire on houses and church buildings.”

Reported on February 25: Muslim herdsmen attacked a Christian wedding celebration, killing 12 people. “From behind the hill overlooking this village emerged armed Fulani herdsmen who shot indiscriminately at Christians from various churches here at the venue of the feast,” said one local. “Twelve Christians who are members of various churches were shot dead instantly, while another five Christians were injured.” Six of those murdered were children.

Burkina Faso: Muslim terrorists slaughtered a 72-year-old Christian missionary in the Muslim-majority African nation. According to the report, “Antonio Cesar Fernandez was travelling with two colleagues from Togo back to their community in the capital Ouagadougou when a group of jihadists stopped their car. After searching the vehicle they made the 72-year get out and took him to a forested area. A few minutes later there was the sound of shots.” Antonio had been a missionary in Africa since 1982.

Attacks on Churches

Ethiopia: Angry Muslim mobs attacked ten Christian churches. “The incensed crowds comprising Muslim residents of all ages from across the town made their way to the churches chanting ‘Allahu Akbar’ after being given false information that a mosque in the surrounding countryside had been fire-bombed,” said a local. “The contents of all the churches were removed from the buildings and set on fire on the street.” According to the report,

One of the attacked churches, Meserete Kristos Church, has since been vandalized again, and area Christians have faced intimidation and threats… While Kale Hiwot Galeto church building was destroyed in the Feb. 9 attack, aid workers believe the other nine church buildings were not set ablaze only because of the risk to neighboring Muslim-owned properties. Municipal police were present during almost every attack but took no action…. More than 9,900 worshippers are estimated to attend the 10 churches. A small number of Christians sustained minor injuries and returned home after receiving hospital treatment, including two that were more seriously injured… Huge amounts of property were destroyed, including Bibles, song books, instruments, benches and chairs….

France: During just the first two weeks of February, “[a]t least 10 incidents of vandalism and desecration of Catholic churches have been reported in France,” notes a February 15 report. “Vandals in Catholic churches throughout the country have smashed statues, knocked down tabernacles, scattered or destroyed the Eucharist, burnt altar cloths and torn down crosses, among other acts of desecration of religious items.” The St. Nicholas Catholic Church in Houilles was vandalized on three separate occasions in February; a 19th century statue of the Virgin Mary deemed “irreparable” was “completely pulverized,” said a clergyman, and a hanging cross was thrown to the floor. Similarly, Vandals desecrated and smashed crosses and statues at Saint-Alain Cathedral in Lavaur; they mangled the arms of a crucified Christ in a mocking manner; an altar cloth was burned. “God will forgive. Not me,” the city’s mayor said. On the very next day, Vandals plundered and used human excrement to draw a cross on the Notre-Dame des Enfants Church in Nimes; consecrated bread was found thrown outside among the garbage. According to Father Emmanuel Pic from Notre-Dame parish, “Nothing of value has been broken, but it is the intent that is very shocking. This is what characterizes profanation.” The Observatory on Intolerance and Discrimination against Christians in Europe added that “It is our sincere hope that the perpetrators are brought to justice and that awareness of increasing anti-Christian hostility in France reaches the public square.”

Turkey: On Sunday, February 23, threatening graffiti messages were found on the main entrance door of the Armenian Church of the Holy Mother of God in Istanbul. The Armenian Patriarchate of Constantinople said in a statement that “There were written racist and hate speeches in both English and Arabic [saying] you are finished!” One Armenian writer shared images of the vandalism on Twitter and wrote, “The walls and the door of the Balat Surp Armenian Church. We built its entrance with rocks from the historical church in İznik [Nicaea], where the council met [Council of Nicaea, 325]…. Now they say, ‘YOU ARE FINISHED.’ There are no local [Armenian] people left. The ‘New Turkey!’” Commenting on this latest church attack, an Armenian Member of Parliament, tweeted, “Every year, scores of hate attacks are being carried out against churches and synagogues. Not just the perpetrators, but also the people who are behind them, should be addressed. For the most important part, the politics that produce hate should be ended.”

Egypt: Due to the closure of their church in December 2018, Coptic Christians held their third funeral in the middle of the street in February. They had long tried to get the necessary permits to register their unofficial church, to no avail. According to the report,

The village currently has no church, but there are approximately 2500 Coptic Christians living there… The police had closed the church in order to pacify the Islamists, who used a nearby mosque’s microphone to rally Muslim villagers against the Christians…. Unfortunately, the situation in Kom al-Raheb is commonplace throughout Egypt. Police frequently cave to the demands of hardline Islamists instead of protecting the right of Christians to freely practice their faith. When churches are closed, Christians are left to worship and hold rites (such as funerals) in the street.

Attacks on Apostates, Blasphemers, and Evangelists

Kenya: Muslim men beat and raped a Christian woman and mother of four for leaving Islam. The 41-year-old woman became a secret Christian in 2017; in 2018, however, the threats began, after Somali Muslims saw her at a church: “We have known that you are a Christian, and one of us saw you come out of a church on Sunday,” read one message. “If you continue attending the church, then we shall come for your head soon.” She and her four children, who had also converted to Christianity, quickly relocated. Then, on January 2, four Somali Muslims forced their way into the Christian family’s home: “I was beaten and then raped by four men who threatened me, telling me not to say anything about the ordeal that I went through. As they left the house at 1 a.m., one of them said, ‘We could have killed you for being a disgrace to Islam and joining Christianity, which is against our religion, but since you are a single mother, we have decided to spare your life with the condition that you should not mention our names.’”

Pakistan: On February 19, four Christian women were falsely accused of blasphemy, prompting “enraged Muslims” to riot and dislocate approximately 200 Christian families from the village. Problems began when a Christian landlord asked a Muslim couple to leave, because they had been “causing trouble among the Christian families in the community,” to quote locals. In retaliation, the Muslim wife accused four Christian women—three of whom were the landlord’s daughters—of desecrating a Koran. “As news of the accusation spread, a mob of enraged Muslims gathered … and attacked several Christian properties, including [the landlord’s] house and a nearby church. The mob killed pets, livestock, and damaged several Christian homes by stoning them.” Soon after a police investigation began, “it was revealed that Samina Riaz [the Muslim accuser] borrowed a copy of the Quran from Khalid Khan, a nearby shopkeeper,” explained a local involved with the case. “When she reached home, she threw it into a water tub in the restroom. She purposely alleged the Christian women of desecrating the Holy Book of Islam.” Even though Samina Riaz confessed to framing the Christians, “members of the mob are still refusing to allow Christians to open their churches,” says the report.

Meanwhile, Asia Bibi, a Christian mother who was in prison — and on death row — for nearly a decade, was finally acquitted in late 2018. However, apparently to placate tens of thousands of angry Muslims who rioted and protested all throughout Pakistan, authorities still kept her a prisoner. In a February 9 report, which until very recently contained the latest information concerning Asia’s whereabouts, AP quoted a human rights campaigner in contact with her: he saidthe government had her and her husband locked in a single room where “the door opens at food time only.” She was permitted to make phone calls in the morning and at night, usually to her daughters. “She has no indication of when she will leave…. They are not telling her why she cannot leave.” Because many Muslims have vowed to kill her, “At the moment, she has security, but she could face problems any moment, any time, and it could happen very quickly,” said the contact. Most recently, on May 8, it was reported that Bibi had finally left Pakistan and was at long last reunited with her family in Canada.

Ethiopia: “An Ethiopian police officer was arrested, dismissed and forced to move to another part of the country after he told colleagues about his Christian faith,” says a report. The 25-year-old man, using the pseudonym of Adane, grew up in Ethiopia’s eastern Somali region, which is “nearly 100 percent Muslim.” Although he became Christian two years ago, problems for him began when another policeman “recently filed a complaint against him with the Somali State Human Rights Office. He had been heard talking about his newly found Christian faith while in uniform.” The deputy chairman of the Human Rights Office, an ethnic Somali himself, was reportedly “greatly surprised to discover that there actually was a Christian within the tribe.” He “advised Adane to return to Islam. Adane refused, claiming a constitutional right to religious freedom. He was then arrested. Following intervention by the Human Rights Office-chairman, Adane was released, only to find he had been dismissed from the police force. The chairman advised Adane to relocate to another area because he had made too many enemies locally…”

Iran: February witnessed a significant increase of state sanctioned persecution of Christians. In the city of Rasht, nine Christians were arrested and detained. One of them, a pastor who took over after his predecessor was arrested, was himself arrested on February 10, during church service. Although Rasht has had its fair share of persecution—at least three Christians from there recently received a sentence of 80 lashes—“[t]he past month represents the heaviest wave of publicly known arrests in Rasht within the last three years,” says the report. “It is the policy of the Islamic government not to put thousands of Christians in jail,” explained Dr. Hormoz Shariat, a human rights activist. “Their policy is to arrest a few and put maximum sentence on minor offenses [such as holding church meetings in a home]. They then publicize it in order to put fear in the hearts of Christians. Their strategy is causing fear and isolation.”

In another incident reported on February 1, five women, former Muslims who had converted to Christianity, were arrested. One of the women, a 65 year-old, was arrested in her home. According to the report,

Authorities confiscated several of her personal items, including electronics and Christian materials (such as Bibles), while searching her residence. She was detained for ten days and interrogated during that time. She was temporarily released after paying a bail of 30 million Toman [$600]. However, she was later charged with “acting against national security.” The prosecutor forced her to visit an Islamic religious leader who offered her the opportunity to return back to Islam.

Another of the apostate women faced the charge of “disturbing public order, propagating Christianity, and connecting with foreign entities.” If convicted, all these Christians could face up to ten years in prison.

Tajikistan: New amendments to the Muslim majority nation’s religion law are being used to exercise tighter control over its small Christian community. As one February 25 report explains, “Tajik authorities implementing a new religion law are barring children from attending religious [church] services and have burned [five] thousands of calendars with Bible verses.”

Hostility for and Violence against Christians

Germany: On February 15, “in the multicultural district of Berlin Neukölln, a Christian from Iraq was hit in the face by a Muslim … and threatened with a knife because of a Christian tattoo,” said a February 17 report (in translation). Two men approached the 27-year-old Iraqi Christian, “on account of his religious tattoo,” and demanded money. “He did not comply with this request, whereupon one of the unknown held him and the other beat him several times in the face,” while drawing out a knife. The Christian eventually managed to escape. One of the two assailants were arrested. According to the police report, “The arrested person claims to be of Muslim faith.”

-------------------------

Read it all, and years worth of previous reports, at the link below.

#Legal #Jihad #Sharia

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sablelab · 6 years

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Covert Operations - Chapter 49

DISCLAIMER: This is a modern AU crossover story with Outlander and La Femme Nikita. LFN and its characters do not belong to me nor do those from Outlander.

SYNOPSIS: On arrival James Fraser does a clandestine inspection of the secluded property to see what security Madame Cheung has in place while trying to avoid detection. The next evening, she takes Jamie and Claire to see her newest club in order to lure St. Germain into the business.

THANK YOU so much for reading, liking or reblogging my story. I really appreciate your continued support and I am very happy that you find this story enjoyable.

Previous chapters can be found at …https://sablelab.tumblr.com/covertoperations

CHAPTER 49

They had travelled several kilometres past the outskirts of the city when Magnus decelerated and turned off the main motorway. He drove down a dirt road that led to an imposing house set back from the highway on a few acres of land. Approaching the property Jamie noticed that there was a gated area leading up to the house and several guards were stationed at the entrance. The chauffeur slowed down the jaguar at the gates before he was waved through when they realised who he was, and in no time Jamie and Claire soon arrived at a traditional Thai residence located at the end of the winding road. Situated in sprawling grounds surrounded by a lake, lush tropical vegetation and flowering bougainvillea, the house had the traditional Thai architecture that Claire had admired on the journey.

Proceeding towards the house, Magnus circled the driveway then bought the jaguar to a stop near to where a well-dressed woman was standing on the threshold to the entrance of the house. Madame Cheung herself was waiting there to greet her guests’ arrival and had a huge smile on her face as she waited for Le Comte St Germain and Claire Beauchamp. Getting out of the limousine, the chauffeur opened the door then stood to one side as his passengers exited the vehicle. As they approached the house, he turned to retrieve their luggage from the trunk of the car.

“Claire ... Monsieur Le Comte ... Welcome. Thank you for coming,” Madame Cheng gushed as her guests neared closer.

“Non ... Thank you Madame.” Jamie replied placing a chaste kiss to the back of her outstretched hand.

She eyed him boldly before asking, “Did you have a pleasant flight?”

Ushering Claire forward he placed his hand to her back then sliding it around her waist he pulled her close. Giving her an evocative smile, he looked only at Claire before answering. “Oui ... we did.”

Madame Cheung’s intense gaze observed his intimate mannerisms with her protégé and was most pleased with this association. It certainly bode well for her intentions concerning St Germain. “Good ... come inside I have organised refreshments and your accommodation. I’m sure you will be very comfortable here.”

“Merci.”

“Tomorrow we will discuss business Monsieur Le Comte and I will give you a tour of my business holdings here in Bangkok.”

“Perfect,” Jamie replied giving her his full attention at her declaration and plying on the charm he had Madame Cheung in the palm of his hand.

“Perhaps you would care to join me later for drinks on the terrace Monsieur?”

“You are most generous Madame ... When?”

“Shall we say in an hour?”

“By all means.”

“Could I have a word with Claire before then Monsieur Le Comte?”

Jamie reluctantly released his arm from around Claire’s waist. “Of course. I will just orientate myself with your lovely residence until we meet, again shall I?”

“Certainly, enjoy your stroll Monsieur but stay on the path for your safety.”

“Oh ... I will,” Jamie replied before taking his leave.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

James Fraser watched as Madame Cheung and Claire entered the house then once they were out of sight, he began his reconnaissance around the immediate area of her residence. When they had arrived earlier in the evening, he’d taken note of the secluded road that the limousine had driven along on their approach to the gated entrance to Madame Cheung’s Thai home. Surrounded by heavy foliage and trees, the high gate and fence that bordered the perimeter of the property hid the house from the main road. Due to its very private location off the highway, its seclusion and the unmistakable security that surrounded the property, it was obvious that the residence was well concealed from any would be interlopers. Their chauffeur, Magnus, had also not needed to activate the security buzzer mounted just outside the gate as the guards had waved him though knowing that he was her personal driver. Continuing down the path of the sprawling grounds, Jamie headed towards the lake ever mindful of keeping to the shadows of the vegetation in order to avoid detection as there were several patrolling guards about. Hearing voices approaching, he pressed himself up against a tree out of sight while they loomed nearby and waited for the guards to pass him by. Once they had done so, he pulled an infrared tracking mechanism from his pocket to survey the surrounds. Jamie used it to scan the immediate area for any concealed security devices mounted in strategic positions around the grounds or near the house. He activated the device and it immediately lit up with the location of several well-placed surveillance cameras mounted in trees, sculptures and on the outer building, signalling that the estate was extremely well protected. Coupled with the high-tech security cameras on the tall entrance gate, Madame Cheung obviously took no chances when it came to her safety and the wellbeing of her guests. Checking to see the safest egress point without being intercepted by the revolving cameras, Jamie watched until the camera rotated creating a blind spot. As soon as the way was clear, he darted across the lawn rushing into the heavy tropical foliage and woods. Continuing his meticulous assessment of Madame Cheung’s property, Jamie noted a standalone building off to his right and made his way towards it. However, he was unexpectedly accosted by a particularly menacing guard who had unfortunately stumbled across him.

With a raised gun aimed directly at Jamie’s head the guard ordered, “Stop or I’ll shoot!” Turning slowly towards the guard with his hands raised in the air, Jamie replied. “Mon Dieu ... Please don’t!” “Who are you? How did you get into this property?” “I’m not an intruder if that’s what you think. My name is Le Comte St. Germain and I’m Madame Cheung’s houseguest for the week.” Jamie explained. However, the guard was sceptical and radioed this Intel to the residence for verification while he held Jamie at gunpoint. “What are you doing here? This area is out of bounds to guests.” “I seem to have lost my bearings. I’ve strayed off the main path and lost my way back to the house. Could you point me in the right direction s'il vous plaît?” The guard’s radio soon crackled to life with an impending reply. He raised it to his ear and listened. Once confirmation was received, the guard lowered the radio and looked at Jamie. He was sent on his way back to the house with a caution to stay on the main path to his left. However, as soon as the guard was out of sight Jamie retraced his steps to investigate what was inside the building. Then, contacting Section One he relayed the Intel of his position to Fergus.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Immediately Fergus set to work. In next to no time an aerial view of Madame Cheung’s compound with Jamie’s location and that of the buildings in the near vicinity screened on his computer monitor. He adjusted the magnification and a closer visual of the building under question became highlighted.

“Jamie? I have visual.”

“Good ... Report.” “There are two hot spots inside the room but several more in the surrounding vicinity. I suggest that you proceed with caution.” Opening the fuse box on the outside of the building, Jamie disconnected the wires to the alarm system before he disabled the light fuses which immediately caused the lights to go out in the building. Taking some night vision glasses out of his jacket he put them on before he entered the building and made his way inside. Keeping alert Jamie heard the sound of footsteps approaching the door. A man was walking down the hallway close to where he was. Without knowing what had happened, the assailant was taken out of the equation as Jamie took him down with a swift blow to the carotid artery. He fell slumped to the floor. Overstepping the body, he continued inside the building. “Fergus?” “There is still one body in a room to your left.”

“Okay.” Making his way down a corridor Jamie approached a large room where an elaborate security system was housed. Several large monitors screened the perimeter of the property and the various placed cameras relayed the visual of the surrounding grounds back to the hub of the property’s security system. Such high maintenance security meant only one thing ... Madame Cheung’s residence was extremely well protected mainly by a highly developed security system and armed guards who patrolled the boundary as a deterrent to any enemies who may think to storm the property. Hence any assault on her premises would have to come from other means rather than an offensive from the outside parameters of her house. Hence it could be problematic for the teams to make an assault, hence her capture would have to be in a less secure area away from the house and most likely at her business venue. Entering further into the room, Jamie saw a lone security guard monitoring procedures. Although the lights had been disabled there was still enough illumination from the computer screens for the guard to be able to see. However, he failed to hear the stealth footsteps of James Fraser as he immobilized the unsuspecting guard at his console. “All clear Fergus.” To his Section trained eyes the system was rudimentary and if needs be he could disable it in a flash, however, before he had a chance to do so Fergus’ voice echoed in warning. “Hold a second Jamie. I have movement near to your position. Hostiles approaching. You’ll need to egress ASAP.” Moving back from whence he’d came, Jamie made a swift retreat into the shadows of the grounds before he was discovered by Madame Cheung’s security guards yet again coming to see why the lights had gone out in the surveillance building. He then made his way back to the residence in double quick time. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Entering the house Jamie soon joined the ladies on the terrace. Madame Cheung was leaning on a wooden railing, overlooking her garden while talking with Claire when he entered. Hearing his approach, she looked up from her conversation then turned to face him welcoming him back. “Ah Monsieur Le Comte, you’ve returned. I hope you enjoyed your stroll.” “I did Madame but I’m afraid I became a little disoriented.” “Yes, I was informed but I’m glad that you found your way back again. Now ... come sit down. Would you care to join us for drinks prior to retiring for the evening?” “But of course.” Summoning her servant, she soon returned with refreshments and placed them on the table in front of Madame Cheung’s guests. “I do apologise for my overzealous security guard.” “No need. He was only doing his job. It is far better to be safe than sorry, is it not? “Indeed, Monsieur Le Comte.” Taking a sip of her drink Madame Cheung eyed Jamie with a keen awareness before stating, “I have already made arrangements for you to tour my business holdings here in Bangkok tomorrow evening.” “Merci Madame. I know I will look forward to seeing the size of your assets.” She cast him a wry grin. “Oh, you flatter me Monsieur, but I’m sure it is Claire’s assets that you admire more.” “That is true,” Jamie replied tongue in cheek to her innuendo, “but I speak of your prowess as a business woman, although your physical assets are indeed remarkable too Madame Cheung.” “Yes ... well ...” she replied a little flabbergasted at his cheeky remark, then changing the subject on to a more even keel stated, “I have recently opened a new premises in Patpong ... one I’m sure that we will have a mutually exclusive interest in.” “Really Madame? ... If what I suspect is the same line of business as in Hong Kong then rest assured, we will be doing business together in the future.” “Excellent.” ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Some time later Madame Cheung was approached by her servant who gesticulated towards the entrance. Glancing in the direction of the door she saw a member of her security team nervously pacing back and forth as he waited. Beckoning him over to her he bent down and whispered in her ear. Madame Cheung’s facial expression changed almost at once. She stood up then turning towards her guests announced, “I’m afraid I must offer my apologies. Something has arisen that needs my personal attention. Please excuse me but I am needed elsewhere.” “Is there anything that we can do Madame?” “No! No! Stay and enjoy my hospitality. This shouldn’t take very long, but if it does, I will see you tomorrow.” “Very well. Good night Madame.” The two Section operatives watched as their hostess made a hasty retreat from the terrace to attend to the security breach that had occurred. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ The next evening Madame Cheung’s limousine cruised along the streets of Bangkok heading for the area called the most popular ... nay infamous "red-light district" for westerners in all of Asia and where the Rising Dragons ran numerous business interests. “Claire tells me, that you were well pleased with her services Monsieur Le Comte.” “That is true Madame ... I could not have wished for anything more.” “Good ... I am pleased to hear it, as I am to know that you are here visiting Thailand. I hope you will be interested in doing business with us once you have had a chance to inspect our business interests here and in Koh Samui.” “Thank you Madame. I’m sure I will.” “As you are no doubt aware Bangkok is a city of contrasts, ancient and ultramodern, beautiful and, in a word ... seedy.” “Oui ... I had noticed.” Madame Cheung laughed momentarily then picked up her phone and called through to her driver with an address. “Soi Patpong, between Silom and Surawong,” she ordered. Then turning to Jamie said, “We’ll be heading to Patpong where, as I said last evening, I have just opened a new business venue that you might like to inspect.” “Of course.” “Unfortunately Magnus is unable to park the limousine close to the club, so we’ll play the tourist tonight and check out some of the attractions along the way as it is only a short walk to my new premises.” “No problems Madame. We could all use some fresh evening air.” Madame Cheung smiled, then turning towards Claire she stated, “Patpong is one of Bangkok's famous night street markets with everything you may want or need. Perhaps some trinket will take your eye Claire?” “Perhaps, but you have given me everything I need already Madame.”

“That is true my dear, yet what girl can resist a bargain? Hmm?” “We shall see.” Looking at Jamie once again Madame Cheung continued, “It’s a business district by day Monsieur Le Comte, but Patpong really only comes to life at dusk when the pursuit of sex is its main appeal.” Jamie nodded. “Interesting.” “It has inevitably become a tourist "must see” and is the hub of our enterprise. Sex is what some tourists come for and sex is what I provide ... at a price.” “So tell me Madame Cheung ... how many business interests do the Rising Dragons have in Bangkok in total?” “Oh, Monsieur Le Comte!” she laughed, amusement dripping from her words. “The Rising Dragons have carte blanche under my jurisdiction and patronage here in Bangkok. There are numerous bars, erotic shows, massage parlours, clubs and of course our exclusive escort services that we own and operate.” “I see.”

“There are far too many to put a figure on ... but at a guess it is in the hundreds. Why ... there are over a 100 back-to-back neon-lit bars here in Patpong itself. The Rising Dragons own all the land here and we also collect over 10 million baht monthly from rent alone.”

“Very profitable and ... impressive.” Jamie remarked.

“Thank you.” ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Claire was incredulous as to what Madame Cheung was espousing about the Rising Dragons’ “interests”. She was horrified especially given her firsthand knowledge of the girls involved and how they came to be in her service. Although her eyes relayed interest in what she was telling Jamie, inside she was seething at the loss of innocence of the girls and boys involved in these establishments. The sooner they took Madame Cheung out of the equation and brought her into Section One couldn’t come quick enough for her. She wondered how she would be able to avoid being desensitized by Patpong and not come away disturbed, troubled or bothered by what she would see. The quicker Section could minimize the abuses obviously taking place in these few blocks of the City of Angels, where virtually anything sensual that was available could be bought, then the better it would be for the hundreds of girls and young boys forced to live this debouched way of life. Her faith in human decency had been shattered and she hoped that there was indeed some redeeming feature about Patpong and that something else, something more positive was also going on. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ The streets were full with people milling around. The blue and red Thai taxis cruised along Patpong 1 lane and tuk-tuks carried inquisitive tourists past the hustle and bustle of street vendors, bars, restaurants, massage parlours and hotels. After travelling down the short lanes stretching between Silom and Surawong Roads where the glow of neon lights made it seem like daylight, the limousine pulled into the curb and Madame Cheung, Claire and Jamie got out of the vehicle. Four of her bodyguards followed at a discreet distance. “My new premises are a short walk from here ... shall we?” “Mais oui ... Madame.” Overzealous salesmen and touts were pestering the tourists for their dollars as they strolled past the night market selling clothes, fake watches and souvenirs down the centre of Patpong 1 and out along Silom Road. Sandwiched between stalls hawking Louis Vuitton luggage and Chanel handbags, jade trinkets and flip-flop sandals, they passed Bangkok's fast-talking, baht-barking watch vendors, selling their cache of knock-off luxury timepieces. Many eyes scrutinized the three well-dressed people as they walked along obviously heading to the new club just recently opened down the street. With Madame Cheung’s earlier words echoing in her ears, Claire ambled over to a watch vendor with a sign saying ... “SUNEE’S EXCLUSIVE WATCHES” ... where all kinds of timepieces from quartz, to automatic models were to be seen. Sunee offered a blinding collection of brand names of just about every high-end Swiss timepiece on the market. There were watches from Baume & Mercier, Rado, Omega, Panerai and Cartier. There were also dozens of gold and diamond-encrusted Rolexes and Guccis all looking tantalizingly genuine.

A stern looking woman greeted her approach with a slight nod.

Fingering an Omega Constellation, Claire couldn't help but exclaim, "This can't be fake!" "Same same, but different," the proprietress answered.

They did look the part and Claire cast her eye on one that particularly caught her attention. A Diamond studded Cintrée Curvex watch from Franck Muller with its pretty blue band and face the colour of her eyes took her fancy. At first and second glance, it looked and felt a lot like the real thing. Although it was a multi-functional watch, it was embellished with precious stones that made it all that more appealing as it sparkled under the glare of the bright lights. The watch had a golden case set with three rows of diamonds and its amazing and attractive design with the combination of diamonds made it so appealing to Claire. She thought that she could add it to her watch and sunglasses collection back home at her normal apartment.

“How much?” She queried fingering the exquisite timepiece.

“4,600 baht. Very good price,” Sunee replied watching her intensely, eager for a sale. “You have superb taste my dear ... Although this is only an imitation, that particular Franck Muller watch design is one of his most expensive timepieces. They sell for about $US130,000.00,” Madame Cheung interrupted coming up to stand beside her. “Really?” “Claire you don’t need a replica when you can have the real thing.” “Yes, I know ... but it is pretty Madame.”

Nevertheless, she replaced the watch back on the table, then turning to the owner replied, “Thank you ... but no thank you ... it’s a little too pricey.”

“How much you pay? I give you good price!” The proprietress implored as Claire moved away with Madame Cheung, ignoring the seller’s entreaty. *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Jamie had witnessed Claire’s exchange at the stall and as the two women continued walking further down the street past the other market stalls, he remained back and stepped in to haggle with the spry little lady with the beady but piercing eyes.

“Did I hear you say the price for this watch correctly?” He asked plying her with a charming smile.

The woman looked up at Jamie thinking that for sure she would have a sale this time. “Yes. 4,600 baht ... very good price.” She picked up the watch in question and handed it to him. “Look at the jewels, at the design. It is beautiful for your lady no?”

“I’ll give you 1800 baht.”

“Kee nee-ow ai wen!” Sunee mumbled under her breath then with her hand on her chest she replied forlornly, “Oh, you wound me sir! How can I feed my family on such a pittance?”

“Nah gliat ee-gah,” Jamie replied playfully indicating that he had understood exactly what she had mumbled under her breath calling him a stingy bastard. He gave her a piercing look demonstrating that her little performance had no effect on him. “The watch is exorbitantly overpriced ... I noticed other stalls have the same watch for 2750 baht.”

She laughed at his veiled insult in Thai of calling her an ugly old crow then smiled at this engaging man. “But look at the workmanship, the gold. Is it not a masterpiece?” Sunee explained hoping to sway Jamie to her sales pitch.

“It is not worth more than 1800 baht.”

She upped the ante. “2500. It is good buy at that price.”

“2300 ... my last offer. Take it or leave it,” he countered.

“You drive a very hard bargain monsieur. It is yours.”

A toothy grin appeared from her mouth as the debonair gentleman bartered competently for the watch. She was impressed with his haggling skills and finally agreed on a modest price for the timepiece of 2,300 baht. Laying the watch in its protective box, she gave it to him.

Jamie placed the package in his breast pocket and quickly caught up with Claire and Madame Cheung and followed the two women on to her new venue with the watch safely in the pocket of his jacket.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ to be continued

“Kee nee-ow ai wen!” - stingy bastard

“Nah gliat ee-gah” - ugly old crow

#jamie and claire #jamie and claire fanfic #outlander fanfiction #James Fraser #claire beauchamp #covert operations #the lallybroch library #jamieandclairecrossover

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themurphyzone · 5 years

Text

Rosieverse Oneshot: Guardian

Summary: Tino is just a simple guy who happens to play a villain in a TV show. Recently, the entire studio has become enamored by a little orphan named Rosie with a talent in voice-acting. Well, everyone except lead actor Jim Starling.

But everyone has their beef with Starling, so it’s really no big deal.

Or is it?

Jim Starling wasn’t happy. And when wasn’t Jim Starling happy, he was determined to make everyone else’s lives as miserable as possible. He stood on the long conference table, shouting a plan about a meet-and-greet that would surely boost his fading popularity.

“Just picture it!” Starling exclaimed. “Look, the Fearsome Four can open the event. Five minutes signing autographs for them and no more! And then I make a fashionably late entrance dressed as Darkwing Duck! Maybe about...fifteen minutes or so after the meet-and-greet starts, we can work out the details later. But the point is, I’m there, the fans will adore yours truly, and Darkwing Duck’s ratings go through the roof! What do you think?”

Someone coughed, but the room was otherwise full of crickets.

Tino glanced at the lovely bonsai tree on the windowsill, half-expecting an actual cricket to jump in and chirp merrily while ruining the tiny pink leaves. Next to him, Dan sketched a rough schematic of a toaster, humming to himself and not paying attention to the meeting. Jack flipped through a report on Darkwing Duck ratings and merchandise sales, scanning through the business jargon and statistics with practiced ease.

In Tino’s opinion, Michael was lucky he got the babysitting job. Rosie was a sweet kid and a delight to be around. Much better than listening to an egotistical celebrity prattle on about boosting his public image.

Speaking of which...

Tino glanced at the clock.

Almost 4:00 pm, he realized. And it was his day to drive Rosie back to the orphanage too. They needed to get going before the Audubon Bay Bridge got clogged with rush hour traffic.

Silently, Tino put his hand up, unwilling to interrupt the argument between Starling and the director.

“Our budget’s already been slashed, and now you want us to spend more money to fuel your ego?”

“Just pay for the venue! The special events center maybe. I hear the Duckburg Stadium is nice this time of year too,” Starling continued to suggest expensive locations that no sane person at the studio would ever consider. “Tell ‘em to bring their own snacks though. And you could always charge some good money for an autograph, maybe a little more for a photoshoot. That oughta make up your price.”

“This town ain’t cheap, Starling!” the director snarled. “Do you realize how much McDuck charges for the use of his locations? In case you haven’t noticed, money doesn’t grow on trees!”

“You’re as cheap as the network!” Starling scoffed. “Sabotaging a fine art for the sake of money!”

“I’m. Being. Realistic,” the director gritted his teeth.

Starling stomped over to the director’s chair. Their beaks were inches away as they stared each other down, willing their opponent to cave in.

Before it could devolve into an insult-fest, Jack cleared his throat. Immediately, everyone turned their attention to him. Even Starling recognized that it was better to listen when Jack had something to say.

“It’s Tino’s day to drive Rosie back to the orphanage,” Jack said. “He needs to leave now.”

Tino shot Jack a grateful look, and the corners of the dog’s mouth twitched upwards in response.

“Wait, that brat lives in an orphanage?” Starling blinked, his beak dropping open in surprise.

Clearly, Starling had been living under a rock. Rosie’s orphan status was common knowledge with everyone in the studio.

At least, Tino assumed it was.

“Not everything revolves around your universe-sized ego, dim bulb,” one of the editors muttered.

“Don’t insult actual dim bulbs,” Dan scolded. Then his expression softened as he turned to Tino. “And say hi to Rosie for me, okay?”

“Same here,” Jack agreed. “You should get going. I’ll fill you in later, but somehow I doubt there’ll be anything worth mentioning.”

Since nobody accomplished anything in meetings when Starling was involved, Tino knew he wouldn’t be missing anything.

Tino hurried out of the conference room. He felt Starling’s eyes bore into his back, but he brushed it off.

He was the only person leaving early. It was perfectly natural that everyone’s attention would be drawn to him.

It made his skin crawl. He just wasn’t one for the spotlight.

--------------------------------

“You’ll get there! Five bounces is pretty good for a beginner!” Michael exclaimed as he showed off a rather complicated yo-yo trick that involved a lot of twirling and loops.

Rosie smiled, a pink yo-yo dangling from a string on her finger. “Thank you, Mr. Michael,” she said formally. “Would you mind teaching me your walk the dog trick in the future?”

Michael grinned. “No problemo! Just keep practicing with that yo-yo. I’ve got plenty more.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t!” Rosie’s eyes widened as she tried to give the yo-yo back. “It’s your toy, sir.”

Michael shook his head, flipping into a handstand before cartwheeling away from Rosie. “Nope! No takebacks! It’s the highest law in the land!” he giggled. He caught sight of Tino and slumped to the ground, reminding Tino of a child who begged their parents for ten more minutes on the playground. “Looks like playtime’s over, kiddo.”

“Hello, Mr. Tino!” Rosie exclaimed. “How was your meeting?”

She hugged him enthusiastically, tiny hands squeezing his waistline and nearly knocking him off-balance.

“Frankly, a bit boring,” Tino admitted once he adjusted his footing. “At least you and Michael are having fun.”

Michael rolled his eyes. “What demands did the great and almighty Dumbwing make this time?”

“Please don’t call name-call in front of Rosie,” Tino said as he ruffled Rosie’s flaming red curls. “She’s an impressionable child.”

“Fine, I’ll ask Jack later,” Michael said with a huff. His eyes flicked to Rosie, and his entire expression softened. “I get a goodbye hug too, right?”

Rosie immediately latched onto Michael. “Don’t worry!” she chirped. “You get a goodbye hug too!”

Michael laughed and patted her back. “I’ll be sure to pass your goodbye hugs onto Dan and Jack, okay?”

“And Mr. Starling too!” Rosie added.

Michael stiffened, though Rosie didn’t seem to notice. “Uh, sure. Him too.”

Absolutely not, Michael mouthed at Tino.

Starling loathed any form of prolonged physical contact. But Tino held his tongue, knowing he would confuse himself if he tried explaining that to a six-year-old.

--------------------------------

Much to Tino’s chagrin, they didn’t beat the rush hour traffic on the bridge. He turned the radio to a kid-friendly station and hoped the orphanage director would forgive him for being late.

Caution was highly advised when dealing with St. Canard drivers. Really, Duckburg’s sister city was anything but saintly.

Rosie didn’t mind though. She folded her hands in her lap, sitting like a dainty little princess upon a flower-patterned booster seat.

“The view is pretty, Mr. Tino,” Rosie said.

“It is,” Tino said, though he believed Audubon Bay was more dangerous than beautiful. There was a reason why crime shows loved using this body of water as a background.

“It looks like the set of Darkwing Duck,” Rosie remarked.

“The main set was modeled off this area,” Tino said, pointing to a tower just above the toll gate. “That’s Darkwing’s lair over there.”

Rosie craned her neck as she took in the sheer size of the tower. “Is he always up there if he’s not fighting bad guys?” she asked. “That’s awfully lonely.”

“Darkwing Duck is the loner type,” Tino admitted. “I don’t think he minds.”

Starling preferred doing everything himself, whether it involved thwarting crimes on a TV show or making himself the center of attention. In the best case scenario, people tolerated him.

Still, it seemed like a lonely way to live.

Of course, Michael and Dan would insist that Starling brought it on himself. Tino wasn’t a match for either of them when they were riled up, so he kept his beak shut on the matter.

--------------------------------

It was another hour before Tino got home from driving Rosie to the orphanage. The sunset lit up the sky in brilliant warm hues, and Tino was glad he made it home before nighttime. He didn’t like driving in the dark.

He parked the car next to its usual spot near the mailbox, figuring that he had some time to check on his flowers before dinner. He circled the front lawn of the house, humming a bouncy tune as he checked the leaves of a violet.

So far, everything seemed fine. The bushes wouldn’t need trimming for a while, no aphids were destroying his flowers, and the pansies were thriving.

Before Tino could walk up to the front porch, the front door was suddenly wrenched open, bouncing off the wall with a harsh bang.

“-AND GROW A DAMN SPINE!” Michael screeched, storming out of the house. He brushed past Tino, cursing Starling under his breath.

Tino let him go. Michael’s temper cooled much faster when he had a few minutes to collect himself.

Dan and Jack watched Michael stomp down the sidewalk from their safe position in the hallway.

“I’m guessing something important happened after all?” Tino asked, already dreading the answer.

Jack nodded. “Dabble decided to use Starling’s idea for a meet-and-greet.”

Marino Dabble had the most volatile relationship with Starling out of all the directors in Darkwing Duck. He always seemed to provoke Starling during filming, disregarding any of Starling’s demands and cutting scenes whenever Starling shouted a contradicting order to keep the cameras rolling.

“Except he wanted Rosie to be center stage,” Dan added.

“Starling didn’t take it well,” Jack said.

Tino wasn’t surprised, but he prayed Starling wouldn’t take his anger out on Rosie for taking his limelight. She was an innocent kid, and Dabble was putting her in the line of fire. Starling became irrational and even more temperamental when he believed someone was cutting into his screentime.

Not for the first time, Tino wished he could be as outspoken as Michael or as respected as Jack.

“Is that why Michael’s mad?” Tino asked.

“I’ll go after him. He’s probably had enough time by now,” Dan said, gently pushing past Tino and hurrying out the door.

“The meet and greet is two weeks away,” Jack said as Tino sat down at the dinner table. There was already a hot cup of tea and a strawberry salad in front of him. “We should prepare Rosie so she won’t be overwhelmed.”

The deaths of Rosie’s parents had been widely publicized by both the Duckburg and St. Canard media. While details varied between newspapers and tabloids, the one thing that held true was that little rich girl Rosie had been left under the care of several maids while her parents had a date night. On the way back to the car, they were mugged and murdered for their money and valuables. Rosie found out the next morning, and she was shipped off to a St. Canard orphanage within a week.

The killer was never caught.

Several months later, a talent scout discovered Rosie’s acting abilities while searching for a suitable child to provide a voice in an animated film and introduced her to the studio.

When Rosie wasn’t in lessons or voice-acting, she wandered over to the Darkwing Duck set, making polite small-talk with everyone she came across. Starling was the only one who ignored her presence.

He was always too caught up with himself to notice anything an inch away from his beak.

Though Rosie only voiced a side character in the animated film, the life she breathed into the drawings captured the audience’s hearts. Tino had cried for twenty minutes straight when Rosie’s character sang a lullaby to herself after getting separated from her parents.

Now that he gave it some thought, that part wasn’t an emotional act for Rosie. She knew those feelings all too well.

Tino took a small bite of his strawberry, suddenly aware of Jack scrutinizing him like an interesting statistic.

“Jack, can you please stop? It’s awkward when you do that,” Tino mumbled.

Jack shrugged, gaze snapping to the table. “Sorry. You’re thinking about Rosie again, aren’t you?”

“She’s...she’s a good kid,” Tino admitted. “Kinda deserves a permanent home, you know?”

“I know,” Jack agreed, his mouth twitching. “She loves science.”

“Just smile,” Tino suggested. “It looks good on camera.”

“I don’t see any cameras at the moment,” Jack said as he squeezed a lemon into his water. “And besides, someone has to be the aloof, responsible one in this house.”

Aloof. Sure, Tino snorted.

Because aloof people totally shouted at the game show channel on TV.

--------------------------------

Tino tore the purple wig off his head and dropped onto the green room’s couch in exhaustion, shoulder still aching from Starling’s punch during filming. Dan tossed him an ice pack from the small freezer. Jack made sure they never ran out of ice packs. It was a necessity when one worked with Starling.

Tino gratefully placed it on his shoulder.

Michael immediately launched into a tirade on where Starling could stick his overly large fedora, but Tino was only half-listening. They’d been through this song and dance before.

There was a safe way for actors to punch and kick in fight scenes, but Starling never held back, which led to the Fearsome Four not holding back out of self-defense, and everything just snowballed from there.

Starling had been more irritable during filming than usual, but Tino chalked it up to a hissy fit caused by Dabble’s decision to include Rosie in the meet and greet even though she wasn’t part of the Darkwing Duck cast.

“-AND GET ALL THE WRINKLES OUT THIS TIME!” a voice shouted from outside the green room.

Speak of the devil.

“Stupid incompetent wardrobe team,” Starling muttered as he swept into the room. He’d discarded the cape, but wore the rest of his Darkwing Duck costume with overblown pride.

Starling ignored everyone as he headed straight for the fridge and pulled out a brown paper bag that contained his lunch. Tino tried not to gag at the canned tuna and sauerkraut smell.

Dan and Michael shifted over to Tino’s side of the room, occasionally shooting livid glares at Starling. Michael’s face turned the same shade of red as his Quackerjack outfit. He was only holding back for Tino’s sake.

Since when did Starling take his lunch in the green room anyway? He hated eating around people he believed were beneath his association.

“I’ve never been to a beach, Mr. Jack. Is it nice?”

“Sure is. Natural saltwater is the best. Just don’t get it in your mouth though. It doesn’t taste good.”

Jack neatly hung his coat on a row of hooks next to the door. Rosie tried to follow his lead, though she was too short to hang it herself.

“May I take your jacket, young lady?” Jack asked with an elegant bow.

Tino grabbed a pillow to muffle a sudden case of the giggles. So much for being the aloof one.

Rosie smiled and folded her puffy pink jacket over his outstretched arm. Like a true gentleman, Jack placed it on the hook and patted out the creases.

Starling rolled his eyes at the display and turned his back on them. But Tino knew he was watching Rosie bounce on her tip-toes as she explained everything she learned in her singing lessons.

--------------------------------

“I am the terror who flaps in the night! I am the faulty cord in the outlet of evil! I am Darkwing Duck!” Starling dramatically held his cape out behind him as he appeared in a puff of blue smoke. He shifted not-so-subtly to the left in an attempt to show off his best side.

Since only Dan and Jack were needed for this episode, Tino and Michael watched the filming from the sidelines. It was for the best. Rosie’s reading tutor had unexpectedly called in sick, so she was able to spend the afternoon with them.

Tino didn’t want Rosie exposed to a Michael and Starling showdown just yet. Things tended to get ugly.

“Give up! St. Canard’s hydroelectric dam belongs to us!” Dan shouted, a sinister cackle escaping from his throat.

“You’ll pay for stealing electricity and throwing St. Canard into the Dark Ages!” Starling retorted. “Let’s get dangerous!”

The prop team immediately dumped a bucket of water on Starling from the catwalk above the set, throwing the bucket at him for good measure. They didn’t bother disguising their gleeful smiles.

Starling spat out several plastic goldfish, coughing as he declared how pathetic the attack was. Then Jack crept up behind Starling and threw a quick punch to the back of his head. Starling crumpled dramatically.

Rosie frowned as Jack tied Starling to a pole with a water hose. “I hope he isn’t hurt,” she said. Her fingers nervously drummed against her pink dress.

“Unfortunately,” Michael muttered.

Tino elbowed him lightly. “Starling’s a resilient guy. He’ll be alright. Besides, Darkwing Duck always wins.”

Starling slipped out of his restraints, which were already loose to begin with, and shot a column of smoke from his gas gun at Dan and Jack. Their surprise only lasted for a minute, but it was enough for Starling to subdue them.

“And the vigilante is once again victorious against the vile villainous scum!” Starling crowed as he tossed Dan and Jack into the set’s jail cell. He struck a final heroic pose to wrap up the episode.

While the film crew reviewed the footage they captured so far, Starling strutted off the main set and grabbed a soda from a nearby drink cooler. He didn’t free Dan and Jack from the cell even though the key hung on a peg several feet away.

Pushing down a burst of anger at Starling’s carelessness, Tino left Rosie with Michael and freed his friends himself.

“I need an aspirin,” Dan groaned, nursing a bruise on his cheek.

Jack folded his arms across his chest, not looking too worse for wear, but Tino could tell he favored his right leg.

“I should invent an instant healing ray gun,” Dan sighed. “No more bruises, cuts, or pimples and it won’t leave a scar either.”

“A huge hit on the market,” Tino said.

“Supply and demand,” Jack added.

Dan rolled his eyes. “Not all of us majored in economics.”

As they rejoined Rosie and Michael, Starling sauntered over. His fedora was pulled low and tilted sideways in his usual careless, jerkwad fashion. The edges of his beak curled into a sneer.

“It’s awfully nice to have coworkers who allow a little brat to steal my thunder,” Starling growled.

“Don’t call Rosie a brat!” Michael shouted, clenching his fists. Dan stepped in front of him, whispering soothing words to prevent him from punching Starling in the face. “You don’t know her. You don’t know her at all!”

Tino shielded Rosie behind his back. She clung to his waist, innocent green eyes flickering between each adult. He couldn’t meet Starling with equal aggression, remain calm and cordial, or invoke a balance between the two extremes.

This would have to do for now.

“None of us played a role in Dabble’s decision,” Jack said. His tone was even and controlled, but Tino heard the slightest edge of steel creeping in. “I suggest releasing your frustration towards him in the studio’s gym instead.”

Starling’s cape flared out as he stomped up to Jack. His beak was several inches away from Jack’s nose. “And where exactly were your so-called diplomatic skills when I needed them? Either the fans come and see me because I’m there, or they don’t show up cause I’m not. Who’s the main character of this series? Who’s the person everyone watches the show for? Who’s the inspiration, the fighter, the creme de la creme of all superheroes? Cause last I checked, it sure as hell isn’t Liquidator!”

Starling always referred to them by their character names. He couldn’t be bothered to remember their actual names, or more importantly, that they weren’t megalomaniacal villains.

“Go away,” Dan said as held onto a seething Michael. “Some of us have lives outside a fictional world.”

“Darkwing isn’t fictional, you half-wit!” Starling snarled. “He’s—I’m right in front of you!”

Starling pointed an accusing finger at Dan, but a grimace flickered across his face and his arm fell to his side.

“You’re hurt!” a little girl’s voice cried.

The tiny pressure around Tino’s waist vanished.

Before anyone could say anything, Rosie latched onto Starling’s fingers, holding his palm with one hand while the other carefully pushed his sleeves away from his wrist.

Michael’s eyes widened, Dan gasped, and Jack’s brow furrowed in worry.

Tino bit the inside of his beak.

Rosie had broken Starling’s no-touching-me-offset rule. Everyone agreed with this rule, no matter how much they disliked Starling.

No hugs, no pats on the back, no friendly jostling, no handshakes.

Starling hated physical contact unless it involved beating someone up during filming. Nobody asked why, and Starling never offered an explanation.

A red mark circled Starling’s wrist. Starling’s breath hitched, looking as though he desperately wanted to pull away but couldn’t make his body move.

“You should put some aloe on it,” Rosie suggested. “It’ll sting, but it takes the pain away.”

Starling didn’t seem to hear her.

“Rosie, let him go,” Jack ordered.

Rosie cast an unsure glance at Starling’s wrist.

“Now.”

Startled by Jack’s no-nonsense tone, Rosie let go of Starling’s hand.

Recovering from his frozen state, Starling scoffed and rubbed his wrist against his blazer to shake off any lingering traces of her touch. “Whatever,” he muttered as he stalked off.

“Mr. Starling?” Rosie called.

Starling paused in the doorway, inclining his head towards Rosie. His eyes were covered by the brim of his fedora.

“I’m sorry,” Rosie whispered.

“Don’t do it again, kid.”

Though his tone was blunt, it wasn’t haughty or condescending.

Maybe there was some cordiality in that universe-sized ego after all.

--------------------------------

Starling was talking to Rosie.

Okay, so most of the conversation was about himself and how badass he looked on camera, but he wasn’t entirely ignoring her.

Rosie clasped her hands together and maintained a respectful distance. She learned from the first incident, taking Jack’s lecture to heart on how some people disliked touch and a few tips on what she could do to respect their boundaries.

If Starling noticed, he didn’t give anything away.

Tino found his aloe bottle in the wrong cabinet with traces of green ointment on its side. Wordlessly, he wiped away the extra moisture and returned the bottle to its proper place.

He had a hunch on who misplaced his aloe, but he didn’t think it was worth mentioning.

Over the next few days, Rosie settled into a routine. She learned, she played, she voice-acted, and she ate lunch with Starling.

Michael balked at the last development. “Girl’s gonna ruin her nose,” he muttered, shaking his head incredulously when Rosie barely reacted to the smell of Starling’s canned tuna and sauerkraut sandwich.

--------------------------------

Tino’s day to drive Rosie back to the orphanage rolled around again. It was the day before the meet-and-greet, and they’d spent the entire week preparing Rosie for her first public appearance.

Rosie could answer questions and smile like a champ now. She’d do well tomorrow. Tino didn’t mind fading into the background and talking to the occasional fan who wandered his way.

That’s how the Darkwing Duck cast did things.

Starling soaked up everyone’s attention and signed autographs while everyone else formed a nice backdrop.

Starling’s animosity to Rosie had lessened over the past few days. While he still wasn’t pleased by Dabble’s decision, he managed to grasp that it wasn’t Rosie’s fault.

“Got everything?” Tino asked as Rosie slid a math workbook into her princess-themed backpack.

“Ready, Mr. Tino!” Rosie exclaimed, slipping her backpack over her shoulders. “I don’t think I’d be able to sleep tonight. I’m just happy I can see all of you tomorrow!”

Tino couldn’t help but grin at her unbridled honesty.

“Bushroot! Just the guy I wanted to see!”

Tino suppressed a sigh. Only one person called him Bushroot outside of filming, and it wasn’t a person he tried to interact with on a casual basis.

“Yes?” Tino asked politely, channeling what he believed Jack would say in this type of situation. “I need to drive Rosie to St. Canald...I mean, St. Canard. Sorry that we’re in a hurry here. You know how bad the Audubon Bay Bridge is during rush hour.”

The corners of Starling’s beak turned up. One could call it a smile, but only with a very loose definition of the word.

“Is your face alright, Mr. Starling?” Rosie asked.

“What’s wrong with my-” Starling’s snappy mood returned for a brief moment, but he coughed and busied himself with smoothing down his clothes.

Which consisted of Darkwing’s turtleneck and unbuttoned purple blazer.

Tino was starting to believe that Starling had no life outside of Darkwing Duck.

“Don’t worry, I’m fine,” Starling said. At least he dropped the not-smile. “I wanted to see you off. We talk at lunch, but that’s only an hour. Not even an hour if Dabble decides to rush us.”

Rosie bounced on her heels, eyes glazed over in thought. She had a tendency to bounce while thinking.

“Can Mr. Starling come along too?” Rosie asked, tugging on Tino’s sleeve. “He never finished his story about the malfunctioning jack-in-the-box in the ‘Knick-knack Paddywhack’ episode!”

“I’m not sure if that’s a good idea...” Tino trailed off. Rosie’s curls had gone limp. Tino wondered if she had secret hair powers.

Starling looked a bit crestfallen too.

If Jack, Dan, or Michael had been in his place, they would’ve ignored Starling and left already. But Starling was actually interacting with Rosie.

Interaction that didn’t involve punching someone or bossing them around.

Tino lost the battle. That’s what he got from looking at Rosie when she was nearing disappointment.

“Alright, he can come if he wants,” Tino sighed.

Rosie cheered and Starling puffed out his chest as if he never doubted that Tino would refuse.

--------------------------------

“-Darkwing Duck on the brink of defeat, nothing but open air behind him and a monochromatic malefactor cackling madly in front of him! Then he remembers how much the citizens of St. Canard depend on him to keep the criminals at bay, and in a sudden burst of strength, he clubs Paddywhack with his trusty gas gun and seals him in the cursed jack-in-the-box!”

Tino concentrated on switching to the middle lane, choosing not to comment on Starling’s deliberate omission of how he got stuck in the springs of the jack-in-the-box during the Paddywhack fight scene.

Rosie listened attentively, eyes sparkling as she envisioned the scene before her.

They hit the usual traffic on the Audubon Bay Bridge just as Starling’s tale ended. Rosie didn’t bat an eye. She loved seeing the cargo ships sail through the bay.

But Starling groaned and tilted his seat back at a thirty-degree angle.

“Hey bush-for-brains, can’t this seat go back more?” Starling growled, yanking at the lever in a futile effort to make the seat tilt further.

“It’s an old car,” Tino admitted. “You’ve already got it at the max.”

Starling rolled his eyes, but at least he stopped trying to mutilate the lever.

Rosie swung her legs, looking towards the horizon, oblivious to Starling’s numerous complaints with Tino’s car.

“Rosie, I was thinking of becoming your legal guardian,” Starling said as he slipped a pair of sunglasses over his eyes.

Tino caught his eye in the mirror, but Starling either didn’t notice or care. Tino returned his attention to the road, trying not to complain out loud when another driver cut him off.

Rosie’s head whipped around so quickly that Tino was sure she’d have whiplash in the morning.

“You don’t wanna live at the orphanage forever, right? Living with THE Darkwing Duck is better than those guys,” Starling declared.

After a brief moment of silence, Rosie smiled at him. “Thank you, Mr. Starling, sir! I’d love for you to be my legal guardian!”

She reached out for a hug, but Starling just raised an eyebrow at her. “First rule, kid. Don’t touch me,” he reminded her.

Rosie teared up, but she seemed more happy and relieved. “Mr. Tino, I have a legal guardian now!” she exclaimed.

Tino knew she was equating ‘legal guardian’ with ‘parent’, but Rosie didn’t realize she’d just accepted a self-centered, vain, gloryhounding jerk who didn’t deserve either title.

Tino wasn’t looking forward to breaking the news to Michael. He’d dropped hints recently about taking Rosie in.

“I’m glad,” Tino said.

He was the worst liar in the world, but Rosie beamed at him anyway.

--------------------------------

When they got to the orphanage, Rosie immediately broke away from Tino and Starling so she could gather her belongings and say goodbye to her friends.

“Jim Starling, the one and only Darkwing Duck. There supposed to be a few papers I can sign so I can take legal guardianship of little Ruby here?” Starling asked the orphanage director.

“Actually, it’s Rosie,” Tino corrected, shuffling his feet when Starling glared at him.

Seriously, who took in a kid without bothering to learn their name first?

But the orphanage director simply dropped a huge packet of stapled papers into Starling’s arms. “Just sign in the highlighted areas,” she said, returning to listlessly stirring her coffee.

St. Canard orphanages must’ve been in worse shape than Tino realized if they were willing to hand a kid over to Starling without asking any questions.

Starling took out a pen topped with a Darkwing Duck figurine and scribbled an enormous loopy signature in the highlighted portions. He flipped through the papers so quickly that Tino only had time to read the bold print on top of the page.

“Wouldn’t it be better to read the page before you signed it?” Tino asked. The look on Jack’s face would’ve been priceless if he’d been here.

Jack’s biggest pet peeve was how people never read the fine print before they signed a document.

Starling huffed. “You wanna be here all night?”

“Well, no-”

“Then shut up and let me sign this in peace.”

Thankfully, the next page asked for name, date of birth, address, and the usual things that were asked on important forms, forcing Starling to slow down.

Tino’s leg bounced as watched the clock. The hands crept towards five-thirty. Rosie would need to eat soon.

And Starling’s usual dietary habits shouldn’t be passed onto any six-year-old.

“Do you even know how to take care of a kid?” Tino asked.

Starling’s hand clenched around the pen. A glob of blue ink stained the paper. Starling tried to rub it away, but only succeeded in smearing it across his hand.

“Can’t be that hard,” Starling shrugged. “She gets food, a place to sleep, a stuffed animal or two, and a famous actor for her legal guardian. She could use someone to help her navigate the adoring public anyway.”

“And caring about her?” Tino asked. “Love, attention, guidance, school?”

Starling rolled his eyes. “Look, I give her a roof over her head and she doesn’t need to share her stuff with a bunch of other snot-nosed brats. She can run and play and hang with you and everyone else. She can go wherever she wants or do whatever she wants.”

Starling signed the last document with a flourish and set the clipboard aside.

Tino gritted his teeth, but there was nothing he could do to counteract Starling.

-----------------------------------

Starling’s apartment was several blocks away from the studio, and judging by the amount of dust that had accumulated over the furniture, it hadn’t been lived in for a while.

Tino delayed going home in favor of helping Rosie unpack and settle in, cleaning the lonely, secluded guest room until it was suitable to sleep in. Tino dressed a spare mattress in a Darkwing Duck bedspread, pushing down a pang of anger at Starling for his lack of preparation when it came to bringing a kid home.

Speaking of which, wasn’t it the guardian’s job to make a kid feel at home?

Rosie hadn’t complained once, but that didn’t make it right.

Tino probably would’ve stayed all night, but he was booted out after he disagreed with Starling’s decision to feed Rosie an unhealthy Hamburger Hippo kids’ meal.

-----------------------------------

Tino didn’t get home until eight in the evening, and the rice and bean plate Jack had left for him in the fridge tasted like cardboard.

“You missed Pelican Island,” Dan said as he fiddled with a blender-like invention. “They almost got off the island, but then Dahlia found out that Georgio kissed Valerie and they broke the sail in their fight and all of Mason’s progress got set back by three weeks. Then they look in the almanac and find there’s a monsoon heading their way so now they have to delay leaving the island and find shelter as soon as possible cause the rains are gonna hit in less than a week-”

Tino listened to Dan ramble about the show, focusing on his commentary and allowing Starling’s legal guardian status to slip his mind for the time being. Tino wanted to break the news gently and hopefully minimize any casualties that might ensue, but he’d need time to work on framing his words so that nobody thought it was the end of the world.

Jack leaned against the doorframe, coolly staring at Tino. Finishing his dinner quickly, Tino scraped the remaining crumbs into the trash and took much longer than necessary to wash the dishes, feeling Jack’s eyes bore into his back the entire time.

Jack never pushed the issue, but he always had the uncanny ability to sniff out a lie.

Dan and Michael were locked in a heated debate over who Georgio was better off with, suspecting nothing out of the ordinary.

-----------------------------------

The meet and greet started at noon, but they arrived at the venue an hour early to help the film crew set everything up.

Dabble had reserved a section of Barks Park for their public appearance. It was a good park with plenty of grassy hills, a playground, and a bike trail.

It was popular for family outings, Tino recalled, hoping to spot Rosie’s red curls among a group of children who were playing soccer nearby.

But there was no sign of Starling or Rosie.

Starling always arrived later than everyone else so all the attention would be drawn to him. Tino just hoped that Rosie didn’t adopt Starling’s compulsive need to be fashionably late.

“Places, everybody!” Dabble barked. “That means you, Michael!”

“I’m in the middle of something!” Michael called as he twisted a green balloon into a sword for an excited boy.

“Put that helium pump away and get your jester butt over here!”

Michael rolled his eyes, but he did a handspring-cartwheel combination that propelled him to his seat and wowed his young audience.

The Fearsome Four’s table was on the right end of the gazebo, while the writers and artists’ table was to the left. The table in the middle had two empty chairs.

“Wait, we can’t start yet! Where’s Rosie?” Dabble shouted once noon hit. He tapped his watch in frustration.

“It was my day to pick her up,” another director admitted. “But I called the orphanage and they said Rosie doesn’t live there anymore.”

“What?” Dabble cried, tearing several white feathers from his head. ��Then where does she live now?”

The director shrugged. “I asked, but some kid knocked over her coffee cup and she hung up to deal with them.”

Tino’s hands clenched in his lap. Sooner or later, someone would remember that he dropped Rosie off last night and put two and two together-

Jack’s hand came to rest on Tino’s shoulder.

And Tino knew he couldn’t keep quiet any longer.

“Rosie’s new legal guardian is-”

“I AM THE TERROR WHO FLAPS IN THE NIGHT!”

A column of blue smoke flared out. Several children tried to touch it, but their parents pulled them back.

“I AM THE CAUSE OF GRAY HAIR ON CRIMINALS’ SCALPS! I AM DARKWING-”

“Rosie, get up here! You were supposed to open the meet and greet ten minutes ago!” Dabble called.

Rosie nudged her way through the crowd, politely excusing herself as she made her way to the front of the gazebo. Michael waved, and Rosie returned the gesture, much to Starling’s disapproval.

Starling crossed his arms as Dabble hurriedly gave a microphone to Rosie and whispered a few instructions to her.

“Are you kidding me?” Starling scoffed. “She’s not even part of the show! And you interrupted my introduction! I spend two hours ironing my cape and this is the sort of reception I get?”

“You shouldn’t be wearing that outside of the studio!” Dabble hissed, gesturing to the Darkwing outfit.

“There’s plenty to go around,” Starling scowled.

“It costs money to make those-”

“Shouldn’t we let Rosie speak now?” Dan mumbled.

Rosie held the microphone loosely in one hand, the other nervously fiddling with a ribbon on her dress. For all the preparation they did, Rosie wasn’t experienced enough to handle an argument between Starling and Dabble.

Starling snatched a spare microphone from the writers’ table. “Well, as much as I love verbally sparring with Babble here, I just want to take a few minutes to address something of the utmost importance.”

“They’re kids,” Michael hissed. “They’re not interested in whatever you have to say.”

True to Michael’s prediction, several kids left the audience to pursue more fun activities.

“As a man of action, Darkwing Duck always seeks opportunities to eliminate criminal scum and rescue innocents,” Starling declared. Tino could just imagine his pompous beak growing Pinocchio-style. “And of course, I’m Darkwing Duck, so I believe it’s time for me to put my lessons into practice. And what better way to do that, I wonder, then to become a legal guardian to a talented St. Canard orphan?”

Michael gripped the tablecloth, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “He didn’t...”

“I’m Rosie King-Fisher’s legal guardian,” Starling grinned. He bowed, expecting applause and praise.

But Starling’s words seemed to go over the children’s heads. But the parents understood, shooting venomous glares at Starling as they steered their children elsewhere.

“Hey! Where’s everyone going?” Starling called. He looked genuinely baffled that nobody was interested in the meet and greet anymore. “Seriously, isn’t this usually considered a good deed or something?”

An empty water bottle smacked Starling in the face, and Tino silently thanked whoever threw it at him.

Michael’s face turned a brilliant shade of red, and Dan was forced to hold him back as he screeched profanities to Starling’s face. Starling yelled back, and most of the backstage crew was too dumbfounded to interfere.

Between calming Michael down, berating Starling for his impulsive decision, and Dabble trying to do damage control, Rosie’s presence was quickly forgotten. Jack gently pried the microphone out of Rosie’s hand. He took her by the hand, made eye contact with Tino, and inclined his head towards the gazebo’s other opening.

The chaos allowed all three of them to slip away unnoticed.

“Will Mr. Starling be okay?” Rosie asked as they reached a picnic area that contained several other families eating lunch and enjoying themselves. “And Mr. Michael?”

She worried about Starling.

Tino had never seen anyone worry about Starling before.

“They’ll argue, but they’ll be fine,” Jack assured her. He knelt down to Rosie’s level, but he was still much taller than her, and she had to lean back slightly to make eye contact. “Is Mr. Starling treating you alright?”

Tino made a small noise in the back of his throat. Starling never treated anyone alright.

“He took me in,” Rosie said. “He’s kind of grumpy, but he did microwave me frozen waffles. We never got waffles at the orphanage. It was just oatmeal.”

She spoke as if everything were really that simple. And to her, maybe it was.

“Are you happy?” Jack inquired.

Rosie smiled. “Yes, sir. I’m happy to have all of you care for me.”

There was a tiny twitch in Jack’s shoulders.

Jack probably debated taking Rosie in too, but his logical mind drove him to question the expenses and sacrifices it would take. It wasn’t just Michael and Dan who toyed with the idea.

And Tino had entertained it too, Multiple times.

“Rosie, why don’t you go play?” Tino suggested. “It’s a nice park. Run around and have fun.”

“Are you sure?” Rosie asked.

“Jack and I have to talk,” Tino said gently. “We’ll stay here if you need us though.”

At Jack’s encouraging nod, Rosie hugged them both and ran off to play.

----------------------------------- Moments later, Rosie joined a game of tag and was having the time of her life. Confident that she’d be fine, Tino and Jack settled at a picnic table under the shade of a sturdy oak.

“You knew the entire time,” Jack said. It was a statement, not a question. “Starling became Rosie’s legal guardian yesterday.”

“Yes. Starling mentioned it in the car and Rosie agreed immediately,” Tino admitted.

Jack didn’t reply.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t stop him,” Tino whispered. “Rosie seemed so happy though. I think she just wanted someone to get her out of the orphanage. It didn’t matter who.”

“You work with Starling. You know how he disrespects everyone,” Jack snapped. “Waffles and giving someone a place to stay doesn’t make him a good guardian overnight. And you just...didn’t say anything?”

“Please, every time Michael brought up adopting Rosie, you said something about not having an adequate guest room for her,” Tino shot back.

“Starling knew you wouldn’t say anything because you’re such a pushover! He deliberately targeted you!” Jack shouted, drawing everyone’s attention to them.

Tino ducked his head, waiting until everyone lost interest and returned to their lunch. While he was more embarrassed from the sudden scrutiny, Jack seemed to interpret the motion as more of a guilty expression.

Jack moved to Tino’s side of the table, wrapping his arms around Tino’s shoulders in a sideways hug. “Sorry, Tino. I didn’t mean that. I swear I didn’t,” he said frantically.

Jack rarely stumbled over his words, so Tino knew that the entire situation had gotten to Jack’s head.

“I’m alright,” Tino said quietly. “Guess we’ve gotta stop beating around the Bushroot now, huh?”

“You’re never gonna let me live that pun down, are you?” Jack sighed, but his lips were twitching upward.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

They watched Rosie for a while. Her pink dress was caked in grass stains and there was a leaf in her hair, but she was radiating happiness with every spring in her step.

“Rosie deserves to be happy,” Jack said. “I wish we could’ve said something sooner.”

“She is happy,” Tino assured him. “Didn’t you hear her? She’s happy we care about her.”

“But does Starling care about her? As more than a publicity stunt?” Jack asked.

“I don’t know,” Tino shrugged. “Starling’s a hard guy to figure out. If he does care about her, maybe he could be a better person. If he doesn’t, then we’ll keep our home open to her so she won’t be alone.”

“We’ll have to figure out that guest room.”

“You’re planning to drag us all to the store to look at paint swatches for an entire afternoon, aren’t you?”

“Guilty as charged.”

Rosie shouted in joy as she tagged another girl and darted away before she could be caught again. She looked just like any other six-year-old instead of the little orphan girl.

Though she could probably do with clothes meant for playing in, Tino noted.

A rustle of the leaves from the leaves above him caught his eye. Curious, Tino peered up into the branches of the oak. There was a dark shape leaning against the crook of a thick branch and trunk. It was hidden from everyone else’s view, concealed by the verdant leaves.

Though his eyes were concealed by the brim of his hat, Tino could see a ghost of a smile forming on his beak.

Maybe there was hope for Starling after all.

#rosieverse #jim starling #nega-gosalyn/rosie king-fisher #friendly four #fanfiction

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